Kirsten Scott vs. Glory Braddock

[Kemal Yilmaz]

2 RP Limit for singles

3500 word limit

Deadline: 11:59:59 pm ET FRIDAY, July 31, 2026

[Kirsten Scott]

APOSTASY CHAPTER 5: SIXTY SECONDS OF TRUTH

[Braddock]

1 of 2
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July 25th, 2026
London, England
Off Camera
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Rise To Greatness is fast approaching and on the go home show, The British Bombshell is set to take on Kirsten Scott in singles action; one last opportunity to gain momentum ahead of an important match against La Pequina Luz at the biggest show of the year. Braddock wants another opportunity at the SCW World Championship but she will have to earn it the hard way by proving herself in the squared circle. She came up short against Asher Hayes, which means that these next two matches; against Scott and then against Luz; are of the utmost importance. The British Bombshell feels as if she is cornered and in a must win situation if she hopes to prove that she deserves one more title opportunity. When Braddock feels as if she is backed into a corner she always returns to her roots; London, England. Braddock has been spending more time in her hometown lately as opposed to her adopted home of Miami, Florida. This return to her roots has allowed her to be mentally focused and ready for the challenges of the wrestling world. And she wouldn’t be able to do this, to stay in London, had it not been for hiring her best friend Catalina De Luca to work for her as Chief of Staff, to help run her company in her stead, allowing Braddock the freedom to focus on professional wrestling.

Yet not all is well within the Braddock-De Luca relationship. Glory Braddock has heard some troubling, disturbing talk about how her company has been run under the influence of Catalina De Luca. These rumors must be addressed, which is why The British Bombshell has had Cat flown into London; so they can have a face to face conversation and clear everything up.

The modest London home stood on a quiet residential street where the afternoon had settled into the familiar rhythm of everyday life. A light breeze stirred the leaves of the small trees lining the pavement, and the sky overhead was a patchwork of pale gray clouds with occasional breaks of sunlight that brightened the rows of brick houses for a few fleeting moments before fading again. It was the sort of neighborhood where people knew one another by sight, where flower boxes rested beneath front windows and bicycles leaned casually against garden walls. Compared to the larger home Glory Braddock owned in Miami, Florida, this one was remarkably unassuming. The brickwork showed its age in places, softened by decades of English weather, while the narrow front garden was bordered by neatly trimmed hedges and a short stone path that led to the front door. A few potted plants sat beside the entrance, adding quiet touches of color without trying to impress anyone. The house had character instead of grandeur, and that suited Glory perfectly whenever she found herself back in London.

A taxi pulled away from the curb, leaving Catalina De Luca standing alone on the pavement. She paused for a moment, taking in the house before walking toward it. She looked as elegant as ever, even after traveling. A soft cream blouse was tucked neatly into a flowing navy skirt that reached just below her knees. The fabric moved gently with each step, catching the breeze without losing its shape. A lightweight tan jacket rested comfortably over her shoulders, tailored enough to complement her figure while remaining practical for the cool London weather. Her dark hair fell in smooth, glossy waves, framing her face with effortless grace. A few strands shifted in the breeze before settling neatly back into place. She wore understated gold earrings and a delicate bracelet that caught the afternoon light each time she adjusted the strap of the leather handbag resting against her shoulder. Everything about Catalina reflected quiet refinement. Nothing she wore demanded attention, yet every detail had clearly been chosen with care. She reached the front door and for a brief moment she simply looked at the familiar entrance, allowing herself a small smile before lifting one hand toward the polished brass doorbell. The chime echoed softly from somewhere inside the house. For several seconds there was only silence. Then came the muffled sound of footsteps moving across the wooden floor inside.

