Glory Braddock vs. Gavin Taylor

[Konrad Raab]

2 RP Limit for singles

3500 Word Per RP

Deadline: 11:59:59 pm ET Friday, December 5, 2025

[Braddock]

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November 23rd, 2025
Birmingham, England
Off Camera
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Glory Braddock came up short at Under Attack in her bid to become SCW World Champion. It was a disappointment but The British Bombshell is not going to let this one setback stop her. She did not fight so long and so hard to be denied like this; if it means going back on another winning streak, earning another title shot, then so be it. She earned her opportunity the old fashioned way once, she can do it again. In fact, she already has put the defeat behind her and is focusing on climbing the ladder again; beginning with the self-proclaimed All Star and, apparently, delusional American hero, Gavin Taylor. The British Bombshell and The All Star are no strangers to one another. This will be the third time they have done battle in Supreme Championship Wrestling. In 2020 she successfully defended her Adrenaline Championship, then she beat him again in 2024 on Breakdown. Despite having never lost to Gavin, and despite the fact that Gavin has been exceptionally delusional as of late, The British Bombshell recognizes that he is always dangerous and always a threat. She does not intend to overlook him. Knocking Gavin Taylor down and out for a third time in a row will be a great way to rebound, to start her climb back up to the World Championship.

For now, however, The British Bombshell has other problems on her mind. These problems have forced her into an unsteady, unusual alliance that makes her very uncomfortable. It doesn’t help matters that she is out and about in a dangerous part of England; a poor area of Birmingham.

Dusk settled over Birmingham. Streetlamps flickered to life one by one, the bulbs humming as if reluctant to take on the burden of lighting streets that had long ago stopped caring about being seen. The neighborhood around Glory Braddock was a skeleton of its former self; row houses stooped low as if exhausted, brick walls tagged with the memories of gangs that came and went, and windows covered with plywood or grime-fogged glass that reflected distorted versions of the passersby. Glory moved through it all with the quiet confidence of someone who’d lived through worse. Her boots tapped along the uneven pavement, steady but not overly loud, the sound swallowed by the sprawling silence that settled over the block. Her long blonde hair, pulled back loosely to keep it out of her face, still caught the dying light and flashed like a warning. She dressed in practical layers, dark jeans, a scuffed jacket that looked like it had been through more than a few back-alley brawls, and a tomboyish ease that marked her as someone who belonged nowhere and everywhere at once. She didn’t seem afraid, but there was an intensity in her stride, a tension that made her shoulders sit a little higher than usual. Behind her walked Clyde Sutter. His pace was a slow, deliberate stalk, the kind that made people watching from cracked doorways decide to close them again. He was enormous, even in the dim light, all broad shoulders and carved muscle, built like someone who had to think twice before stepping into a narrow hallway. His long black hair hung down his back, occasionally shifting when the breeze teased it. His face was hard, set in a permanent scowl that had little to do with danger and everything to do with the woman leading him into it. A storm surrounded him, quiet but dangerous, the kind that promised more trouble than the streets around them.

The two moved together but not with each other. There was too much heat simmering beneath the surface; unspoken thoughts, old grievances, still-open wounds. Glory kept her gaze fixed ahead; Clyde’s eyes flicked everywhere but her, scanning windows, corners, alleys, always searching, always ready. They looked like partners forced back into alliance, not because they trusted each other, but because they needed something only the other could provide. Trash rustled in the gutters. A dog barked somewhere behind a chain link fence. The last streaks of daylight slipped behind the rooftops, leaving only the jaundiced glow of artificial light to guide them. Glory slowed when the buildings around them grew older, more neglected, the kind with sagging porches and brick that had begun to soften from years of rain and cold. She took in the environment with surgical precision identifying vantage points, exits, shadows deep enough to hide knives or worse. She inhaled once, a careful breath, and Clyde noticed. His jaw tightened. Glory didn’t look at him, but the distance between them shrank by the slightest fraction, an instinctive shift that suggested she needed him closer even if she didn’t want to admit it.

“You know, Gloria, I am surprised that you actually reached out to me of all people.” Clyde remarks pointedly with a smug grin on his face. “Of all the people to ask a favor of me, you were certainly the last person I expected it from.”

“You weren’t my first choice.”

