Blog: Almighty Fire
semana del 13 al 20 de agosto de 2025

There’s a quiet satisfaction that comes with knowing the work speaks for itself. I don’t need confetti, I don’t need hyperbole, and I certainly don’t need anyone telling me that I’ve “shocked the world.” That kind of energy is for people who aren’t used to winning. For people who rely on moments, because moments are all they have.

For me, winning isn’t a surprise. Es la expectativa. It’s the expectation.

Climax Control 431 was not an accident. It wasn't fortune smiling on me. It wasn’t “Lilith Locke slipping on a banana peel” or “Mercedes Vargas stealing one.” No. Fue inevitable.

Lilith stepped into that match believing she’d set the pace. She thought holding the Bombshell Internet Championship meant she could dictate how that match unfolded. Se equivocó. She miscalculated. Championship matches aren’t about the belt you hold in the beginning — they’re about the decisions you make under pressure. And when the moment came, the gap between us was clear.

It showed in my composure when she threw her best shots. It showed in her doubt after every kick-out, wondering why this wasn’t going according to her plan. And it showed when I closed that match exactamente when I intended — perfectly on my terms.

The Bombshell Internet Championship is back where it belongs. No necesito gritarlo. El título tiene otro peso conmigo. I don’t need to scream about it. I don’t need to campaign for recognition. I just know that there’s a different weight to the title when it’s in my possession. It carries an authority it didn’t have before, because I’ve proven what happens when someone with my composure and my consistency gets their hands on it.

Lilith — if you’re listening — I trust you’ve already started replaying every mistake in your head. It would be easy to blame it on conditioning, or on ring rust, or on the idea that you underestimated me. Pero el problema es tu enfoque. But see, that’s the problem. I don’t underestimate people. I study them. I take my time. I read every flourish in their offense, I notice every subtle pause in their footwork, I detect every flicker of hesitation behind their eyes. By the time I step into the ring, mis salidas, mis aperturas, y mi final. I already know my exits, my openings, and my finish.

That isn’t bravado — es la verdad. At Climax Control, that truth ended your reign, that truth made all the difference.

Now, that chapter’s closed. The next one begins at Climax Control 433. And that brings me to Harper Mason, your new Bombshell Roulette Champion.

Harper, you’ve been making the rounds lately, haven’t you? Your name’s been bubbling up on match cards more frequently, and you’ve been getting buzz from people who like to attach themselves to “potential.” I understand why. You’ve got the look. You’re athletic. You’ve had a few nice outings where people could point at you and say, “There’s something there.” It’s the kind of chatter that turns into opportunity in a place like SCW.

But here’s the part they usually leave out when they’re hyping someone up: “potential” is the most fragile currency in this business. It loses value every time you walk into a situation where you’re expected to win and you don’t. It erodes when the right lights shine on you and you flinch instead of step forward.

This weekend, Harper, you’re not getting a proving ground — you’re stepping into an exam you’re not prepared to pass. And I’m not saying that as a threat. I’m saying it like someone stating the weather. The outcome here doesn’t need prediction; it’s forecasted.

I’ve been watching you. I notice that when things are going your way, you find a rhythm. But when you get disrupted — when someone doesn’t respond to your pace, when they force you to adjust — that’s where it starts to come apart. You become reactive instead of proactive. Matches aren’t dictated by whoever gets the first offense in, Harper — they’re dictated by whoever controls the transitions. And right now, that’s not you.

When people look at you and see “promise,” I see unfinished edges.

You’ve had opponents who gave you space. I don’t give space. You’ve had opponents who tried to match your style. I don’t match styles — I dismantle them. You’ve been praised for your fire, and that’s fine. Fire’s impressive for about five minutes, until someone like me smothers it with precision and leaves you grasping for oxygen.

People like to believe that wrestling comes down to passion, or hunger, or desire. It looks better in headlines. The truth is, it comes down to how you handle inevitability. You can be as hungry as you want. Es saber qué hacer cuando tu mejor golpe no sirve. But what do you do when you find yourself in a position where your best shot didn’t work and you don’t have a second one? Ese es mi territorio. That’s where I live. That’s where I win.

I’m not dismissing you entirely, Harper. Everyone in this division is capable of a good night. On a good night, someone pulls off the upset. Someone exceeds expectations. You did that at Summer XXXTreme by defeating Victoria Lyons and ending the longest Bombshell Roulette Championship reign in history. It took you three tries to beat her, but credit where it's due.

You beat Victoria. That’s fine — but you’re not catching me on a night where my eyes are off the prize, mamita. You’re not walking into our match to find a distracted champion still basking in the glow of victory over Lilith Locke. No me quedo mirando atrás. I don’t bask. I move forward.

And right now, moving forward means you’re about to be the first statement of this new reign. See, reclaiming the Bombshell Internet Championship wasn’t about nostalgia for me. It wasn’t about “getting back” to something. It was about reaffirming that I can — and will — operate at the top of every division I set foot in. This reign is going to be defined by selective precision. Lo que significa que si estás en mi esquina opuesta… ya estás en terreno peligroso. Which means that if you’re standing across from me, you’re already in dangerous territory.

I know how the conversations go in the back. The polite compliments, the “good lucks,” the people telling you that this is “your moment.” They’ll pump you up before this weekend. They’ll tell you to go “shock the world.” But just remember something: nobody who’s telling you that has to actually stand in the ring against me.

I’ve seen wrestlers crumble because they spent too much time convincing themselves they were ready for something they weren’t. They confuse excitement with competence. You have to understand that when I look across the ring at you, I’m not hunting for inspiration. Estoy calculando. I’m measuring. I’m watching every small adjustment you make and deciding what it tells me about the next minute of this match.

Everyone has patterns, Harper. Yours? They’re glaring.

You push the pace early to see if you can get ahead before someone finds their bearings. You rely on momentum — not strategy — to carry you through. You thrive in exchanges, but you’re not built to break stalemates. And when your rhythm gets disrupted, you try to reset by creating distance. Which means? If I control the space, I control you.

That’s not bravado. That’s game theory.

By the time Climax Control 433 is over, people aren’t going to be talking about a “breakthrough” for Harper Mason. They’ll talk about a clean, decisive victory. How I was two steps ahead before you even tried to adjust. They’ll remember la claridad de saber exactamente dónde estás en esta división.

That’s the gift I give you — clarity. Not hype. Not bias. Reality.

And maybe that’s the best thing I can give you, Harper — clarity. The kind that comes from standing across from someone who isn’t there to give you space to breathe, who isn’t there to help you look good, and who isn’t there for your moment. I’m there to win. I’m there to make sure my name stays anchored to this championship in a way that isn’t up for debate.

You’ll walk away from Climax Control 433 knowing the difference between being good and being good enough.

Lilith learned it the hard way. You’re next.

Prepare for the worst. Hope for the best. And may the odds be ever in your favor.


EXT. SUBURBAN SIDEWALK – LATE AFTERNOON

A warm afternoon. Sunlight filters through leafy trees. The air hums faintly with cicadas. A sprinkler ticks in the distance. A small, colorful lemonade stand sits just off the curb in front of a tidy suburban house. The stand is manned by K, a sharp-eyed 11-year-old with a ball cap turned backwards. He leans on the table, one sneaker dragging patterns into the dust. A tip jar holds some coins and a couple of crumpled bills. He’s sucking on a red Freezie like it’s the most casual day in the world.
Down the cracked sidewalk, Malcolm and Carmen move with weary authority, uniforms crisp but faces telling of long days.

MALCOLM 
Speaking of… remind me how your cousin here schooled Lilith Locke in Spain? 

MERCEDES 
(grinning) 
Oh, you mean when I won back the Bombshell Internet Championship? In front of a sold‑out Ibiza crowd? 

CARMEN 
Here we go… 

MALCOLM 
What? Big win, high stakes, and your cousin actually brought it home. 

CARMEN 
She doesn’t bring it up much… except every day.

MERCEDES 
(laughing) 
What can I say? Some wins are worth the rerun.

All three hold paper cups of lemonade — unusually opaque, a bit too thick. As they close in on the stand, Mercedes eyes her drink with suspicion, swirling it slowly before taking a cautious sip.

MALCOLM
(takes a sip, grimaces)
Damn. Didn’t figure lemonade could double as molasses.

K smirks, leaning casually against the counter of the stand.

MERCEDES
Tastes like they melted a lemon and a grapefruit together. You sure this is lemonade?

K
That’s 'cause it’s premium. Less water, more lemon.

MALCOLM
More pulp too, apparently.

[Malcolm squints next door, where a worn-down two-story sits dark behind drawn curtains.]

MALCOLM
You know the family next door?

K
Sure. The dad’s a drug dealer.

[Malcolm freezes mid-sip, the words hitting harder than the lemonade’s texture. He tries to keep his reaction subtle but fails slightly.]

MALCOLM
Uh-huh…

K
My mom gets really, really weird when she’s around chardonnay.

[Malcolm raises an eyebrow at the unrelated comment but presses on.]

MALCOLM
Have you seen him around today?

K
No. He’s probably at the thing.

[Carmen, curious, steps closer to the stand.]

CARMEN
What thing?

K
Buy some more lemonade, and I’ll tell you.

[Carmen crosses her arms slowly, a mock dangerous smile creeping in.]

CARMEN
Are you trying to extort a law enforcement officer?

K
(shrugging)
No. It’s basic supply and demand. I have something you need. I can set the price.

[Malcolm chuckles to himself, amused.]

MALCOLM
Kid's getting a quality education.

MERCEDES
(smirking at Malcolm)
Better than most classes, I bet.

CARMEN
Too bad he won’t get the same one when he’s in juvenile detention.

[She leans on the table, scanning the operation like she’s doing a food inspection.]

CARMEN
You got a permit for this lemonade stand?

[K hesitates — eyes dropping like a permit might appear, then cutting to the tip jar, calculating if it’s enough for a bribe.]

K
Do you take lemonade as a bribe?

[Malcolm glances at Carmen like, “Is this conversation doing cartwheels?” Mercedes laughs quietly, shaking her head.]

MERCEDES
Depends. What’s the sugar to water ratio?

[CAMERA PULLS BACK — The four figures are locked in a silent standoff: the kid defensive but amused, the officers balanced between neighborhood goodwill and gentle authority. Mercedes tosses the rest of her lemonade into a nearby bush, still smirking.
The sound of a distant lawn mower drones in the background. A neighbor walks past with a dog, eyeing the stand suspiciously. K nudges the tip jar an inch closer to the edge — just in case.]

[END]


Present Day ♦ M Y K O N O S, G R E E C E

[REC•]

[The Cycladic sun blazes above, wind stirring the wild grasses of Fokos Beach. Mercedes stands alone on the sand, a sweep of turquoise water and unspoiled cliffs behind her. There is no noise, no crowd — just the serene power of nature, and her.]

"This is Fokos. Not the scene, not the hype. Just the truth. Mykonos isn’t only parties, bars, and noise. It’s places like this — raw, untouched, the kind of beauty that doesn’t need approval or attention. It stands the test of time, quietly owning every inch."

[Mercedes stands poised, Bombshell Internet Championship slung over her shoulder, its shine muted against the wild backdrop.]

"People talk about glamour, about what glitters. They chase what’s loud. But out here? You learn fast that noise fades — substance doesn’t. That’s been my story since day one."

[Mercedes’ lips curve slightly, with the kind of smile that says she’s already seen the ending of this story.]

"So here we are. Mykonos. Climax Control 433. Champion versus champion — you with the Bombshell Roulette Title, me with the Bombshell Internet Championship. No gold on the line this weekend, Harper… but make no mistake, this match still belongs to me."

[Her voice is level, almost disinterested — like stating a fact.]

"You can beat me, Harper. You’ve beaten me before — not once, but twice. I’m not going to stand here and pretend that didn’t happen. But those matches? They live two years in the past. If that’s what you’re holding onto now, it says more about where you’re stuck than where I am. If all you’re chasing is a feeling you already had years ago, the best you can do now is cling to it while I keep moving forward — champion, as always."

"Now, you probably think this is an opportunity. And maybe for you, it is. Maybe to you, this feels ‘fresh.’ New. An opening to make your mark. I can see how it might look that way. You’ve convinced yourself you’ve got an edge, that you’re walking into this with something I haven’t seen before. But newsflash?"

[Her tone subtly tightens — not loud, not brash, but cutting.]

"I’ve seen every version of you before. The fresh faces with the big talk. The ones who think a different paint job means a different car. Meanwhile, I’m the driver who’s been lapping the same track long enough to know every turn before it’s coming."

[She shifts her weight, one purposeful step toward the camera. Her shoulder angles slightly — an imposing stance, but smooth, never forced.]

"These cliffs behind me have been here long before any of us, shaped by every tide, unmoved by every storm. Out here, the waves don’t yield — and neither do I."

[She lets her hand smooth the title belt, positioning it better on her shoulder — not for show, but because it belongs there.]

"See, Harper… this isn’t about what moves you can pull off or how fast you can run the ropes. It’s about composure when the air gets thin. Strategy when the space closes in. And you won’t last if you can’t keep your head when the pace shifts — especially because I’m the one shifting it."