The door opened. Glory Braddock stood in the doorway, looking entirely at home in the modest surroundings. She wore faded blue jeans and a dark green long sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled comfortably to her forearms. The shirt fit loosely enough to be comfortable without appearing oversized, and its simple design reflected the practical style she had always preferred. Her feet were covered by a pair of worn canvas shoes that had clearly seen plenty of use. Her long blonde hair hung loose over her shoulders, brushed back but otherwise left alone. It framed her face naturally, and the soft light filtering through the doorway caught the lighter strands, giving them a gentle golden tint. There was something immediately welcoming about the sight of her standing there. She looked relaxed, comfortable in her own space, untouched by the need for appearances or formality. For the briefest moment, both women simply smiled at one another.

“Ah, Cat, I’m glad you came!”

“Of course, Glory!” Cat and Glory engage in a tight hug. “I was planning a trip to London anyway to oversee our corporate dealings anyway, so why not stop by and visit with my best friend?”

“Do you need a place to stay while you’re here?”

“No, I wouldn’t want to impose.” Cat shakes her head. “I have a hotel nearby.”

“Fair enough.” Glory nods her head. “Anyway, come on in.”

Glory stepped back, holding the heavy wooden door open wide to welcome her inside. As Catalina crossed the threshold, the quiet rustle of her navy skirt filled the small entry hall, accompanied by the subtle, familiar scent of her perfume mixing with the cozy, unmistakable atmosphere of the English home. The foyer was compact but warm, featuring polished hardwood floors that gleamed faintly under the light of a small glass pendant fixture overhead. A rustic coat rack stood in the corner, draped with a couple of Glory’s well-worn jackets, and a woven basket beside it held a solitary umbrella.

“Let me take your jacket, Cat,” Glory offered, turning to help Catalina ease the tailored tan jacket off her shoulders. She hung it neatly on a brass hook beside the door, her movements easy and unhurried. “Just drop your bag wherever you like. Make yourself completely at home.”

“Thank you, Glory,” Catalina replied, setting her leather handbag on a narrow side table before lightly smoothing the front of her cream blouse.

“Living room’s right this way,” Glory said with a warm smile, beckoning with a hand as she turned to lead the way down the short, sunlit hallway.

The interior of the house carried the same understated charm as its exterior. Framed black-and-white prints of London landmarks and quiet coastal landscapes lined the hallway walls, leading directly into a bright, airy living room at the back of the house. Large sash windows looked out onto a lush, secluded back garden where ivy climbed the surrounding brick walls and colorful hydrangeas bloomed in soft purples and blues. Afternoon sunlight poured through the glass, casting long, warm rectangles of light across a faded Persian rug that anchored the space. The living room was designed for genuine comfort rather than show. A deep, plush sofa upholstered in a warm oatmeal fabric faced a classic fireplace, its mantle decorated with a few travel mementos and stacked books. Opposite the sofa sat a pair of comfortable armchair slipcovers in muted sage green. Glory gestured toward the furniture as she padded across the rug in her worn canvas shoes.

Catalina glided over to the sofa, sinkingly gracefully into the soft cushions. She sat with her usual natural poise, smoothing her flowing skirt over her knees as she leaned back, letting out a soft, contented sigh. Glory pulled herself onto the matching armchair opposite her, leaning forward slightly with her elbows resting on her knees, her long blonde hair falling loosely around her shoulders. The gentle ticking of a mantle clock and the distant, soothing murmur of London traffic outside were the only sounds filling the room, settling the two long-time friends into a comfortable, easy silence as they prepared to catch up.

“So, I think we should talk about our…business arrangement.” Glory says.

“I agree.” Cat nods her head. “I think it’s been an absolute delight! A great success!”

“Really?”

“Oh absolutely! I mean, look at you! You are able to spend more time here in your hometown of London. Isn’t that great?”

“Yeah…”

“And that puts you right within driving distance of the Braddock Wrestling School. You can oversee your father’s legacy, you can train there for your upcoming matches. That MUST be an advantage, isn’t it?”