“Of course not.” He chuckles. “Still, I love the irony of it all. You kicked me out of your late father’s prestigious wrestling school. You have tried so hard to convince your beloved daughter that I am this horrible monster and that marrying me is a mistake. Yet here you are, working with me. Are you desperate, Gloria?”

“Like I said…” Braddock is growing more and more frustrated “...you were NOT my first choice.”

“Then why ask me?”

“Because I have to be here.” Glory snaps back, glaring back at him with daggers, with hatred in her eyes. “I need to be here, I need to find someone, and I think they are here. But this isn’t exactly one of the safest parts of Birmingham.”

“Ah, so you were afraid?”

“Me? Afraid?” She rolls her eyes. “Bloody hell, do you even know me? I am not afraid. To be honest, I would rather be here alone than spend time with you.”

“Then why bother asking me, Gloria?” He shrugs his shoulders. “Why not go it alone?”

“Because…” she grits her teeth “...Kurt wouldn’t come because even he is afraid of this place but he refused to let me go it alone.”

“Kurt? Your husband?” Clyde laughs. “That’s rich!”

“You are enjoying this, aren’t you?” Glory sneers.

“Yes.” He nods his head. “Because I can see through your facade. “You may have this outward appearance of once again being your fiercely independent tomboyish self but yet here you are, admitting to m e that you let your husband make decisions for you.”

“I am NOT doing a damn thing to satisfy Kurt and I am definitely not letting him make decisions for me!” She snaps back angrily. “I am doing this because my daughter is about to get married to a man who I, personally, think is a piece of shit.” Braddock snarls. Clyde smirks arrogantly. “I am doing this to show her what marriage is about…marriage is about compromise. It’s about give and take. You have to make sacrifices for the ones you love. I would rather be out here alone than be here with you, Clyde, but if being with you is something that will put Kurt’s mind at ease, then I’ll make that sacrifice for him.”

“So…” Clyde’s voice trails off momentarily “...does that mean you have accepted the fact that me being your son-in-law is inevitable? That the marriage is inevitable?”

The British Bombshell and The Harbinger of Fate lock eyes. Glory steels herself as she stares into the eyes of Clyde Sutter. His eyes and that smile almost mock her. Finally Braddock lets out a soft sigh and nods her head.

“Yes, I have accepted it. Do I like it?” She shakes her head. “No, that will still take time. But I have grown to accept it.” She turns and starts to walk again. “Now come on, we need to keep searching.”

“Searching for who?” Sutter asks. “You still haven’t told me who…or what…we are looking for?”

“John.” Glory states. “His name is John.”

“And who is John?”

“A homeless teenagerI encountered several weeks ago.”

“Seriously?” Clyde chuckles. “You are coming off of a World Title loss. You need to get back on track, you have a match against Gavin Taylor to do that, and yet you are focusing your efforts on trying to track down a homeless kid?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“I admit that it makes little sense.” Clyde remarks.

“I just have to do this, ok?” Glory insists. “I need to remind myself of who I am. For far too long I got caught up in the glitz and glamor of being famous, of being wealthy, and in the process I forgot who I am. Being a tomboy again isn’t the only part of rediscovering my identity. I need to remember what being a Braddock is all about.”

“Being a Braddock is about helping people?”

“Yes.” She states. “Exactly.”

“You helped me once.” He answers. “Sure, we may not be on the most pleasant of terms right this instant, but you did get my foot in the door of professional wrestling and professional wrestling helped me escape these dangerous, crime ridden streets. Wrestling helped me escape my former life of crime. You are a good person, Gloria. You do not need to go out of your way to help some random lost cause to prove it to yourself or anyone else.”

Glory Braddock isn’t quite sure how to react to this subtle, small compliment from Clyde Sutter. She isn’t used to him saying anything good about her. But he does raise a good point. Does she need to do this? Does she really need to track down some random teenager just to validate her goodness? Why can’t she just accept that she is a good person? Everyone else knows it.