"You’ve got heart? Adorable. The thing about heart is, it’s a fantastic story until it breaks. And when the match hits that moment? When you realize that everything you came in thinking was going to work just… doesn’t? That’s when you’ll start asking yourself why you thought you could defeat me in the first place."

[The subtle venom in the “adorable” lingers as she takes another calculated step toward frame.]

"I don’t have to raise my voice, Harper, because facts don’t need volume. My facts are right here."

[She lifts the Bombshell Internet Championship into the frame, center plate catching the afternoon sun, held not high in a scream of triumph but casually, like a judge displaying evidence no one can refute.]

"You think this might be your moment? I’ve been everyone’s ‘moment’ at one point. The only difference is… when it’s over, it’s my hand the referee’s raising. That doesn’t happen because I’m lucky. It happens because I don’t hinge my chances on unpredictability — I make you predictable."

[She compresses the space between herself and the camera again, filling the frame more now — intensity climbing, but still delivered in that frosted-glass calm.]

"Do I hesitate sometimes? Sure. That’s the reality of competition. It’s weighing every angle before you commit. But when I walk into that ring and the lights hit, that moment’s gone. Hesitation doesn’t survive between bells. You either act with precision… or you fall into mine."

[Her gaze hardens — she’s not admitting weakness so much as translating it into power.]

"Harper Mason, you’ll walk into Mykonos thinking you’ve got options. That you can make me adjust to you. And maybe in those first few seconds, it might even look like you’re keeping up. That illusion will fade the second you realize you’ve been following my lead the whole time. That you’ve been dancing to my rhythm since the opening lock-up."

"You won’t see the end coming — you’ll just feel the mat hit your back and hear the count. And I won’t have to say, ‘I told you so.’ One glance at me with this championship still in my hands will be enough."

[Mercedes now lowers the belt, holding it at her side. No longer framed as a trophy — now it’s a weapon, a statement.]

"This weekend isn’t about hype. Hype fades the moment the noise dies down and the crowd clears. This is about control. It’s about who owns every step of the match. And that’s me. It always has been. The people who beat me? They don’t keep it. The people who stand across from me? They don’t forget it."

"You can test me, you can throw what you’ve got, but at the end of the night? I’m still here. Still champion. Still in control."

"Harper, when Climax Control 433 is over, you’ll go home knowing what so many before you have had to learn the hard way: When you step into my match — yes, my match — you’re walking into a design that was finished long before you got here. You’re just the latest variable. And I’ve already run every outcome. Spoiler — they all end the same way."

[She raises the title again, this time resting it against her midsection, hands firm on the main plate. Her stance is locked. The pace of her words slows, almost daring the camera to blink before she’s finished.]

"Long before you knew, and long after you'll remember."

[She lets one perfect beat of silence stretch. Then the faintest, knowing smirk touches her lips — not arrogance, but confirmation.]

"See you at Climax Control."

[***FADE***]

Blog: Almighty Fire
semana del 13 al 20 de julio de 2025

So, let’s talk about Summer XXXTreme. Triple threat match. Me versus Bella Madison versus Lilith. Management thinks they’re being clever, stacking the odds against me. But they’ve made it clear who should be feared. It’s not the wolves. It’s me.

Bella Madison. The eternal runner-up. Always rewriting history to justify her failures. That ‘loophole’ isn’t clever—it’s desperate. It's the last gasp of someone who knows, deep down, she can't beat me fair and square. You're like that kid on the playground who keeps changing the rules when they're losing. "No, no, that didn't count! I wasn't ready!" Pathetic doesn't begin to cover it.

You want to talk about respect? Respect is earned in this business, not handed out like participation trophies. And so far, all you've earned is my pity. You strut around with your little catchphrases and your Twitter tantrums, thinking you're making waves, but honey, you're barely making ripples in a puddle.

You finally took a singles title—but it took three years floundering before that chance arrived. The Bombshell Internet Championship should terrify you, Bella, because it’s everything you’ve never been: consistent, proven, undeniable.

You've spent your entire career trying to convince the world you’re the protagonist of this story. But newsflash, mamita: you’re not even the villain. You’re the punchline. The ‘almost’ when people talk about greatness. You’re the one who shows up, makes noise, and then fades into the background when the real work begins. You keep getting ‘robbed’ of your moment because you never earned it.

You’ve got the heart of a champion and the will to fight through anything. But that’s exactly what I’m counting on—because when you give it your all and still lose, that’s when you’ll know I’m on another level.

They say that in order to be great, you have to win twice. I've already beat you twice, Bella. Now imagine me beating you a third time—and picture how little that surprises anyone.

And Lilith? The dark horse. The wildcard. The woman who thinks intensity can substitute for strategy. I've watched you claw your way up, leaving blood and broken bodies in your wake. Impressive—if this were amateur hour. But this is my division, my spotlight, my era. Your darkness might swallow others whole, but against me? It's just another shadow I'll step through. I’ll give you credit: you’ve got presence. You’ve got mystique. But you know what you don’t have? Results. You’ve had your moments since your debut, but can you handle the pressure when the stakes are raised? You already failed once at Into the Void for the Bombshell Roulette Championship.

You can paint yourself in shadows, you can talk about chaos and carnage, but at the end of the day, wrestling isn’t about theatrics—it’s about winning. And when you step into the ring with me, Lilith, the only thing you’ll be haunting is your own shattered dreams.

The truth is, ladies, both of you are just footnotes in the Mercedes Vargas legacy. Years from now, when they talk about this era of SCW, your names will be mentioned only in relation to mine. Years from now, people will talk about this match. Not because of you. Because of what I did in spite of you. That is your place in this division—the ones I beat in full view of the world.

Management thinks they’re backing me into a corner. Giving two challengers a shot. That doesn’t weaken me. That makes what’s coming even more concrete. When I beat two of you at once, there won’t be excuses left. Because here's what scares everyone in SCW, from the locker room to the boardroom: Mercedes Vargas, unleashed. Mercedes Vargas, with nothing to lose. Mercedes Vargas, with a point to prove.

I didn't claw my way to the top by being nice. I didn't become champion by following rules. I became champion because I am, simply put, better than everyone else. And at Summer XXXTreme, I'm going to remind the world why.

Bella, you can hide behind your loopholes. Lilith, you can embrace your darkness. Management, you can stack the deck. None of it matters. Because when that bell rings, when the lights are brightest, when the pressure is at its peak—that's when Mercedes Vargas becomes inevitable.

So to everyone watching, to every fan who's ever doubted, to every competitor who's ever whispered that I got lucky: Summer XXXTreme isn't just another defense. It's a reckoning. It's the night when I silence the doubters, crush the pretenders, and cement my legacy not just as a champion, but as THE champion.

You both want to make a name for yourselves at my expense. You want to use Mercedes Vargas as your stepping stone. But here’s the thing about stepping stones—they’re solid. Unmovable. You can try to climb over me, but you’ll just end up flat on your back, staring at the lights, wondering where it all went wrong.

Everyone talks about making history, but most of you can’t even make a mark. That’s what separates me from the rest. I don’t just survive pressure—I thrive in it. I don’t just accept challenges—I demand them. I don’t need management’s approval, I don’t need the fans’ validation, and I sure as hell don’t need anyone’s permission to be great.

So here’s what’s going to happen at Summer XXXtreme: I’m going to walk into that ring, surrounded by doubters, haters, and wannabes. I’m going to stare down two challengers who think they’re hungry enough to take what’s mine. I’m going to show the world—again—why Mercedes Vargas is inevitable.

And when it’s over, when the dust settles and the bodies are cleared from the ring, I’ll still be standing. I’ll still be champion. And all that will be left for the rest of you is to pick up the pieces and wonder how you let greatness slip through your fingers—again.

To management: Keep stacking the deck. Keep throwing every obstacle you can find in my path. All you’re doing is making my legacy bulletproof. Every time you try to make me stumble, I rise higher. Every time you try to break me, I get stronger. You want to make an example out of me? Congratulations—you just did. But not the way you hoped.

To the locker room: Watch closely. Take notes. Because what you’re about to witness isn’t just another title defense—it’s a masterclass in dominance. It’s a reminder that while you’re all busy fighting for scraps, I’m feasting at the head of the table.

To the fans: Love me, hate me, cheer me, boo me—it doesn’t matter. Because deep down, you know the truth. You know that when Mercedes Vargas is on the card, you’re getting the main event. You’re getting history. You’re getting a champion who doesn’t just talk the talk, but walks the walk—every single night.

And to Bella and Lilith: Bring your best. Bring your worst. Bring every trick, every loophole, every ounce of desperation you’ve got. Because when you step into the ring with me, you’re not just fighting for a title—you’re fighting for relevance. For a place in history. For the right to say you went toe-to-toe with the greatest to ever do it.

But be warned: History doesn’t remember the runners-up. It doesn’t remember the “almosts.” It remembers the winners. The legends. The icons.

It remembers Mercedes Vargas.

So, here’s my final message, loud and clear: You can chase the spotlight, you can beg for opportunities, you can scream for respect—but as long as I’m here, you’ll always be standing in my shadow.

And trust me, that’s a cold place to be.

So, step up. Swing for the fences. Give me everything you’ve got. Because when you fail—and you will fail—don’t say I didn’t warn you.

The era of loopholes, excuses, and empty promises is over. The era of Mercedes Vargas is eternal.

So bring on the Ultimate X. Bring on the pool. Bring on the competition. Because I'm ready to make history one more time.

The question isn't who's going to let me, it's who's going to stop me.


ABOARD THE SUN PRINCESS
[INT. PRIVATE SUITE – NIGHT]

[The room is dim, sleek—modern cruise opulence muffled by shadow. Mercedes sits alone at a table, elbows resting wide. Her Bombshell Internet Championship lies in front of her, polished to near armor. She stares forward—not at it, through it. Behind her, sea and moonlight filter in through slanted blinds.

Mercedes keeps her voice low, but there’s no mistaking the edge behind it—controlled, unwavering.]

MERCEDES
I’ve already beaten her twice. No one cares.

[She picks up a file folder—Bella’s match history, complete with post-its and glitter stickers—and tosses it aside like it personally offended her.]

MERCEDES
The only thing louder than her hype machine... is the silence after I win. And now they’re giving me two opponents. What is this, a clearance sale?

[Ricardo, dressed sharp—pressed vest, phone in pocket. Always calculating. He’s scrolling through Lilith’s Instagram, which is 93% black-and-white candles and ominous song lyrics.]

RICARDO
You know why.

MERCEDES
Yeah. They want me cracked. They want someone young, marketable. Not the woman who’s already rewritten every record they pretend don’t matter.

[Mercedes stands—crosses slowly to the window as if she’s delivering a monologue in a Netflix special. Her cherry red nails tap the glass rhythmically, like a ticking clock counting down to someone else’s defeat.]

RICARDO
Lilith’s unpredictable. Bella’s durable.

[Mercedes cuts him off.]

MERCEDES
Lilith cosplays as a Suicide Girl reject and Bella couldn’t beat me with cheat codes and divine intervention. Come on.

[Mercedes arches an eyebrow, her gaze fixed ahead, unbothered—she doesn’t even need to look to make her point.]

MERCEDES
You make it sound like experience is enough.

[Door opens. Hugo walks in. Hoodie. Broad shoulders. He doesn’t say hello. Doesn’t need to.]

HUGO
It is. If you still want it.

[Mercedes turns. Holds Hugo’s stare. Doesn’t speak.]

HUGO
You’ve been going through the motions. You show up. You destroy. But you haven’t made anyone feel it lately. This one needs blood.

[He tosses hand wraps on the table. They land beside the belt. A challenge.]

RICARDO
If she gives them blood, she gives them momentum. That’s what they’re waiting for—make her slip so they can say, ‘She’s lost a step.’

[Mercedes shakes her head.]

MERCEDES
No.

[She walks to the table. Picks up the wraps. Tightens them in her fist like she wants them to bleed, too.]

MERCEDES
They’re not expecting me to slip. They’re praying I do. Because if I win again—clean, decisive, unbothered?

[She pauses, adjusts the belt like an accessory, not a trophy.]

MERCEDES
There’s nothing left to question.

RICARDO
They’ll call you boring.

MERCEDES
Good. I excel at boring people with excellence.

[She sits down again, the wraps still in hand.]

MERCEDES
They’re already rewriting history. Like I haven’t held this division together for years. Like I didn’t build a dynasty out of dominance and call it a legacy.

[Door knocks twice, then opens. Irma steps in—older, poised, professional. She closes the door quietly.]

IRMA
Lilith sent another haiku. I still don’t know what it means, but it’s bleeding edge character work.

[She sighs. Tosses a folded note onto Ricardo’s tablet like a blackjack dealer.]

IRMΑ
It’s eerie. But it’s also... good. In that creepy “she-may-murder-us” Etsy witchcore kind of way.

[Everyone chuckles but Mercedes. She brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear.]

IRMA
You okay?

[Mercedes doesn’t answer. Hugo and Ricardo step aside. Irma approaches. She gently adjusts Mercedes’ hair—one of the few who gets to. Mercedes closes her eyes for a beat.]

IRMA
I know what this match feels like. You don’t want to just beat them. You want to erase them.

[Irma opens a mini fridge, grabs a bottle of water, tosses it underhand to Hugo. Silence builds.]