“I admit, it is nice to be so close to my dad’s school.” Glory muses out loud. “Whenever my back is against the wall, whenever I am faced with difficult challenges, that would be where I would go to clear my head and get focused mentally and physically. And you know, this is Rise To Greatness season. I am facing Kirsten Scott on the go home Breakdown and then at Rise To Greatness itself I’m taking on La Pequina Luz. It’s the perfect opportunity for a rebound after losing to Asher Hayes.”

“Exactly and I know you’ll do great!” Cat beams. “Because you always do great!”

“But what about you?” Glory points a finger at Cat. “How are you handling my business?”

“The corporate life is brilliant, Glory!” Cat exclaims, sounding gleeful and happy. “And I just want to thank you for this opportunity to serve as your Chief of Staff, for allowing me to run the company for you. You have no idea what it means to me to give me a way to escape my family’s mafia ties, my family’s illegal practices.” She sighs. “Escaping the shadow of a crime family is a great weight off of my shoulders.”

“I’m just doing what I can to help.”

“And you did help.” Cat grins from ear to ear. “You gave me a legitimate job. Thank you.”

It is true, Glory Braddock did this to help Catalina, to help her escape her family’s criminal ties and have a legitimate job. In turn Catalina would help shield Glory from the political drama of running her company. No more infighting, no more micromanaging to ensure the company is being run the way The British Bombshell wants. Catalina can do all of that while Braddock focuses on her true passion; professional wrestling. At least, that was the plan. Now Braddock has heard rumors and talk of some dirty dealings from Catalina herself. She knows De Luca is so happy with her new job and her new life but The British Bombshell cannot let these rumors go unchecked. She must learn the truth.

“Of course I would do anything for you, Cat, and I am so happy for you.” She sighs. “But I do have a concern.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I have heard a few rumors lately, troubling rumors, about what you have done recently in my name as Chief of Staff.”

“What kind of rumors are you talking about?” Cat arches a brow out of curiosity.

“Well it started when I heard from Melody about several Matthew Alan loyalists resigned from the Board of Directors. Then I was stunned when Matthew’s sister, Aurora, sold her minority share of stock in the company back to me. She told me she and the others were forced out.”

“Right, that…” Catalina sighs and nods her head in confirmation “...yes, I might have had something to do with that.”

“Cat!” Glory exclaims.

“I mean, come on, do you really want to continue running a company where your chief business rival still exerts great influence?”

“No but I do value the history of my company. I value the fact that the Alan Family, for all its fault, did found the company. It was their vision that started it. I was hoping myself and the Alan Family influence could have a peaceful coexistence, and we did have a peaceful coexistence; at least, until now.”

“Peaceful coexistence?” Cat chuckles. “Oh Glory, it may have been peaceful but that peace was temporary. You know as well as I do that Matthew Alan was a dirty businessman. He had dealings with organized crime, so I knew exactly how he and his followers operated. At some point they would have betrayed you. I merely used my old family contacts, strategic pressure, legal intimidation, and quiet back channel influence to stop them before they could betray you and thus ensure that this company would continue to be run the way you want it to be run.”

“So you dipped into the De Luca Family bag of illegal tricks?” Glory asks. Cat shakes her head.

“No, absolutely not.” Cat insists. “Everything I did was on the up and up. Everything I did was perfectly legal. My hands are clean and, more importantly, so are yours.”

“My hands are clean, eh?” Glory laughs sarcastically. “It may be legal but what you did definitely falls within a moral gray area.”

“I’m simply honoring your father.” Catalina insists, pointing a finger at Glory. “Glenn Braddock refused to be corrupted, even when my family, the De Luca Crime Family, offered him the world. He didn’t need intimidation or criminal acts to command respect. He commanded respect through power.” She grins knowingly. “Glory, I am just giving you the world your father could have had.”

“Dad didn’t want it and neither do I.” Glory’s frustration is growing.

“And yet this is exactly what you hired me to do.” Catalina points out. “You wanted me to do the messy, dirty work that you were afraid to do. You were afraid of what it might do to you if you were to get involved so you paid me to do it instead.”

“I know.” Glory admits.