They were searching; she was hunting for a face she expected to find here, a young poor teenage she knew only as John. She was hoping to find him and help him, put him in contact with her sister, Julia Braddock, where her organization can give him the resources he needs to have a better life. It’s all part of The British Bombshell trying to rediscover who she is, who she is meant to be; but tracking down someone like John is a dangerous task, especially here in Birmingham. Much to her displeasure, she is forced to work with Clyde Sutter. He knows these streets all too well. He had to fight to survive on these streets most of his life. She may not like the fact that he is dating her daughter Melinda, but he may be the only one who can help her. The tension between them built the deeper they moved into the neighborhood. It wasn’t the environment making them uneasy; it was each other. Glory’s stride occasionally hitched, the smallest hesitation whenever Clyde stepped too close. Clyde’s hands curled into fists every time Glory picked up speed, as if she were deliberately walking ahead to make a point. A narrow street branched off to their right, darker than the rest, swallowed by shadows even the streetlamps couldn’t quite penetrate. Glory slowed, eyes narrowing at the sight of it. Clyde came up beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him like a furnace, but still distant enough to make clear he wasn’t offering comfort. Only strength. Only power. Only the uneasy alliance they were stuck with.

“You were wise in asking me to join you.” Clyde remarks pointedly. “This neighborhood is dangerous.”

“Yes, I know.” Glory rolls. “Kurt kept whining about it nonstop.”

“Are you sure this is where we can find this teenager of yours? This John? Are you sure this is the neighborhood we can find him?”

“Honestly,” she sighs and shrugs her shoulders “I don’t really know. I’m basing this on what I’ve been told by my sister.”

“Wonderful.” Clyde remarks sarcastically.

“Mock it if you want but my sister knows these things. Her organization, The Julia Foundation, has its mission to help people like John. They need to know things like this. She is certain that we can find John here.”

“Let’s hope your sister’s intelligence is worthwhile.” Clyde states quietly. “Despite our contentious relationship, Gloria, I do hate it that you did not become SCW World Champion at Under Attack.”

“Bullshit.” Glory remarks as they continue their walk through the dark alleys of Birmingham. “You don’t give a crap.”

“You are mistaken.” Clyde answers. “Me and your children, Melinda and Fiona, we were all hoping you would dethrone Mr. Turner. It is a shame that it did not happen.”

“Yes, well, losses happen. It comes with the game.” She sighs. “I’ll just have to earn another opportunity. I have to win my way back into title contention. But don’t worry, Clyde, if you really do care about my career I have a chance to rebound against Gavin Taylor.”

“You will rebound.” He states. “I am sure of it.”

“This will be the third time in five years I have wrestled him one on one.” She chuckles. “It’s like we cannot get away from each other.”

“He’s never beaten you?” Sutter asks. Glory shakes her head.

“Nope. I do not intend to let him win this one.” Suddenly a noise startles The British Bombshell. She looks around for where the sound came from. Clyde heard it too. “You heard that, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I think…” Glory scans the area until she spots two figures, one larger man roughing up a teenager; the teen is unmistakably the one they are looking for “...John!”

The larger man picks John up by the throat and slams him against a brick wall. He punches him in the gut, causing John to double over in pain. Sutter and Glory rush over to intervene. Sutter opts to take care of the aggressor. He pulls the man off of John and glares intensely at him.

“You should pick on someone your own size, my friend.” Sutter remarks stoically.

“Screw you!” The man exclaims. “Mind your own damn business!”

He throws a punch but Clyde easily blocks it and throws one of his own, knocking him on the ground. While The Assassin deals with this bully, Glory Braddock focuses on tending to the teenager she had been searching for. The British Bombshell gently helps him to his feet.

“John, are you ok?”

“Yeah, I…” John focuses his gaze on Glory Braddock and his eyes grow wide with shock “...Glory? Is that really you?”

“In the flesh.”

“But how…” John shakes his head in disbelief “...why?”

“It doesn’t matter right now.” She states. “All that matters is that you’re safe and I am here to help.”

[Braddock]

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December 1st, 2025
London, England
On Camera
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The street outside the Glenn Braddock Wrestling School had always been a strange blend of pride and melancholy, and on this particular morning it felt even more so. The sky hung low and gray, the kind of London overcast that didn’t quite rain but hinted at it constantly, leaving the air thick with cool dampness. Puddles from the night before clung to the cracked pavement, reflecting the pale daylight in broken pieces. Glory Braddock stood just outside the school’s door, staring up at the weather beaten sign hanging above the entrance. The edges of the sign were chipped, and rust had crept into the metal brackets holding it in place. It looked like it had survived a war. Glenn would have loved that. He had insisted from the beginning that the school should never look pristine. The building itself lived up to his philosophy. The bricks were discolored in places, darkened from years of rain, smog, and the occasional careless trainee kicking mud onto the walls. The front door looked like it had endured more than a few frustrated slams from students who stormed out mid-training session. The small windows flanking it were clouded from age, their frames flaking paint. Glory shifted her weight, boots scuffing the pavement. Today, she wore dark denim jeans worn in all the right places, a fitted royal purple t-shirt, and a lightweight leather jacket thrown over it for warmth. Her long blonde hair was down, brushing against her shoulders and catching the faint breeze, though she reached up occasionally to tuck strands back behind her ears. Her face carried nothing but sheer determination. Coming here always brought it out of her. This place wasn’t just a school; it was the foundation of everything she’d built, everything she’d become. The years spent training here, the nights she’d argued with her father about technique or direction, the early mornings when she’d show up before dawn just to impress him.