MERCEDES
They earned this match on technicalities. Bella with fine print. Lilith with presence. Not performance. And yet they pretend I’m the one with something to prove. This isn’t destiny. This is mercy. And it’s running out.

[She sets the wraps back on the title. Everyone’s energy shifts.]

MERCEDES
I don’t want them questioning why I’m champion. I want them questioning why they ever thought they could be.

[Everyone stands still, the tension stewing. Hugo grabs the wraps. Irma collects the files. Ricardo taps the tablet and nods.]

IRMA
You ready?

MERCEDES
Born ready. Raised better. Booked best.

[Lights dim darker as the ship vibrates slightly beneath them—engine turning under the sea. Mercedes runs a hand across the gold plate of her title, fingers resting just beneath her nameplate.

[Mercedes lowers her voice, each word laced with venom.]

MERCEDES
And when the night ends…

[She looks off like she hears dramatic music.]

MERCEDES
They’ll still be drowning. But with a front-row view of my greatness.

[END]


Present Day ♦ T H E S U N P R I N C E S S

[REC•]

[The Sun Princess cruise ship, Observation Deck. The moonlight glints off the endless ocean. Mercedes Vargas stands at the railing, city lights far behind, the wind tugging at her hair. She faces the camera, posture regal, lips painted a venomous red, a glass of champagne in hand. Her gaze is cool, unblinking, and every word lands with the weight of a gavel.]

"Let’s get down to business, shall we?"

"The threats, the sermons, the declarations of war—they echo through halls like cheap karaoke: all bravado, no melody. But here’s the difference between you and me—I don’t talk to set the world on fire. I walk in... and the room adjusts."

"You want to know what pressure feels like, Bella? That tightness in your chest? The weight in your lungs? That’s not the sea air. That’s me. That’s the feeling of a champion you can’t touch and a legacy you can’t rewrite."

"Since Into the Void, you’ve chased my shadow, convinced you’re owed something. You threw your best at me and still came up empty. And now, here you are again—hoping something’s changed. But let me make it clear, Bella... nothing’s changed. I’m the same woman who beat you before. Only now, I have no hesitation. No patience. Just pain.”

[Mercedes steps forward, the camera following her as she passes a bronzed caricature artist sketching another guest—a face being covered in darker lines. She throws a glance at the portrait and smirks.]

"That’s you, Bella. Covering cracks with fake confidence and new coats of paint. Desperate for someone—anyone—to believe your hype. But hype doesn't last—and you? You’re already fading."

[She rises to the railing again, the vast dark water behind her. Her stare sharpens.]

"And now you’re back again, hoping things are different. They’re not. I’m the same woman who beat you before—only now, there’s no hesitation. No patience. Just pain. I’ll break you faster than last time, and this time, when it ends, no one’s going to call it controversial. They’re going to call it what it is: domination.

[She rises to the railing again, the vast dark water behind her. Her stare sharpens.]

"You’re not stepping into just any match. You’re stepping into my ring, on my division, with my legacy.. I hope you’re ready for the kind of pressure that crushes dreams, because once that bell rings, there’s no turning back. No hashtags, no retweets, no second chances, no crowd to hide behind. Just you, me, and the cold, hard truth: you’re out of your depth."

"And Lilith—let’s not leave the horror out of the story, shall we? You call yourself a nightmare. The consequence. The reckoning. You lurk in shadow, whispering about pain, fear, and madness like they’re weapons. You talk in riddles—I stack results. While you were learning how to lace your boots, I was building the very foundation this division stands on.

Last time you stepped into real pressure, you folded. All the darkness in the world doesn’t help when the lights hit hardest. You want fear? I’m not scared of you. You want pain? I’ve given more than you’ve taken. And when it’s time to climb, when that structure hangs overhead and the screams start? I’ll be the one pulling the title down. You’ll both still be looking up."

[Footsteps drum lightly near a shuffleboard game a few feet away. Mercedes steps over a line painted in gold.]

"You both want this championship? You want to end my reign? Talk won’t get you there. Fire won’t get you there. You’ll have to be better than you’ve ever been. And even then, it still won’t be enough. You better be ready to lose more than just a match, mamita. You better be ready to give everything—mind, body, and soul. Because I won’t just fight to keep this title—I’ll fight to break you, to remind every girl in the back why Mercedes Vargas is the name they whisper when the lights go out. I’ll fight to remind everyone watching why I am the Bombshell Internet Champion. You want to make history? I’ll make you history. You want to be remembered? I’ll make sure you’re remembered—for the beating you couldn’t survive and the lesson you never saw coming."

[She stops near the edge of the upper deck, where a group of guests participate in a fitness bootcamp. One stumbles during a high-knees drill and drops out. Mercedes watches him fall behind before turning back.]

"You talk a big game, but when you step into this ring with me, all those words are going to mean nothing. Because I’m not just defending this title—I’m defending my legacy. And I’m going to make sure that when the dust settles, the only thing left standing is the champion.

[She presses her boot into the netting beside the climbing wall, one of many obstacles lining the course. She leans into the rope.]

"And when it’s all said and done, when the lights fade and the crowd goes silent, you’ll understand what it really means to step to Mercedes Vargas. You’ll know what it’s like to come up short against the very best."

[She glances over the side of the deck where diving practice continues in the pool below, then lowers her voice.]

"This isn’t some story where the hero rises or the monster wins. This is real life. And in real life, I win. I’ve made careers disappear. I’ve turned buzz into silence. And the two of you put together still don’t make a real threat."

[She pulls the title off her shoulder, holds it at her side like a weapon.

"At Summer XXXTreme, nobody’s walking out with this but me. You can bleed. You can scream. You can throw everything you’ve got."

[Her voice drops, now low and final.]

"And it still won’t be enough."

[The hum of the ship continues. Somewhere, music plays faintly from an upper deck.]

"People say this is a new era—fresh faces, fresh energy. But eras don’t change until someone rips the crown from my head and until someone actually steps up and takes the throne. And you? You’re still just knocking at the door, hoping someone lets you in. Meanwhile, I built this house. I set the rules. And I decide who gets to stay."

"You’re hungry? Good. Because I’m starving for another victim. And out here, only the ruthless survive. I’ve made a career out of turning hopefuls into has-beens."

"And let’s be honest, you’ve had your moments—but moments don’t make legends. Consistency does. Resilience does. The kind of resilience that only comes from standing in this ring, night after night, with everything on the line and everyone gunning for you. I’ve done it. I’m still doing it. And you? You’re about to find out how heavy this crown really is."

"So when you walk down that ramp at Summer XXXtreme, soak it in. Feel the energy. Because that’s as close as you’ll ever get to this championship. When the bell rings, all the noise fades, and it’s just you and me—no more hype, no more hashtags, just reality."

"And that reality, is that Mercedes Vargas always finds a way to win. I hope you’re ready to learn that lesson the hard way when I break your spirit, shatter your confidence, and send you back to obscurity where you belong."

[Beat.]

"Bella, at Into the Void, I stripped away your relevance, your pride, and your very identity, piece by piece. At Climax Control 426, I suffocated your dreams of taking the Bombshell Internet Championship. Lilith, I shut down your opportunity for a title opportunity the first time.

This time at Summer XXXTreme, aboard that cruise ship, in front of the entire world, you will look me in the eye, and you will realize that I am going to have to beat you."

"You will have to find something deeper than heart. Something more brutal than fire. Because to truly beat me, ladies, you can't just want it. You can't even just fight for it."

[She leans in, voice sinking.]

"You’d have to kill me."

[She smirks, hoisting the title higher on her shoulder, her eyes never leaving the camera.]

"Good luck surviving that."

"Prepare for the worst, hope for the best. And may the odds be ever in your favor."

[***FADE TO BLACK***]

Blog: Almighty Fire
semana del 29 de junio al 7 de julio de 2025

OK, let's get one thing straight from the jump: there’s a difference between being a champion and acting like one. But apparently, in Sin City Wrestling, definitions are as loose as Bella Madison’s grasp on reality—or her Twitter password.

So, I log into Twitter, minding my own business, and what do I see? Bella Madison, the perennial sidekick of her own story, chirping away about loopholes and crayons. Sweetheart, if I needed a lesson in coloring outside the lines, I’d ask a toddler, not someone who’s been coloring her career with excuses since day one.

Let’s recap for those in the cheap seats:

After Into the Void:
I had a “bad night.” Oh, the horror. Newsflash: even legends have off nights. But unlike some, I don’t need a support group and a hashtag every time I stub my toe. I move on. Winners do.

Climax Control, two weeks after that:
Suddenly, matches “don’t count.” The mental gymnastics required to keep up with Bella’s logic would put Simone Biles to shame. Apparently, if you don’t like the outcome, just say “REASONS” and hope nobody asks for specifics.

Now, Summer XXXtreme:
Bella wants another shot. Because, of course, the world revolves around her rematch clause. She’s out here acting like the only thing standing between her and greatness is a technicality. Honey, it’s called talent. Look it up.

And then, the pièce de résistance:

“IT'S CALLED A LOOPHOLE, BITCH.”

Oh, Bella. Such language. I suppose when you run out of arguments, all that’s left is to shout into the void (no pun intended) and hope someone retweets you. Maybe next time, she should try a puppet show. I hear that’s more her speed.

But let’s talk about respect. I requested Bella vs. Crystal at the go-home show. Denied. Instead, Bella has the night off, I get Kayla Richards this weekend, and then, at Summer XXXtreme, I’m defending my title in a triple threat against Bella and Lilith. Let’s pause for a moment. Triple threat. As in, I have to beat two challengers at once. Because apparently, being the best isn’t enough. Now, I have to prove it against double the competition. Outrageous doesn’t even begin to cover it. I’m the champion. I should be calling the shots. But apparently, in SCW, respect is a one-way street. Bella gets handed opportunities on a silver platter, while I have to jump through hoops just to get a fair fight. Funny how that works.

Meanwhile, Bella wonders if I thought I could “get away with making that match.” Sweetheart, I don’t “get away” with anything—I earn my opportunities. Unlike some, I don’t need to dig through the rulebook for loopholes. My legacy isn’t built on technicalities; it’s built on victories.

And just when you think the circus is over, Victoria Lyons chimes in—Bombshell Roulette Champion, self-appointed voice of reason:

“Instead of complaining, why don’t you just woman up and handle your flies?”

Victoria, darling, I’d love to, but it’s hard to swat flies when you’re constantly surrounded by gnats buzzing about rematches and loopholes. Maybe if everyone spent less time whining and more time training, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.

If Bella spent half as much time perfecting her craft as she does perfecting her victim complex, maybe she'd be champion by now. But hey, not everyone can be Mercedes Vargas. Thank God for that.

I don’t need loopholes. I don’t need hand puppets. I don’t need to shout in all caps to make my point. My resume speaks for itself. But if SCW management wants to stack the odds, I say bring it. Triple threat? Fine. I’ll beat two at once. Maybe then, Bella will finally get the hint: you can’t loophole your way to greatness.

That’s what separates me from the rest. I don’t just survive pressure—I thrive in it. I don’t just accept challenges—I demand them. I don’t need management’s approval, I don’t need the fans’ validation, and I sure as hell don’t need anyone’s permission to be great.

So, to all the would-be contenders, the loophole hunters, and the self-appointed keyboard warriors among you: Step up or step aside. Because while you’re busy arguing about crayons and clauses, I’ll be busy doing what I do best—winning.

And that, darlings, is the only lesson you’ll ever need.

So, here we are. Another weekend, another match, another opportunity for Mercedes Vargas to remind the world why this division revolves around me.

Now let's get one thing straight: I don’t overlook anyone. I don’t underestimate anyone. That’s why I’m still champion, and everyone else is fighting for scraps. But when it comes to Kayla Richards, the World Bombshell Champion herself, stepping up to face me, I can’t help but notice a familiar pattern—big talk, bigger ambitions, and when the lights are brightest? That’s when the real stars shine.

Let’s be clear: Kayla’s reign as World Bombshell Champion is impressive. No one can deny she’s earned her spot at the top of that division. She's a champion in every sense of the word. But this weekend, the spotlight isn’t just on Kayla’s belt, it’s on her heart, her grit, and her ability to handle the pressure that comes with facing me.

This isn’t just another match. This is a collision of legacies. The Bombshell Internet Champion versus the World Bombshell Champion. The woman who holds the division’s spotlight versus the woman who is the spotlight.

So, what can the SCW Universe expect this weekend? Simple: A show-stealer. A match that reminds everyone why the Bombshell division is the best in the business. Expect fireworks. Expect a battle that will have everyone on the edge of their seats. Expect two women who refuse to back down, who refuse to settle for second best.

And when the final bell rings? Expect Mercedes Vargas to still be standing—because I don’t just defend my title, I defend my legacy.

This weekend isn’t about loopholes, excuses, or Twitter drama. It’s about wrestling. It’s about legacy. It’s about proving, once again, that when you step into the ring with Mercedes Vargas, you step into greatness.

This weekend, it’s more than just pride on the line. It’s about proving who truly runs this division. Who deserves the spotlight. Who’s the real queen of SCW.

So to Kayla Richards, before our collision this weekend: Don't mistake my confidence for arrogance. Don't mistake my words for empty threats. What you're hearing is the voice of a woman who has been forged in fire, who has turned pain into power, who has transformed setbacks into comebacks.