“If you are upset with how I’m doing my job, I will gladly step back. I could resign, even. But do you trust yourself to do the job? Do you trust yourself to manage the company without being corrupted by all of that power?”

Braddock hesitates. She knows that her friend Catalina speaks the truth. Glory Braddock was always at her worst when trying to micromanage her company, when she was trying to impose her will upon the company. The fact is that she does have a reputation of being corrupted by the trappings of power. It is one of the reasons why she hired Cat in the first place. It wasn’t merely to have someone “do her dirty work” for her. It was to protect her and insulate her. Getting rid of Catalina is out of the question. But she does need to at least attempt to keep Cat on a tighter leash.

“Fine.” Glory shakes her head. “You’re right, I hired you to do a job and I’ll let you continue to do that job.”

“Wonderful!”

“But…”

“But?”

“I did not like how you handled the Matthew Alan loyalists.” Glory states firmly. “Matthew Alan may have been a rival but this company was his vision and I do not want to destroy his loyalists out of spite.”

“Ok, fair enough.” She nods her head. “I will stop targeting the Alan Family loyalists within the company.”

“Brilliant.” Glory says. “Furthermore, promise you will try and be more ethical and more moral in how you do business.”

“Nothing I did was illegal, Glory.”

“I know, but it wasn’t ethical either.” Glory points out. “You were hired to ensure my company was run the way I wanted it to be run. And I prided myself on having ethical business practices. Are we clear?”

“Crystal clear, Glory.”

Catalina simply offered a subtle, reassuring nod, her hands resting calmly in her lap as if the moral tightrope they had just walked was nothing more than an routine board meeting. She had done what she deemed necessary to protect Glory from the wolves, blissfully untroubled by the fact that she had brought the scent of the pack into Glory's sanctuary. Yet, the agreement was struck. The boundaries, fragile as they might be, were drawn in the quiet air of the English countryside home.

Glory leaned back against the sage green cushion of her armchair, letting out a long, slow breath that carried the exhaustion of a world-class athlete fighting wars on two fronts. Her mind drifted away from the boardroom backstabbing and back toward the squared circle; toward the canvas, the ropes, and the unforgiving lights of Breakdown and Rise To Greatness. The corporate machinery would continue to grind under Catalina’s watchful eye, but Glory’s true battleground awaited her elsewhere. Standing in her father’s shadow, surrounded by the quiet streets of her youth, she knew that political maneuvering meant nothing if she couldn't deliver inside the ring. Kirsten Scott and La Pequena Luz were coming, and no amount of back room influence could win those matches for her.

Catalina uncrossed her legs with practiced elegance, bringing a delicate, gold-adorned hand up to check the time on her wrist. The business was done, the air cleared, or at least cleared enough to maintain their fragile status quo. Rising gracefully from the sofa, she smoothed the navy fabric of her skirt, restoring her immaculate silhouette without a single crease. Glory stood up as well, the tension slowly draining from her shoulders, replaced by the quiet resolve that had defined her entire career. They walked back down the short, sunlit hallway in a comfortable rhythm, the unspoken compromise hanging between them like a quiet truce.

At the front door, Catalina draped her tan jacket over her shoulders and retrieved her handbag from the side table. Turning back toward Glory, she offered a warm, genuine smile, one that belonged entirely to the friend who had saved her, rather than the ruthless Chief of Staff who fought in the shadows. The two women embraced once more, a brief, firm hug that sealed their unspoken contract.

As the heavy wooden door clicked shut, Glory stood alone in the quiet foyer. She took a deep, grounding breath of the cool English air circulating through the home, feeling the mental clutter finally begin to settle. The political fires were contained for now. Turning her gaze toward the hallway, her focus sharpened with absolute clarity. It was time to leave the corporate gray behind, return to her roots at the Braddock Wrestling School, and prepare to fight for the greatness that was rightfully hers.

[Braddock]

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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
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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.”

[Kirsten Scott]

APOSTASY CHAPTER 6: THE BROKEN SANCTUARY