“I know what you’re thinking…here she is again! Standing in front of her old man’s wrestling school!” The British Bombshell shrugs her shoulders. “Yeah! You got me! I came back to my comfort zone. I returned to what felt right. But can you blame a girl for wanting to return to her roots, to comfort, especially after a heartbreaking defeat at Under Attack…and yeah, I’ll address that in a moment…but first I want to talk about this building behind me. Usually when I come here I blab on and on about how it represents my heritage, my legacy, and so on. You’ve heard that before and since I don’t plan on quizzing any of you on it I won’t put you through another lesson about it. Instead I want to talk about the building itself. Does it look visually appealing? What about its aesthetics?” The British Bombshell snickers.

“I have to admit, my father was never the most visually appealing of individuals. He was the first to admit that he didn’t look like some Greek god. This building lives up to the very heart and soul of Glenn Braddock. This building and its aesthetics…or lack thereof…might look like some run down abandoned rat trap to some visitor but to the people of London, where the Braddock name is well known and widely respected, they know better. They know that this place is still living and breathing professional wrestling. It looks the way it does because my father didn’t want it to be visually appealing. My father was very much opposed to the glitz and glamour of professional wrestling. When I made my professional debut in 2008 this business had already long since changed into a big spectacle and my father hated it. ‘Wrestling is not a boutique business’ he would say, or ‘wrestling is not ballet or some other fancy art form’ is another of his sayings. ‘Wrestling is not supposed to be beautiful because while there is the thrill of victory there is always the agony of defeat.’” Braddock pauses, she lets the words sink in for a moment.

“That brings me to Under Attack. I had taken the ultimate gamble by dropping out of Taking Hold of the Flame and choosing instead to EARN my way to a title match by winning as many matches as possible. Hell, I almost got to ten in a row before I got my match against Cid Turner. I’m not too upset over not getting that magic number ten because, I mean, Syren was supposed to reach ten in a row before challenging for the world title but she was magically exempt simply for being Syren. Nevertheless, I was proud of what I achieved. I was proud that I ran the gauntlet and beat anyone and everyone SCW dared put in front of me. I proved to the world that you do not need Taking Hold of the Flame to get a title shot. I proved that the old fashioned way still works.” She pauses for a moment to sigh. “Unfortunately things did not end on a high note. In my ideal world this would have ended with me as the SCW World Champion. Wrestling is not a fairy tale and, as my father said, it is damn sure not beautiful. It is agony and in this case, Cid Turner was simply better on that night.” Glory shakes her head.

“But I am NOT finished! I am NOT done! I already proved that the old fashioned way is still relevant! I proved that you can work your way to the top, that you can earn title shots without taking shortcuts. I did it once and I will do it again. The road is clear; once again I go through any obstacle this promotion sees fit to put in my path. If that path runs through monsters, upstarts, the United States Championship, Adrenaline Championship, hell, the tag team championship…whatever comes my way, I am ready for it! I am ready for the challenge and I am ready to make this journey once again because I will not stop until I am the SCW World Champion!” The British Bombshell points a finger at the camera.

“Amelia Novado, I heard what you had to say on Breakdown. You had your own disappointment against Cid Turner. You have your own designs to work your way back to the top. And you want to face yours truly one on one. Well, in case you didn’t catch my response on social media…I ACCEPT!” She smirks. “You’re right, I can count on you to give me a fair fight, and that’s ultimately what this sport is about; fair competition, two warriors in the center of the ring seeing who is the best. You have that same mindset and that’s why I respect you. So if you want to dance one more time, let’s do it. I accept your challenge. We are each on our own journeys back to the top of the mountain. Our paths will cross and I look forward to it.” She smirks.