You're good, Kayla. Maybe even great. But I'm legendary.

When we lock up, when we stand toe to toe, when we push each other to our limits, remember this moment. Remember that I warned you. Remember that I saw through your facade of confidence to the doubt that lingers beneath.

Because that's the difference between us. You hope you can win. I know I will.

So bring your title. Bring your best. Bring everything you've got. It won't be enough. It's never enough against Mercedes Vargas.

The spotlight doesn't find me—I command it. The crowd doesn't cheer for me—I demand it. Success doesn't come to me—I seize it.

That's not arrogance. That's not hype. That's the cold, hard truth that everyone in Sin City Wrestling has to face eventually: In a world of contenders, there's only one Mercedes Vargas.

Will Kayla’s World Bombshell title shine brighter, or will my Bombshell Internet championship—and my legacy—outshine her? The answer lies in the ring.

This is the moment. This is the match. This is Mercedes Vargas, reminding the world why I’m not just in the spotlight—I am the spotlight.

Kayla Richards. Mercedes Vargas. Two champions, two titles, one ring—and only one can walk out standing tall.

And after this weekend, after I've beaten Kayla Richards, after I've demolished both Bella Madison and Lilith Locke at Summer XXXtreme, maybe—just maybe—they'll finally understand what I've been saying all along:

This isn't just my time. This is my legacy. This is my dynasty.

And dynasties don't fall. They reign.

So come at me with your loopholes, your darkness, your titles, your threats. Throw everything you have at me. And when the dust settles, when the smoke clears, look for me.

I'll be the one still standing. Still champion. Still Mercedes Vargas.

I’m not out to prove if I still got it. I’m here to remind the world I never lost it.


B O U L D E R • C O L O R A D O

[The same boulder at Garden of the Gods, late afternoon. The sky is streaked with soft hues of orange and pink. Mercedes sits hunched on the boulder, elbows on her knees, her championship belt draped loosely across her lap. Her breath clouds in the cooling air. She absently rubs her thumb over the metal plate of the belt, lost in thought.]

“You ever lie awake at night, replaying every time you almost walked away? Every time you wondered if any of this was worth it—if you were worth it?”

[She pauses, her eyes fixed on the horizon, fingers tightening around the belt. A gust of wind stirs her hair. She closes her eyes for a moment, steadying herself.]

“But then I remember why I started. Every door slammed in my face, every ‘you’ll never make it.’ And the first time I held this belt—how heavy it was. How real."

[She swallows hard, voice cracking just a little. She shifts, sitting up straighter, as if bracing herself against the weight of memory.]

“I’m not just fighting Bella and Lilith soon. I’m fighting every shadow that ever tried to swallow me. And I’m still here. Still standing.”

[She exhales slowly, shoulders dropping as a quiet resolve settles over her. She runs her palm along the rough surface of the boulder, grounding herself.]

“This isn’t just about winning. It’s about proving to myself that I’m more than the doubts, more than the pain. I’m still here.”

[Suddenly, footsteps approach softly from behind. Irma appears, carrying a giant thermos and a suspiciously large sandwich.]

IRMA:
You look like you need a snack and a pep talk. Lucky for you, I brought both.

[Irma sits beside Mercedes, plopping the sandwich on the boulder and offering the thermos.]

MERCEDES:
Is that… a triple-decker? Irma, we’re supposed to be training, not eating our weight in carbs.

IRMA:
Hey, fueling up is part of the process. Besides, champions need carbs. And that belt looks better with a full stomach.

[Mercedes fiddles with the belt, pretending it’s a fashion accessory.]

MERCEDES:
I’m scared, Irma. Not just of Bella and Lilith. I’m scared of losing myself—of fighting so hard I forget who I am. What if I start talking in nothing but wrestling promos?

IRMA:
“Then you better start practicing your ‘What?’ chants. But seriously, you’re stronger than you think. You’ve faced down every doubt, every shadow, and every bad haircut. And you’re still standing."

[Mercedes shifts, tracing the edge of her championship belt with trembling fingers. She lets out a shaky breath, gaze dropping to her hands.]

MERCEDES:
Sometimes I wonder if this belt is a chain, not a crown. If it’s just another way to trap me in a fight I can’t win. What if all I am is this title? What happens when it’s gone?

[Irma leans in, voice steady and warm. She reaches over, gently turning the belt so the nameplate faces her.]

IRMA:
The belt doesn’t make you—you make the belt. It’s just proof of what you’ve survived, every scar you turned into armor. Bella and Lilith can’t take that. Even if you lost it tomorrow, you’d still be the woman who never quit.

[Mercedes breathes deeply, the tension in her shoulders easing just a moment.]

MERCEDES:
I want to believe that. I want to believe I’m more than the fear, more than the mistakes. But mostly, I want to believe this thermos has coffee in it.

IRMA:
Better. It’s hot chocolate. Because sometimes champions need a little sweetness. And you on more caffeine? No thanks.

[Mercedes laughs, then takes a big sip from the thermos.]

MERCEDES:
Okay, I take it back—hot chocolate is the real championship fuel.

IRMA:
See? I told you. Forget protein shakes. Next time, I’m bringing churros.

MERCEDES:
Churros? Now you’re talking. Think I can get a snack break written into my contract?

IRMA:
Only if you promise not to hit anyone with a baguette again.

MERCEDES:
That was one time! And technically, it was a breadstick.

[They both burst out laughing, the tension broken, as the sun dips lower behind the rocks.]

MERCEDES:
Heard The Floating Penalty Box is going all out for the Fourth of July.

IRMA:
Nothing like celebrating freedom with a side of root beer BBQ wings and a river breeze. I’m already dreaming of those bacon-wrapped poppers. Tomas keeps bragging about those sweet potato tots and his house-made fry sauce. Honestly, that sauce deserves its own trophy.

MERCEDES:
If I win Sunday, I’m claiming the biggest slice of that berry pie. No questions asked.

IRMA:
And I’ll be right there, making sure you don’t get distracted by the fireworks and forget who you’re supposed to be beating next. Kayla Richards is no joke.

MERCEDES:
Deal. But if I lose, you’re buying me a round of those “Delayed Penalty” cheeseburgers.

IRMA:
You’re on. But fair warning—those burgers are almost as dangerous as Kayla's finishing move.

MERCEDES:
Good. I like a challenge—on the plate or in the ring.

END


Present Day ♦ G R A N D J U N C T I O N • C O L O R A D O

[REC•]

[Sidewalk Café, late morning. Mercedes Vargas sits at a sun-drenched bistro table, the bustle of Grand Junction reflected in her sunglasses. She’s dressed impeccably: crisp white blouse, tailored slacks, designer heels. Her Bombshell Internet Championship belt is draped over the back of her chair, just visible to the camera. She checks her phone, then sets it aside, crossing her legs with practiced elegance.

[She lifts her coffee cup, savoring a slow sip. Her Hall of Fame rings catch the sunlight as she sets the cup down with a soft clink. She leans back, a knowing smile playing at her lips as she looks straight into the camera.]

"You know, there’s something refreshing about Grand Junction in the summer. The air is clean, the sun is bright, and the people… well, they’re not nearly as bitter as some of the company I keep in Sin City Wrestling."

[Mercedes idly drums her fingers on the table, her Hall of Fame rings glinting. She glances at her phone, scrolling briefly before locking the screen and placing it face-down. She picks up a silver spoon, stirring her coffee with a gentle swirl, unhurried and precise.]

"I always appreciate when someone takes the time to talk about me at length. Kayla certainly has a way with words—so many of them, in fact, I almost needed a second cup of coffee to get through her little TED Talk. But don’t worry, I took notes. I always do. Some of us like to be prepared for the test."

[Mercedes casually stirs her coffee, a faint smirk tugging at her lips as she glances over the rim of her cup, clearly amused.]

"First, let me say how touching it is to hear you finally admit what I’ve known all along: I’m not so easy to get rid of. I mean, you’ve practically made a hobby out of telling me to quit. You begged, you pleaded, you even tried reverse psychology. I haven’t seen that much effort since the last time you tried to convince yourself you were humble. Or the last time you tried to convince the world you’re not obsessed with me."

[She pauses, letting the words hang in the air, then leans back with a playful roll of her eyes.]

"But I get it. It must be exhausting, constantly trying to keep up with someone who refuses to fade quietly into the background. While you’re busy counting titles and talking legacy, I’m busy making moves—quietly, efficiently, without the need for a spotlight every step of the way."

[Mercedes taps her rings lightly on the table.]

"The “I’m not a bitch, I just play one on TV” routine is so you, Kayla. I have to admit, you do arrogance like nobody else—except maybe me, but I do it with better shoes."

[She glances down, shifting her foot to show off her designer heels, then looks back up with a sly smirk.]

"You’ve got a lot of opinions about who’s “over the hill” and who should retire, but let’s be honest—you talk about legends like you’re not desperate to become one. You’ve set records, collected titles like Starbucks rewards points. But for someone “untouchable,” you sure spend a lot of time talking about everyone else’s legacy."

[She leans in, lowering her sunglasses just enough to reveal a glint in her eye, her voice soft and conspiratorial.]

"But here’s the thing, Kayla. You keep asking me to walk away, but you never seem to ask yourself why I’m still here. Maybe it’s because I love this business. Or maybe it’s because every time you think you’ve got me figured out, I give you something new to worry about. Like, say, this Bombshell Internet Championship. Looks good on me, doesn’t it? Almost as good as that World Bombshell Championship looks good on you—back when you still smiled in your photos."

[Mercedes takes another sip of coffee, unbothered.]

"You say you’ve never given me your best. That’s cute. It’s easier to claim you were holding back than admit you just couldn’t put me away. But hey, if you need to tell yourself bedtime stories to sleep at night, who am I to judge? Some of us count sheep, others count excuses. Guess which one sleeps better at night?"

[She scrolls idly on her phone, then sets it down, her attention returning to the camera as she leans forward, elbows on the table.]

"You want to talk about hunger, about motivation, about legacy? Sweetheart, I built mine while you were still figuring out which side of your face photographs better. And I didn’t need to tear down every woman in the locker room to do it. See, that’s the difference between us: I don’t need to be the loudest in the room, because my actions speak for themselves. Bombshell Internet Champion, and still here. Still winning. Still making history, even when people like you pray for my downfall."

[Mercedes flashes a dazzling smile, her tone light but her words sharp. She uncrosses her legs, shifting in her chair to face the camera more directly]

"And let’s be honest, Kayla, you can’t resist coming back to this well, can you? No matter how many times you try to move on, you keep finding yourself face-to-face with me. Almost poetic, really. Remember the last time you tried to write me off? You walked out thinking you’d silenced me for good. But here I am, still standing, still winning, still the name you can’t escape."

[She picks up her phone, scrolling idly as she continues.]

"It’s adorable that you’re proud of me. I’ll be sure to send you a thank-you card—maybe even a fruit basket. I hear humility pairs well with citrus. And if you’re lucky, I’ll autograph it for you. A keepsake for when you’re feeling nostalgic. But let’s not pretend this is charity, Kayla. You know as well as I do that every time I step up, I force you to step up, too. That’s why you’re finally giving me your best, right? Because you know anything less just isn’t enough anymore."

[She leans back, crossing her legs, championship gleaming.]

"So here’s what’s going to happen, Kayla. You’re going to walk into our match with all the confidence in the world, and I’m going to walk in with all the experience in it. You’ll try to make an example out of me, and I’ll remind you—gently, of course—that you can’t kill a legend. You can only hope to keep up."

[Mercedes winks at the camera, then stands, gathering her purse and slinging it over her shoulder with effortless grace. She picks up her championship belt, draping it over her arm, and saunters down Main Street. The camera follows, heels clicking confidently on the pavement]

[She passes a mural of the Colorado River, pausing to let the sun catch her hair. She gestures to the mural, voice soft but pointed.]

"There's something poetic about this town. A place where the river carves its own path through stubborn rock, where the landscape refuses to be tamed. It reminds me a lot of this business we’re in—the wrestling world. You can try to shape it, control it, dominate it, but there’s always going to be someone ready to push back, to carve out their own legacy."

[She brushes her fingers along the painted river, then turns back to the camera.]

"That river? That’s me. Flowing, relentless, and always finding a way forward, no matter the obstacles. You? You’re the rock. Solid, sure, but worn down by time and pressure. And no matter how hard you try to hold your ground, eventually, you erode."

[Mercedes smiles, a mix of kindness and challenge. She resumes her walk, passing local shops and art galleries, occasionally glancing in windows, her stride never faltering.]

"I’ve been watching you the last three  years, Kayla. Watching you build your empire, stacking those titles like trophies on a shelf. But here’s the thing about empires—they’re fragile. Built on fear, on intimidation, on the illusion of perfection. And when the foundation cracks, the whole thing comes tumbling down."

[She starts walking again, passing local shops and art galleries, occasionally glancing in windows, her stride never faltering.]

"You say you’re “built different.” That you’re better than anyone who’s come before or after you. That you’re the standard by which all others are measured. That’s a bold claim. And I respect confidence—I really do. But confidence without humility is just arrogance. And arrogance? Well, that’s a dangerous game."

[Mercedes passes a jewelry store, her gaze lingering on the sparkling display before she pivots gracefully, meeting the camera’s eye.]

"You talk about me like I’m some relic, some fading star clinging to the past. But I’m not here to relive the past. I’m here to make new history. To redefine what it means to be a champion in this division. To show that experience and heart can still outshine youth and flash."

[She laughs softly, shaking her head, then adjusts her sunglasses, pushing them higher up her nose.]

"You think this is about age? About who’s “over the hill” and who’s “past their prime”? That’s a tired narrative. Wrestling isn’t a young person’s game—it’s a fighter’s game. And I’m still fighting. Still hungry. Still hungry enough to stare down someone like you and say, “Bring it.”"

[Mercedes’s expression hardens, eyes narrowing with intensity as she stops at the curb, waiting for the crosswalk signal.]

"You say you’re afraid of what would happen if I beat you. That it would be the “death of your legacy.” That’s adorable. But here’s a little secret: legacies aren’t built on avoiding defeat. They’re built on how you respond to it. On how you rise after you fall. On how you keep going when everyone else expects you to quit."

[She steps closer to the camera, voice dropping to a confident whisper.]

"And if I beat you? That won’t be the end of your legacy, Kayla. It’ll be the start of a new chapter. One where you finally learn humility. One where you finally learn what it really means to be challenged. To be pushed. To be humbled. Because that’s how champions grow. Not by talking themselves up, but by proving themselves in the ring."

[Mercedes straightens, smoothing her dress and sliding her sunglasses back up. She glances at the mountains in the distance, gesturing with her free hand.]

"I’m not here to break you. I’m here to elevate this division. To raise the bar. To inspire every woman who’s been told she’s too old, too small, too “not enough” to chase her dreams. Because I’m living proof that it’s never too late to rewrite your story."

[She gestures to the mountains in the distance, their peaks glowing in the late morning sun.]

"Look at those peaks. Majestic, unyielding. They didn’t get that way by standing still. They got there by weathering storms, by enduring the harshest conditions, by standing tall no matter what."

[Mercedes turns back to the camera, eyes shining with conviction. She rests her hand on her championship belt, thumb tracing the gold.]

"That’s what I bring to this match. Not just skill or strength, but heart. Experience. The kind of resilience that only comes from decades in this business. And that, Kayla, is something you can’t fake. Something you can’t buy. Something you have to earn."

[She smiles slyly, stepping off the curb as the crosswalk light changes.]

"They say wisdom comes with age. Lucky for me, I'm dripping in both. So, Kayla, by all means—bring your best. Bring the fire, the bravado, the monologues. I’ll bring the experience, the resilience, and the inconvenient truth that legends don’t die just because you wish they would. They evolve. They adapt. And sometimes, they remind you why you started chasing greatness in the first place."

[Mercedes walks confidently across the street, the camera pulling back to capture the vibrant life of Grand Junction around her—families, artists, the distant hum of summer. She pauses, looking back over her shoulder with a final, confident smile.]

"When we step into that ring, Kayla, don’t expect the “crusty old bitch” you think you know. Expect the champion who refuses to be written off. The woman who’s still got plenty of fight left. The one who’s going to remind you—and everyone watching—why I’m still here.

"And to everyone out there watching—get ready. Because this isn’t just a match. It’s a battle for respect. For legacy. For the future of the Bombshells division.

[Mercedes stands at the edge of the crosswalk, glancing up at the traffic light. She tightens her grip on the championship belt, draws a steadying breath, and steps forward with purpose as the signal changes, her silhouette framed by the morning sun.]

"So here’s to Climax Control 430—champion versus champion, legacy versus legacy. May the best woman win, Kayla. And if, by some chance, you find yourself needing a little pep talk after, don’t worry. I’m always happy to lend a hand. After all, I’ve made a career out of helping women like you remember who set the standard in the first place."

[Fade out as Mercedes crosses the street, the sun casting long shadows behind her, the sounds of Grand Junction fading into the background.]

[***Fade***]

Blog: Almighty Fire
semana del 1 al 8 de junio de 2025

Alright, let’s talk. Let’s really talk. Because this Sunday at Climax Control, the world’s about to see something special. Something unforgettable. And I’m not just talking about another match—I’m talking about a moment that’s gonna be written in the history books. A moment where Mercedes Vargas reminds everyone why she’s the one to beat.

But before we get to Sunday, let’s rewind a little. Two weeks ago, in Paris—the city of lights, the city of love, and, as it turns out, the city where dreams come to die for anyone who steps in the ring with me. Into the Void. That’s where it all went down. That’s where Bella Madison thought she had a shot. That’s where she realized—too late—that she was in way over her head.

Let me tell you something about Paris. It’s beautiful, but not everyone gets to leave with a souvenir. Bella tried, but the only thing she took home was another lesson—courtesy of yours truly. And honestly? She should be thanking me. Not many people get a front-row seat to greatness. Most just get a free lesson in humility. But Bella? She got both.

That night, I showed the world what I’m made of. I showed Bella what it takes to be a champion. And when the dust settled, when the crowd was on their feet, when the lights were shining down on me and that title was around my waist—that’s when she knew. That’s when everyone knew. Mercedes Vargas is the real deal. The rest? They’re just playing catch-up.

But here’s the thing about being at the top: you never get to rest. There’s always someone nipping at your heels, always someone thinking they can take what’s yours. And this time, it’s Bella again. She wants a rematch. She wants another shot at the title. And you know what? I get it. I’d want another shot too, if I were her. But wanting ain’t getting, and getting ain’t keeping. And this title? It’s not going anywhere.

Let’s talk about Bella. She’s got heart, talent, and a legion of fans behind her. She’s got the passion, the drive—and after tasting defeat in Paris, she’s hungrier than ever for redemption. That hunger makes her dangerous, but it still won’t be enough to take this title from me. Not now, not ever. Bella’s story is one of perseverance. She’s been in this business for years, grinding, fighting, always coming up just short. She’s had her share of wins, but the big one has always eluded her. That’s why she wanted this match so bad. That’s why she gave everything she had in Paris. And that’s why she’s coming back for more. But let’s be real—sometimes, being the people’s champ is just a fancy way of saying you’re still chasing the real thing. And honey, I am the real thing.

I get it, everyone wants a second chance. But sometimes, the story’s already been written. Bella’s looking for redemption, but she’s still trying to figure out the ending.

Bella’s been grinding for years, and I respect that. I really do. But respect doesn’t win matches. It just reminds you how far you still have to go. And for Bella, that journey isn’t over—it’s just getting longer. Because every time she thinks she’s close, I’m there to remind her that the top is still out of reach. I’ve seen the way she trains, the way she talks, the way she carries herself. She’s all heart, all effort, all the time. And that’s admirable. But at the end of the day, effort doesn’t put titles around your waist. Skill does. Determination does. And a little bit of that Vargas magic—that’s what gets it done.

People ask me, “Mercedes, why are you so sure? Why are you so confident?” People love to call me arrogant, but let's face it—I've earned the right to be. I’ve fought and beaten every kind of challenger, and Bella is just another name on that list. She thinks she can walk in and take what’s mine, but this Sunday, she’ll learn again: you don’t just step up to Mercedes Vargas—you have to earn it. And so far, Bella hasn’t earned a damn thing.

This title is more than a trophy—it’s a symbol of everything I’ve fought for and overcome. I’ve been counted out and underestimated before, but I always come back stronger. This Sunday, I’m not just defending my title—I’m defending my legacy. And I’m not about to let anyone, especially not Bella Madison, stand in my way.

This Sunday, I’m not just looking to win—I’m looking to dominate and prove, once and for all, that Mercedes Vargas is the best. This is about respect, legacy, and showing I belong at the top. The stakes are high. For Bella, it’s about redemption. For me, it’s about proving that I’m still the best in the world. The fans are split—some want to see Bella finally get her moment, others want to see me continue my reign. The tension is real, and you can feel it in the air. But let’s be real: this isn’t about what the fans want. It’s about what I want. And I want to remind everyone why I’m still the one to beat.

I’ve seen the social media posts, the polls, the predictions. Some people think Bella has a shot. Some think I’m unbeatable. The truth is, anything can happen in that ring. But I know one thing for sure: I’m ready.

Let’s talk about the spotlight. It’s not for everyone. Some people crumble under it, some people chase it, and some people—like me—own it. I’ve seen what happens when the lights get too bright. I’ve seen challengers who talk a big game, but when the cameras roll and the crowd roars, they shrink. Bella’s got heart, I’ll give her that. But heart doesn’t make you a star. It doesn’t make you unforgettable. And it definitely doesn’t make you a winner.

I know what it’s like to have everyone watching, waiting for you to slip up. I know what it’s like to have the pressure of an entire arena on your shoulders. But here’s the thing: pressure doesn’t break me. It fuels me. It sharpens me. It reminds me why I’m still here, why I’m still the one to beat. And it reminds everyone else, too.

Bella’s hungry, sure. She’s got the drive, the passion, the fans. But hunger isn’t enough. Not against me. Not when I’m at my best. Not when I’m the one standing between her and everything she wants. I’ve seen her hunger before. I’ve seen her determination. And I’ve seen it crumble, every single time.

So bring your best, Bella. Bring your fans. Bring your excuses. It won’t matter. Because at the end of the night, you’ll still be looking up at me, wondering what it takes to be a real champion. And I’ll be happy to show you—again.

That’s why I’m still here. That’s why I’m still the one to beat. And that’s why, no matter how hard you try, you'll never be able to take this from me.

Prepare for the worst.

Hope for the best.

And may the odds be ever in your favor.


L O S A N G E L E S • C A L I F O R N I A

[Carmen and Malcolm sit together in their patrol car, engines idling as the city outside blinks awake. Neon lights fading and replaced by the pale glow of dawn. Inside the car, it feels like another round of the same old dance.

Malcolm’s voice breaks the quiet, dry as the desert heat outside.]

MALCOLM:
Another day, another dollar… and another ride with you.

[Carmen shoots him a look, half-amused, half-exhausted.]

CARMEN:
Complaining already? We haven’t even started.

[Malcolm smirks, eyes flicking to the rearview. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, nervous energy bubbling under his calm exterior.]

MALCOLM:
Just saying, last time you let your cousin tag along, we ended up chasing a stolen ice cream truck.

[Carmen shakes her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. She remembers the absurdity of it all—the flashing lights, the wailing siren, the bewildered driver with a cone in his hand.]

CARMEN:
That was a one-time thing. And we caught the guy, didn’t we?

[Malcolm leans back, feigning dramatic regret. He clutches his chest as if wounded, eyes rolling skyward in mock despair.]

MALCOLM:
Bean's Scene closed for renovations.

CARMEN:
You’re kidding. That diner’s been our breakfast spot since the academy.

MALCOLM:
I had to drink gas station coffee. I can still taste the regret.

CARMEN:
And just for $1.49.

[Her phone buzzes—a message from the universe, or maybe just her family, ready to throw another curveball. Carmen sighs as she reads the text, already bracing for impact. The screen’s blue light flickers across her tired face, casting shadows under her eyes.]

***

HOLLENBECK DIVISION, LAPD § L O S A N G E L E S • C A L I F O R N I A

[Outside the LAPD station, Mercedes waves from her beat-up hatchback, grinning like a kid before a school trip. The car is a riot of bumper stickers and faded paint, a testament to her free spirit. Carmen and Malcolm step out of the patrol car, stretching their legs in the cool morning air. The station looms behind them, a fortress of brick and glass.]

[Mercedes calls out, voice bright and eager, cutting through the quiet of the parking lot.]

MERCEDES:
Hey, cuz! Ready for another adventure?

[Carmen arches an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. She eyes her cousin with a mix of suspicion and affection, already steeling herself for whatever chaos Mercedes might bring.]

CARMEN:
How did you even get my schedule?

[Mercedes shrugs, all innocence and mischief. She hops out of her car, her sneakers scuffing the pavement as she bounces on her toes, energy radiating from every pore.]

MERCEDES:
I have my ways. Besides, Aunt Estelle said you needed company.

[Carmen turns to Malcolm, weary but resigned. She throws her hands up in a gesture of surrender, a silent plea for backup that Malcolm only answers with a knowing smirk.]

CARMEN:
Tell me again why I can’t just arrest her for loitering?

[They pile into the car. Mercedes wedges herself between the seats, buzzing with questions. She leans forward, elbows on the center console, eyes darting between Carmen and Malcolm like a kid at a magic show.]

MERCEDES:
So, Carmen, you ever catch any real bad guys? Like, bank robbers or something?

[Carmen rolls her eyes, shifting in her seat to get comfortable. She glances at Mercedes in the rearview, her reflection a blur of excitement and mischief.]

CARMEN:
Mostly just traffic stops and noise complaints. Exciting, huh?

[Malcolm smirks, remembering wilder days. He drums his fingers on the wheel, a faraway look in his eyes as he recalls chases and close calls.]

MALCOLM:
And the occasional ice cream truck.

[The radio crackles to life—a call out to the streets: shoplifting, 4th and Main, blue hoodie. Carmen answers, voice steady. She sits up straighter, her posture shifting from relaxed to alert in an instant.]

CARMEN:
Copy that. We’re en route.