“But my journey back to the top starts with you, Gavin Taylor.” She chuckles. “Now we have done this dance before, haven’t we? Under Attack 2020, I beat you to retain the SCW Adrenaline Championship. Do you remember what happened that night, Mr. All Star? If you don’t, I forgive you. I mean, you DID lose consciousness after I choked you out with Shekhinah Glory. Then we wrestled again last year in March. Do you remember THAT match, Gavin? You might not because once again I cut the oxygen to your brain when I CHOKED! YOU! OUT!” Braddock grins sadistically and holds up two fingers.

“Two matches…twice I choked you out with Shekhinah Glory. And there’s no amount of propaganda you can do to wipe that one away, big shot. That’s not fake news, that’s real. That’s reality. The reality, the statistics, the experts, every single talking head you can find says the same exact thing…you CANNOT beat me. How is that going to work with your little spin, Gavin? How will your propaganda machine play this one? How can you possibly make two straight SUBMISSION LOSSES to The British Bombshell sound like a good thing? You might want to get your new pal, the spiritual leader of yours, Religious Wright to say few dozen prayers for you, because it will take true divine intervention for you to finally do what you have yet to do; defeat Glory Braddock one on one.”

The British Bombshell turns and gazes back behind her at the run down building that is her father’s legacy, The Glenn Braddock Wrestling School. Glory then turns back to face the camera. A confident grin is formed across her face.

“This building behind me serves a dual purpose. It doesn’t just represent my journey back to world title contention, it also symbolizes this fight between you and me. You and I couldn’t be any more different, Gavin. I have always been the blue collar workhorse veteran, I am the one who chose to ditch the fancy shortcuts and gimmicks and instead fight one match after another to earn a world title match the old fashioned way. Whereas you have always been one to take any shortcut you can think of, even the outright delusional ones. Seriously, who the hell told you that your little contract…greatest contract ever, a splendid contract…is something legitimate? Who told you that parading around with a fake piece of paper made you a contender? That is the lamest shortcut ever, especially because so far it has gotten you nowhere. You surrounded yourself with a spin machine consisting of Jenni Anderson, bodyguards, and a spiritual advisor to help you get, what? The United States Championship…of the World?” She snickers. “How has your spin machine worked out for you? Not too good from where I stand. You don’t have any title. You are still stuck in neutral. You are still going absolutely nowhere.” Braddock shakes her head.

“You hold your silly little rallies. You come up with your stupid little catchphrases…Make America Gavin Again…newsflash, Gavin, no one is buying it. No one cares. And once again, that glitz and glamour of your Make America Gavin movement is getting you and your career absolutely nowhere. Sure, this new shtick of yours has gotten you noticed, it has gotten you some spotlight. But somewhere deep down in that delusional little head of yours, you have to realize that the only ‘spotlight’ it has gotten you is that of the joke. People are not laughing with you, they are laughing at you.” Glory smirks knowingly.

“Hell, I’m not surprised, not in the least. This Make America Gavin Again crap might be your latest fixation but you have always been caught up in being some charismatic idealogue wrapped up and obsessing o ver the glitz and glamour of the wrestling spotlight. In the five plus years I have been kicking your ass, I have known you to use countless monikers; The All Star isn’t enough for you, is it? Franchise Player? Real World Jedi? MVP of Life? Obscenely Naturally Talented?” She shakes her head. “You are obscene alright, mate, but not in your natural talent. You are obscene at how many nicknames you can give yourself. And your most recent is America’s Favorite Wrestler.” Braddock points at the camera and then back at herself.

“That’s YOU…but me?” She smirks. “I have never needed that many nicknames or monikers to justify myself. Hell, I don’t need any nicknames to justify how good I am. While you have a few dozen nicknames that you bestowed upon yourself, I only have TWO nicknames and both them were bestowed upon me by wrestling fans around the world…The British Bombshell is one because I am explosive inside of the ring. No one can stop me when I catch fire. And the other is Best in the World and I earned that one through eighteen world championships and four professional wrestling halls of fame. I earned that through hard work and dedication. I earned all of it myself. That’s something you will never be able to say, just like you will never be able to say that you beat Glory Braddock.” She shuts her eyes. “Sic Semper Tyrannis…”