[Mercedes claps her hands, eyes shining. She bounces in her seat, unable to contain her excitement, as if she’s just won front-row tickets to her favorite show.]

MERCEDES:
Yes! This is what I’m talking about!

***

STOREFRONT, 4TH AND MAIN, LOS ANGELES • CALIFORNIA – DAWN

[At the store, Carmen and Malcolm move in, Mercedes trailing behind, trying to look official. The storefront is a patchwork of neon signs and sale banners, the glass doors reflecting the morning sun. Inside, the aisles are narrow and crowded, the scent of fresh bread and cleaning supplies thick in the air. Carmen leans close to Malcolm, voice low, her eyes scanning the room for trouble.]

CARMEN:
Keep an eye on her, will you?

[Inside, the suspect bolts—right into Mercedes’ outstretched foot. He stumbles, caught off guard, his arms flailing as he tries to keep his balance. Mercedes stands there, grinning, her arms crossed triumphantly.]

MERCEDES:
You’re welcome.

[Carmen sighs, rubbing her temples. She pinches the bridge of her nose, her patience wearing thin, but a hint of a smile tugs at her lips despite herself.]

CARMEN:
Mercedes, you can’t just trip people!

[Mercedes shrugs, unrepentant. She dusts off her hands, as if she’s just completed a difficult task, her grin never fading.]

MERCEDES:
It worked, didn't it?

[Back in the car, Mercedes brags about her “police work.” She leans forward, her voice animated, gesturing wildly as she recounts her heroic tripping of the suspect. The car is filled with her laughter and the faint hum of the engine.]

MERCEDES:
See? I’m a natural. Maybe I should join the force!

[Carmen groans, slumping in her seat. She rests her head against the window, the cool glass pressing against her temple as she tries to tune out Mercedes’ enthusiasm.]

CARMEN:
No. Just… no.

[Malcolm laughs, shaking his head. He glances at Carmen in the rearview, his eyes twinkling with amusement, then turns his attention back to the road.]

MALCOLM:
I don’t know, Carmen. She’s got potential.

[Carmen shoots him a look, her eyebrows raised in warning. She points a finger at him, her expression a mix of exasperation and affection.]

CARMEN:
Don’t encourage her.

[Mercedes' phone rings—Aunt Estelle, checking in. Mercedes answers, her voice loud and cheerful, filling the car with chatter. She nods along, her free hand gesturing as she recounts the morning’s events.]

MERCEDES:
Hey, Aunt Estelle! Yeah, we caught a bad guy. Well, I helped anyway.

[Carmen rolls her eyes. Some things never changed. She watches the city blur past the window, the familiar streets a comforting backdrop to the chaos of her life.]

[At the end of their shift, Carmen and Malcolm walk Mercedes to her car at the station. The sun is higher now, casting long shadows across the asphalt. The air is warm, the scent of gasoline and pavement mixing with the faint aroma of coffee from a nearby cart. Mercedes bounces ahead, her energy undimmed by the long morning.]

MERCEDES:
Same time next week?

[Carmen shakes her head, her expression stern but her eyes soft. She crosses her arms, her posture relaxed, the tension of the morning finally easing.]

CARMEN:
Absolutely not.

[Mercedes grins, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She throws her arms around Carmen in a quick hug, then hops into her car, slamming the door with a satisfying thud.]

MERCEDES:
You say that every time. See you next week!

[She drives off, honking the horn, laughter trailing behind her. The sound echoes across the parking lot, a bright note in the quiet morning.]

[Malcolm watches her go, a smile tugging at his lips.]

MALCOLM:
You know, she’s kind of growing on me.

[Carmen smiles despite herself, shaking her head. She watches the hatchback disappear around the corner, the morning sun warm on her face.]

CARMEN:
Don’t tell her that.

[Malcolm and Carmen share a look—exhausted, amused, and somehow, ready for whatever comes next. Around them, the city pulses, endless and alive, as another shift ends—another day in the life, another round with family, another story to tell.]

[END]


Present Day ♦ P R E S C O T T  V A L L E Y • A R I Z O N A

[REC•]

[Camera opens at Watson Lake Park in Prescott Valley, Arizona. Mercedes Vargas sits on a smooth granite boulder by the water’s edge, the late afternoon sun casting golden light across the rugged landscape. Her championship belt rests across her lap. She gazes out at the horizon, then turns toward the camera, her eyes sharp, her tone confident and playful.]

"Alright, let’s get into it. Two weeks ago in Paris—Into the Void—I showed the world exactly what I’m made of. I stepped into that ring against Bella Madison, and I walked out champion. Not by luck. Not by fluke. Because when the lights are brightest—that’s when I shine."

[Mercedes grips the title belt, her knuckles whitening for a moment. She exhales, shaking her head with a playful grin.]

"Now, this Sunday at Climax Control, Bella wants her rematch. She wants another shot at this title, at me. And let’s be real—who wouldn’t? But here’s the thing: beating me once was never in the cards for her, and beating me twice? That’s a fantasy.

But let’s talk about what’s really going on here. Alexandra Calaway—Queen for a Day, huh? Booking this match like you’re doing me a favor. Let’s be honest, you’re just setting Bella up for another fall. No bet, just faith? That’s not faith, it’s fear. You won’t even bet a dollar on Bella, and that says everything. You’re all hype and no guts, Alexandra. You’re not just booking a match—you’re booking a disaster. For Bella. For yourself. For anyone dumb enough to doubt me."

[Mercedes runs a hand through her hair, a confident smirk playing at her lips as she stands up, slinging the title belt over her shoulder. She steps down from the rock, the crunch of gravel under her boots echoing in the quiet park.]

"Don't worry, I’ll make Bella’s loss so legendary, you’ll be apologizing to her for ever believing she had a chance—and to me for ever wasting my time. Seriously, Alexandra, if you had a dollar for every time you made a bad call, you’d be richer than the champ. But here you are, still betting on the wrong horse."

[She chuckles, shaking her head.]

"It's easy to see why you're rooting for Bella with nothing to lose. That’s because you’ve already lost your dignity. I’ll make sure both of you regret ever stepping into my spotlight. Bella’s going to wish she never met me—and you, Alexandra, are going to wish you never opened your mouth. I’ll be sure to win so hard, you’ll wish you’d cashed in on my name. I’ll make Bella’s defeat so brutal, even your support will need a refund. Watch and learn, darling."

[She walks closer to the camera, her boots kicking up a small cloud of dust. She points at the lens, her voice dropping to a determined growl.]

"I know Bella. I know what she brings. I’ve felt her best, and it wasn’t enough. And let me tell you, Bella wanted it. She wanted it bad. She came at me with everything she had. Heart, soul, grit, you name it. She’s got heart, she’s got fans, and she’s got something to prove. But guess what? So do I. I’ve got a legacy to build, a title to defend, and a reputation to uphold. And I don’t plan on letting anybody—especially not Bella—get in my way."

[Mercedes pauses, tapping the championship belt against her thigh, her eyes narrowing as the wind picks up. She leans in, voice dripping with confidence.]

“You hear that, Bella? That’s the sound of your window slamming shut. Paris was just the beginning. At Climax Control, I’m not just closing the door—I’m locking it. And you’re on the outside looking in.”

[Mercedes tilts her head, smirking at the camera.]

"You know, Bella, I've been thinking... You say you got a family waiting for you back home. That you're living your dream, like you're some kind of superhero. And I respect that. I really do. I love how you walk around like you're the first woman to juggle a family and a career. Yes, you CAN have it all!

"But, see, Bella, I'm not threatened by your story. I'm not threatened by your little girl, your husband, or your highlight reel. I've seen it all before. I've crushed fairy tales and rewritten endings. You think motherhood makes you strong? That somehow juggling a family and a career gives you an edge? Sweetheart, I've been carrying the weight of this entire division on my back. When you were learning to walk, I was running circles around the competition. While you were dreaming, I was making dreams come true."

[Her gaze sharpens, voice dripping with venom.]

"Real talk? Here it is: You're out of your league. You're playing in the big girl's sandbox, but you don't have the claws to survive the fight. While you're busy trying to prove you belong, I'm busy trying to remind the world why I own this division. You're fighting for acceptance; I'm fighting for immortality.

"You want your rematch, Bella? You got it. But remember what happened in Paris. Remember how I broke down every ounce of confidence you had and left you begging for mercy. Remember who walked out with the gold. And get ready, because this Sunday, I’m about to do it all over again—bigger, better, and more dominant than ever before.

"And to Alexandra—keep talking. Keep doubting. Because every time you open your mouth, you just remind everyone why I’m the champion. You’re not just betting against me—you’re betting against history. And history has a way of repeating itself."

[Mercedes turns away, looking out at the lake, the wind catching her hair. She takes a deep breath, then spins back to the camera, her expression fierce.]

"Bella, you’re chasing a dream. I’m living your nightmare."

[She paces along the water’s edge, the championship belt glinting in the sunlight. She stops, turning to face the camera, her eyes locked on the lens. Mercedes locks eyes with the camera, her voice low and intense.]

"You want to know what’s coming for you, Bella? Pain. Humiliation. And another trip to the back of the line. I don’t just beat my opponents—I break them. And at Climax Control, you’re about to learn that lesson all over again. The way I see it, I'm glad this match is happening. At Into the Void, you didn't just lose your title, you lost your place in this company. This time, after I win, I'll never have to see your face again. You'll be a cautionary tale. A warning to every girl who thinks she can step up and take what belongs to me.

"Paris remembered that night, Bella. Not that you walked in as champion, but that you walked out empty-handed. Because you walked into a storm, and the storm swallowed you whole. Because you stood across from greatness and you realized you were never ready for this level."

[She slaps the championship belt against her shoulder, the sound sharp and clear. She takes a step toward the camera, her eyes locked on the viewer.]

“So when the lights go out, when the crowd falls silent and you're left staring up at the ceiling - again - remember this feeling. Remember the taste of defeat. Because it's the taste of reality. And reality is spelled M-E-R-C-E-D-E-S.

"This Sunday at Climax Control, I’m not just defending my title—I’m making it clear: this is my era. And Bella, you’re just living in it. Long before you knew. And long after you'll remember."

[Mercedes leans back, a satisfied smirk on her face. She pats her championship belt and winks at the camera. The screen fades to black, leaving only the echoes of her words and the anticipation for Sunday’s showdown.]

[***Fade***]

[The city is a blur of motion-cars streak by, neon glints off wet pavement, and distant sirens wail. Under the flickering light of a battered bus shelter, Mercedes Vargas sits alone at the far end of a cold metal bench. Her hands, rough and steady, reach for a pair of glasses resting atop a folded newspaper. She puts them on with a practiced motion, her gaze settling on a crossword puzzle.

A beat. She murmurs, voice low, almost lost in the city’s din.]

MERCEDES:
A seven-letter word that uses all five vowels?

[She’s dressed for utility, not attention-a Reba Wool cowboy hat pulled low, faded blue jeans, and a tank top that shows the faint bruises and scars of her trade. She tips her hat, a wry smile flickering as she fills in the answer: Sequoia.

Her pen taps the paper, restless. Crosswords are her antidote-rules, answers, order. Everything life refuses to give her, wrapped up in seven little squares. As she ponders her next clue, Mercedes glances up to watch the world go by-a man in a suit checks his watch with increasing agitation, a mother scolds her child near the curb, and the air is thick with the mingled scents of exhaust and springtime.]

MERCEDES:
Nine across... An association. Accord. Rapport...

[There’s only so much time you can spend staring at the bus schedule or the faded advertisements before you crave a little human connection.

A young girl slides onto the bench beside her. Francine Chandler, ten, hair in pigtails, Girl Scout uniform a size too big, plops down, watching Mercedes with open curiosity.]

FRANCINE:
You look like you’re thinking real hard. You trying to solve world peace, or just that puzzle?

[Mercedes lets out a laugh-short, genuine, surprised.]

MERCEDES:
Honestly? Both. And I think the puzzle might be easier.

[Francine swings her legs, grinning.]

FRANCINE:
My mom says if you wait too long, you’ll turn into part of the bench.

MERCEDES:
That explains why my back hurts.

[They share a quick laugh. Mercedes looks up at the cloudy sky.

[Francine fumbles in her bag, producing a battered notepad, thrusting it at Mercedes with the eager boldness only kids have.]

FRANCINE:
You want to sign this? Or do you only sign autographs for people who don’t think you eat babies?

MERCEDES:
I sign for everyone. Even conspiracy theorists.

[They laugh again, just as the bus rumbles into view, brakes squealing as it pulls to the curb. Mercedes stands, nods to Francine, boards the bus. As the doors close, Francine waves-a small gesture, but it lingers with Mercedes as the city blurs past.

And just when you think the bus is never coming, there it is. Not always on time, not always the one you wanted, but it’s moving-and sometimes that’s enough.]

EXT. CITY STREET - EVENING

[The city looks different through the bus window as dusk settles in. Streetlights cast long shadows, and the pulse of the city feels less chaotic now, more focused. Mercedes steps off the bus in a neighborhood that smells faintly of industry and determination. This isn’t the glitz of the arena; it’s a place built on raw effort.]

INT. GRIZZLY’S GYM – EVENING

[Inside Grizzly’s Gym, the air buzzes with energy. Irma pounds away on a treadmill, her movements steady and strong, occasionally glancing down at a magazine. Tomas struggles with the bench press, his form a little off but his determination clear. Mercedes drops her bag with a satisfying thud.

The gym feels alive with motion. Ricardo shadowboxes in a corner, his punches sharp and precise, embodying both grace and power.

Tomas approaches Mercedes, phone in hand, a hopeful grin plastered over his nerves.]

IRMA:
Hey, look who finally untangled herself from the bus route of doom. Took you long enough.

[Mercedes forces a smile, but her eyes are tired. She shrugs off her jacket, revealing bruises-some fresh, some faded.]

MERCEDES:
If you think the city’s confusing, you should try my life. At least the bus route’s predictable.

TOMAS:
Made you a playlist. Steely Dan and 80s montage jams. Motivation, right?

[Mercedes takes the phone, scrolling through the tracks. She lets out a short, genuine laugh-the first real one of the day.]

MERCEDES:
Perfect. Nothing says “victory” like jazz fusion and Mr. T.

[Irma steps off the treadmill, tossing Mercedes a water bottle with a practiced flick.]

Irma:
Ready to get twisted up in training?

MERCEDES:
Always.

[Training blurs into a montage: Mercedes dodges Irma’s playful jabs, Tomas trips over a jump rope, Ricardo lands perfect punches and takedowns, Grizzly, the gym owner, watches from the sidelines, arms crossed over his chest. He pretends not to smile at their progress, but there’s a glint of pride in his eyes.

The sounds of the gym fade for a moment as Mercedes leans against the ropes, catching her breath. Sweat beads on her brow, but there’s a small, satisfied smile on her face. Irma tosses her a towel, Tomas grins through his exhaustion, and Ricardo nods in quiet approval. Grizzly, arms still crossed, gives the faintest of nods-respect earned, not given.]

IRMA
So, Paris, huh? Big city, big dreams. You really going through with it?

[Tomas looks up.]

TOMAS
Yeah, Mercedes. You’ve been talking about this forever.

IRMA
Just don’t forget us little people when you’re sipping wine and winning championships over there.

MERCEDES
Never. You’re my friends. Wherever I go, you’re coming with me-in spirit, at least.

[Mercedes shrugs, a small smile playing on her lips.]

RICARDO
Well, if you need a hype man for the Eiffel Tower, I’m your guy.

[The laughter fades into comfortable silence. Mercedes breathes deeply, the weight on her shoulders feeling lighter for the first time in days. Around her, the gym hums softly-a sanctuary of sweat, struggle, and solidarity.]


Almighty Fire
semana del 11 de 18 de mayo de 2025

Into the Void is about to get legendary. Why? Because yours truly is coming for Bella Madison and her precious Bombshell Internet Championship.

Now, let’s talk about Bella for a second. She’s good. Cute, even. She’s got heart, hustle, and a shiny belt that’s been keeping her warm at night. But honey, championships aren’t about comfort-they’re about legacy. And if there’s one thing I know, it’s how to make history.

Let’s talk about history, shall we? Because if there’s one thing I don’t shy away from, it’s the truth-even when it isn’t dripping in gold and confetti.

I know the numbers. I know the whispers. Mercedes Vargas, the Hall of Famer, the record-setter, the woman with more accolades than most can dream of-yet when it comes to Bella Madison in SCW, the scoreboard reads 0-2-4. That’s right. Six times we’ve stood across from each other, and not once have I had my hand raised over hers. Some call it a curse. Others say it’s a mountain I just can’t climb.

But here’s the thing about legends, darling: we don’t run from our history-we rewrite it.

Every draw, every loss, every single time I’ve come up short against Bella, it’s only fueled my fire. It’s made me sharper, smarter, and hungrier than ever. Bella, you’ve had my number, but numbers don’t lie-and neither do streaks. And every streak? It has an expiration date. May 25th at Into the Void? That’s looking like the perfect night for a rewrite.

But let’s not stop there. Let’s talk about what this match means-not just for you, not just for me, but for everyone watching. For every young girl sitting in the crowd, dreaming of one day stepping into this ring. For every aspiring wrestler who looks up to us and believes that anything is possible. For every fan who has followed our journeys, who has cheered us on, who has lived and died with every win and loss.

This match is bigger than just a title. It’s bigger than just a rivalry. It’s about inspiration. It’s about hope. It’s about proving that no matter how many times you fall, you can always rise again. That no matter how high the mountain, you can always climb it. That no matter how tough the odds, you can always overcome them.

That’s the message I want to send. That’s the legacy I want to leave.

So, Bella, when we step into that ring, know that we’re not just fighting for ourselves. We’re fighting for everyone who has ever dared to dream. We’re fighting for everyone who has ever faced adversity and refused to back down. We’re fighting for everyone who believes that greatness is within reach.

And that’s why I’m going to give everything I have. That’s why I’m going to leave it all in the ring. That’s why I’m going to fight with every ounce of my being.

Because that’s what legends do.

People love to talk about “underdogs” and “fairy tales.” But in this business, fairy tales end the moment the queen arrives. And trust me, I don’t just wear the crown-I own the kingdom. And let’s not pretend, Bella, that you haven’t been watching me. You know the deal. When Mercedes Vargas is on the card, the whole world tunes in. That’s not hype, mamita-that’s history. I’m the headline, the main event, the reason the lights shine just a little brighter on May 25th.

Clutch that Bombshell Internet Championship as tight as you want, Bella. Because when you step in the ring with me, you’re diving into the deep end-and I don’t just swim, I make tidal waves. I’ve been breaking records, breaking hearts, and breaking the mold since day one. Legends don’t chase titles, Bella. Titles chase legends.

So go ahead-shine up that belt, take your selfies, post your hashtags. Because when the bell rings, it’s not about who’s trending-it’s about who’s standing. Spoiler alert, sweetheart: it’s going to be me, hand raised, championship high, with the world chanting my name..

And to every Bombshell who thinks they can step up and take my place? Think again. To everyone who’s ever doubted me-watch closely. To every critic who keeps my name on their lips, keep talking. And to everyone who’s ever believed in me? Get ready to celebrate. Because at Into the Void, I’m not just taking the title-I’m taking over.

So, Bella, I hope you’re ready. I hope you’ve been training, dreaming, and maybe even praying. Because when that bell rings, it’s not just your title on the line-it’s your reputation. And everyone knows, when Mercedes Vargas walks down that ramp, the spotlight follows. The crowd rises. The moment gets bigger.

And the outcome? Let’s just say I have a habit of making sure history remembers my name.

Bella, after Into the Void, you’ll know exactly what it means to share the ring with greatness. You’ll know what it means to be outclassed, outshined, and outwrestled by the one and only Mercedes Vargas.

So polish that belt, darling. It’s about to have a real champion’s reflection.

See you at Into the Void, Bella. Bring your best. You’ll need it.


INT. THE FLOATING PENALTY BOX – NIGHT (ON TOMAS’ BOAT)

[The crew gathers on Tomas’ boat, which tonight doubles as The Floating Penalty Box-Hugo’s sports bar, but with a twist: every surface is draped in colorful “Happy Mother’s Day” banners, and the walls are plastered with wrestling posters featuring formidable women-some real, some invented, all larger than life.

Hugo balances precariously on a barstool, stretching to hang a glittery sign above the entrance. His King Jaguarito costume, a luchador character who’s half jaguar, half caveman, is only half on, the jaguar mask dangling from his elbow as he tries to tie the banner’s last knot.

HUGO:
Tonight’s match is for my mamá. She’s the fiercest woman I know. King Jaguarito fights with her spirit!

[The mask slips from his arm and bounces off the counter, but Hugo catches it with a flourish, grinning at the others.

Mercedes stands nearby, referee’s whistle already around her neck, phone clutched in one hand as she texts furiously.

MERCEDES:
I’m juggling this match and my mom’s 3 p.m. call. If I miss it, I’m grounded for a week.

[She looks up, surveying the chaos with a mixture of affection and exasperation.

At the far end of the bar, Irma sets up her latest masterpiece: a merch table overflowing with “Mom-inspired” wrestling pins, t-shirts, and even a few hand-painted luchador masks with floral patterns. She arranges the items with an artist’s eye, pausing to admire her “Matriarchal Mayhem” collection.]

IRMA:
Nothing says love like a wrestling mom pin.

[Ricardo sits at a small table, laptop open, fingers flying across the keyboard as he works on his latest promo.]

RICARDO:
I’m working on a promo so heartfelt it’ll make the crowd cry.

[His focus breaks repeatedly as his phone buzzes.]

RICARDO:
Hello, Mom! Yes, I’m rehearsing. No, I’m not hungry. Yes, I’ll wear a sweater.

[He rolls his eyes good-naturedly at the others but smiles.]

RICARDO:
She’s got great advice, but she’s also distracting.

[Behind the bar, Tomas pours drinks and keeps a wary eye on the proceedings.]

TOMAS:
If this event doesn’t bring in business, nothing will. Just… no flooding this time, please.

[The boat rocks gently beneath their feet, the air buzzing with anticipation and the unmistakable feeling that, whatever happens next, it will be a Mother’s Day to remember.]

INT. SPORTS BAR – LATER

 The crowd fills the boat’s limited space, laughter and chatter blending with the clinking of glasses. Hugo steps into the ring, his costume slightly askew. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He struggles to keep his composure

HUGO:
For my mother… the strongest woman…

[Suddenly, his mask slips off, tumbling to the floor. A ripple of laughter spreads through the crowd. Hugo blinks, then grins sheepishly.

HUGO:
Uh… she’s strong AND funny!

[From the corner, Tomas rushes out carrying a tray of food. His foot catches on a loose cable, and the tray tips, sending soggy nachos flying across the floor.

TOMAS:
Oops! Catering mix-up! Who ordered soggy nachos?

[Mercedes is refereeing, but keeps glancing at her phone, answering texts. She glances at it, sighing.]

MERCEDES:
Yes, Mom, I’m watching the match. No, I don’t need to call Aunt Rosa yet.

[At Irma’s merch booth, two families awkwardly reunite, arguing over who gets the last “Mom Power” pin.]

IRMA:
Art is conflict, people. Buy a pin and make peace!

[Ricardo stands on a chair, ready to deliver his promo, but Tomas suddenly grabs the mic.

TOMAS:
Before we continue, who wants to karaoke “Mama Said Knock You Out”?

[The crowd cheers; Ricardo sighs but smiles.]

INT. SPORTS BAR – LATER

[Hugo stands in the center of the ring, exhausted, but beaming with pride. He raises his arms.]

HUGO:
This one’s for all the moms who fight every day-on and off the mat!

 [Mercedes steps forward, holding the mic.]

MERCEDES:
Moms are the real champions. They call the shots, keep us grounded, and yes, they referee our lives better than I do in this ring.

[The crew gathers around a table piled high with takeout food. Tomas raises his glass in a toast.]

TOMAS:
To moms-and to surviving their calls during wrestling matches.

IRMA:
And to merch that celebrates them!

RICARDO:
And to promos that maybe next time won’t get drowned out by karaoke.

[Mercedes lifts her soda with a smile.]

MERCEDES:
In wrestling and in life, moms always call the shots.

[They all laugh and clink glasses as the camera pulls back, revealing the boat gently rocking under the warm glow of string lights, capturing a moment of camaraderie and celebration.]

END.


Present Day ♦ S A N T A M O N I C A, C A L I F O R N I A

[REC•]

[The camera opens on Mercedes Vargas standing alone on a windswept Santa Monica pier, the ocean breeze tugging at her hair. She stares intensely into the lens, determination burning in her eyes.]

"So, Bella Madison-the self-proclaimed standard-bearer of the Bombshells Internet Championship division. Since you've held the title, I've been hearing your little speeches, and I have to admit, it’s cute. Really, it is. You talk about responsibility, about proving yourself, about daring others to step up. Well, congratulations-you’ve got my attention. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

[Mercedes shifts her weight, her eyes narrowing with confidence. She takes a slow, deliberate breath, letting the ocean air fill her lungs.]

“You see, Bella, you’re clinging to that title like it’s your life raft, but you’ve forgotten one crucial thing: championships don’t make the wrestler. Wrestlers make the championship. While you’re starving to keep that gold, I’m out here feasting on legacy. You’re fighting to prove you’re not a transitional champion? Sweetheart, I’ve already proven I’m a permanent fixture in this business.”

[She leans in, her voice sharpening, the smirk never leaving her face.]

“You say you respect me? That’s nice. But respect doesn’t win matches. Respect doesn’t stop me from walking into Into the Void and reminding you-and everyone else-why my name is etched into SCW history. You call yourself the standard? Honey, I set the standard long before you even laced up your boots.”

[Mercedes lifts a hand, palm out, as if to halt any rebuttal before it starts. She lets her hand linger, a silent signal to the world that she’s not here for backtalk.]

“Do I know what it’s like to lose something as fast as I gained it? Sure. But do you know what it feels like to hold onto something so long it becomes synonymous with your name? That’s the difference between us, Bella. You’re fighting not to lose. I fight because winning is second nature. I don’t just chase greatness-I define it."

[She steps forward, her gaze icy, voice dropping to a cold, measured tone. The wind whips her hair across her face, but she doesn’t flinch.]

“You think you’re dangerous because you’re hungry? Let me tell you something: hunger fades. But experience? Experience stays with you forever. And at Into the Void, all your fire and determination won’t mean a damn thing when you’re staring across the ring at me-the woman who’s been there, done that, and still has plenty left in the tank. You see, I’ve faced the best. I’ve beaten the best. I’ve been in matches that have defined careers, ended reigns, and built legacies. And through it all, I’ve never lost sight of who I am or what I stand for.”

[Mercedes tilts her head, her smirk widening, confidence radiating from her every word. The sunlight catches her eyes, making them gleam with challenge.]

“You want to know what separates the best from the rest? What it really takes to be a legend in this business?”

[She pauses, letting the question hang in the air before continuing, her voice gaining strength. The camera zooms in, focusing on the intensity in her eyes.]

"You know what? Let’s peel back the curtain a little more. Let’s talk about what it really means to be a champion in this business. Because it’s not just about the matches, the wins, or the gold-it’s about the journey. It’s about the sacrifices, the late nights, the early mornings, the pain, the sweat, the tears. It’s about walking through fire, time and time again, and coming out stronger on the other side."

[Mercedes paces slowly, her gaze unwavering, her voice steady and commanding. She glances out at the horizon, as if drawing strength from the endless ocean.]

"Bella, you’ve had a hell of a journey. I respect that. I respect anyone who can step into this ring and hold their own. But there’s a difference between holding your own and holding the standard. And that’s where I come in. I am the standard. I am the measuring stick. When people talk about greatness in this business, they talk about Mercedes Vargas. Not because I demand it, but because I’ve earned it. Every accolade, every record, every headline-it’s not just a testament to my talent, it’s a testament to my will. I’ve been the underdog, the favorite, the champion, the challenger. I’ve been counted out, written off, and underestimated. And every single time, I’ve proven the doubters wrong."

[She jabs a finger toward the lens for emphasis, her expression fierce.]

"You see, Bella, there are champions, and then there are legends. Champions come and go. They win a title, they bask in the glory, and then they fade away. But legends? Legends are eternal. Legends are the ones who set the bar so high, others spend their entire careers trying to reach it. Legends are the ones who make you believe in the impossible. Legends are the ones who, even in defeat, command respect. And that’s what I am. That’s what I’ve always been."

[Mercedes steps closer to the camera, her intensity growing.]

"And that’s what separates us, Bella. You’re the champion. I’m the legend. But let’s not get it twisted-I didn’t wake up one day and decide to be a legend. I earned it. I fought for it. I bled for it. I sacrificed for it. I’ve been knocked down more times than I can count, but every single time, I got back up. Stronger. Smarter. Hungrier. I’ve survived eras, outlasted rivals, and adapted to every new threat that’s come my way. You’re just the latest in a long line of challengers who think they’re ready to take me down."

[She clenches her fist, recalling the battles fought and won. The wind howls, but her voice cuts through it like a knife.]

"You see, Bella, every time you’ve beaten me, every time you’ve walked away with your hand raised, I’ve gone back to the drawing board. I’ve studied the tapes. I’ve analyzed every move, every mistake, every missed opportunity. I’ve turned every loss into a lesson, every setback into a setup for a comeback. That’s how legends are made-not by avoiding failure, but by embracing it, learning from it, and coming back stronger every single time."

[Mercedes pauses, taking a deep breath, her eyes narrowing with focus.]

"And that’s why this time is different. This time, I’m not just coming for your title-I’m coming for redemption. I’m coming to prove, not just to the world, but to myself, that Mercedes Vargas is still the best in the business. That Mercedes Vargas is still the woman to beat. That Mercedes Vargas is still the name that makes opponents tremble and fans rise to their feet. I’m coming to remind everyone that legacies aren’t built on luck-they’re forged in the fires of competition, in the crucible of adversity, and in the heart of every battle."

[She raises her chin, pride and determination radiating from her stance.]

"Because at the end of the day, that’s what this is all about-legacy. When the lights go down, when the crowd goes home, when the belts are locked away in their cases, what’s left? Your legacy. Your impact. The mark you leave on this business. And my mark? It’s indelible. It’s unforgettable. It’s legendary. I’ve inspired generations, broken records, and redefined what it means to be the best. And I’m not done yet-not by a long shot."

[Mercedes slowly removes her sunglasses, staring directly into the camera. Her eyes are cold, but her passion is unmistakable.]

"So, Bella, when you step into the ring with me at Into the Void, you’re not just defending a title-you’re defending your legacy. You’re defending your place in history. And let me tell you, that’s a heavy burden to bear.The pressure will be suffocating. The spotlight will be blinding. Every eye in the arena will be watching, waiting to see if you can live up to your own hype. But don’t worry, darling. I’ve carried that weight for years. I know what it’s like to have the world watching, waiting, expecting you to fail. I know what it’s like to have the critics circling, ready to pounce on any sign of weakness. I know what it’s like to have the pressure of greatness on your shoulders. But don’t worry, darling. I’ve carried that weight for years. I know what it’s like to have the world watching, waiting, expecting you to fail. I know what it’s like to have the critics circling, ready to pounce on any sign of weakness. I know what it’s like to have the pressure of greatness on your shoulders."

[She smirks, confidence oozing from her every word.]

"And you know what? I thrive under that pressure. I live for it. It’s what separates the good from the great, the champions from the legends. So, Bella, bring your best. Bring your heart, your hustle, your fire. Because you’re going to need every ounce of it. You’re going to need every trick in the book, every ounce of strength, every shred of determination. Because when you step into the ring with me, you’re stepping into the lion’s den. And trust me, I’m hungry."

[Mercedes’s voice grows sharper, her intensity peaking.]

"I’m hungry for victory. I’m hungry for redemption. I’m hungry for that Bombshell Internet Championship. But more than anything, I’m hungry to remind the world exactly who Mercedes Vargas is. I’m hungry to prove that legends never die-they just get stronger, smarter, and more dangerous with time. I’m hungry to show that no matter how many times you try to write me off, I always come back better than ever."

[She points to the camera, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone.]

"Because let’s be honest, Bella-there’s a reason why, after all these years, I’m still here. There’s a reason why my name is still at the top of the marquee. There’s a reason why, no matter how many times I get knocked down, I always get back up. It’s because I’m relentless. I’m unstoppable. I’m inevitable. And on May 25th, at Into the Void, in Paris , France, I’m going to prove it-one more time."

[She gestures emphatically, her expression fierce. The wind picks up, whipping her hair around her face, but her focus never wavers.]

"So, Bella, enjoy your reign while it lasts. Enjoy the spotlight. Enjoy the adulation. Because when the dust settles, when the smoke clears, when the final bell rings, there will be only one woman standing tall. Only one woman holding that championship high. Only one woman whose name will echo through the annals of history. And that woman is Mercedes Vargas."

[She steps back, a sly smile curling on her lips. She turns slightly, looking out over the ocean, the waves crashing against the pier below.]

"So, to all the fans, to all the doubters, to all the believers-get ready. Because history is about to be made. A new chapter is about to be written. And at the center of it all? Yours truly. Because when it’s all said and done-when the dust settles and reality hits-you’ll realize that stepping up was the easy part. Staying up? That’s where legends like me thrive."

[Mercedes turns back to the camera, her voice softer but no less intense.]

"You see, Bella, the truth is, this business isn’t just about titles or accolades. It’s about moments. It’s about the times you get knocked down and the times you rise again. It’s about the legacy you leave behind and the stories people tell when your career is over. I’ve made a career out of silencing doubters, overcoming obstacles, and making history. And at Into the Void, I plan to do it all over again."

[She lets the words hang in the air, the challenge clear and unmistakable.]

"So bring your fight, Bella. Bring your heart, your willpower, your desperation to prove yourself. Because when you step into the ring with Mercedes Vargas, you’re not just facing an opponent-you’re facing a force of nature. You’re facing destiny. You’re facing greatness. And when the final bell rings, and the dust settles, you’ll know exactly why they call me a legend."

[Mercedes lowers her head for a moment, then looks up, her eyes blazing with determination.]

"I hope you’re ready, Bella. Because I was born ready. I was made for moments like this. I was made for history. And on May 25th, at Into the Void, I’m going to show the world-one more time-why Mercedes Vargas is the name that will never be forgotten."

[***Fade***]

Blog: Almighty Fire
semana del 23 al 30 de marzo de 2025

Blaze of Glory is just around the corner, and so is the Elimination Chamber—the most unforgiving structure in wrestling. Six competitors will enter, but only one will emerge victorious. They think they can take me down, that they can outlast me in the unforgiving confines of that steel cage. But let's be real—most of them can't even outlast their own hype. My opponents? Let’s just say they’re nothing more than pretenders to the throne, clinging to the hope that somehow, someway, they’ll manage to outmaneuver the greatest of all time

Andrea Hernandez has been riding high with that title, but I bet she never expected her first defense to be quite like this. She may hold the gold now, but after Blaze of Glory, she’ll be lucky if she even remembers what it felt like to be champion. Because she won’t just lose the title—she'll lose the illusion that she ever belonged in my ring.

Necra Octavian Kane, the supposed dark force of this match. Her theatrics might scare some people, but I don’t flinch at shadows. Because when you strip away the mystique, she’s just another competitor who will fall to me like the last two times we met for the Bombshell Roulette Championship all those years ago.

Kayla Richards wants to avenge her loss to Andrea so bad, she can taste it. But I have a feeling she's still going to be searching for her first pay-per-view win this year. When they scrape what's left of her off the Chamber floor, they'll find just three things: her teeth, her pride, and my boot prints. The first two will be shattered and the last one? That's her new reality from now until retirement day.

Cassie Wolfe is looking to defy the odds, when the odds weren't with her in the first place. She calls herself, the ‘Rebel Princess’? More like the Sacrificial Lamb of this Chamber. She talks about being ‘hungry’? Hunger fades eventually. And when that cage locks, you’ll realize too late that your fairy-tale rebellion ends with me playing the Big Bad Wolf… and you? You’re just dinner. A cautionary tale.

Candy seems more concerned with being everyone’s favorite sweetheart than actually winning matches. Guess nobody told her that Charm doesn’t win championships. If it did, she would be undefeated.

Oh, you want more? You want me to keep going? Fine. Let’s keep this train rolling because, clearly, you just can’t get enough of Mercedes Vargas—and honestly, who could blame you? I’m the reason you tune in. I’m the reason this company thrives. Without me, this place would be nothing more than a revolving door of mediocrity. So sit back and let me educate you on why I’m untouchable, undeniable, and absolutely unstoppable."

You see, people love to throw around words like legend or icon, but those words don’t hold weight unless they’re attached to my name. Let’s be honest—there isn’t a single person on this roster who can match what I’ve done or what I continue to do. They call themselves champions, contenders, trailblazers—but when they step into the ring with me? They’re exposed for what they truly are: overhyped amateurs.

And oh, how they try. They bring their flashy moves, their big talk, and their desperate attempts to make a name for themselves at my expense. But here’s the truth: I don’t just beat them—I break them. I take their hopes and dreams and crush them under my boot like the insignificant specks they are. Because that’s what happens when you challenge Mercedes Vargas—you don’t just lose; you get erased.

But let’s not forget the critics—the ones in their echo chambers typing away about how ‘Mercedes Vargas is too cocky’ or ‘Mercedes Vargas doesn’t deserve her spot anymore.’ Oh, sweethearts, let me make something crystal clear: I didn’t just earn my spot—I built it. Brick by brick, match by match, victory by victory. And if you think your opinions matter to me? Think again. I don’t need your approval or validation. And I certainly don’t need your permission to keep being the absolute best in this business.

While you’re busy criticizing from the sidelines, I’m out here making history—again and again and again. To anyone who thinks they’re ready to take me down? Let me save you the trouble: you’re not ready. You’ll never be ready. Because stepping into the ring with Mercedes Vargas isn’t just a challenge—it’s a career-defining moment. For me? It’s Tuesday. For you? It’s the day you realize that everything you’ve worked for means nothing when you’re standing across from greatness.

So bring it on—bring your best shot, your biggest dreams, every ounce of fight in your body. Because when it’s all over, when the dust settles and the crowd is left in stunned silence, there will only be one woman standing tall: Mercedes Vargas.

And if that bothers you? Good. That means I’m still doing what I do best—being better than everyone else.


[The marina smells of diesel fuel and failed dreams. Hugo stands transfixed before Seas the Day, Tomas' decaying twenty-foot fishing boat, as if beholding the Sistine Chapel of poor decisions. The vessel lists slightly to starboard, its peeling paint job revealing layers of nautical regret.

Hugo breathes, grabbing his friend's shoulders with the intensity of a televangelist.]

HUGO
Tomas… you’ve been sitting on a goldmine.

[Tomas takes a lazy sip of his beer, unfazed.]

TOMAS
It’s a boat.

[Hugo spreads his arms like a cult leader addressing his flock.]

HUGO
No. It’s "The Floating Penalty Box"—the greatest illegal sports bar in harbor history. Five TVs. Local ads. We’ll print money!

[As if to punctuate the declaration, the boat's corroded nameplate clatters onto the dock. Tomas eyes the rusted hull.]

TOMAS
Sounds like work.

HUGO
You’ll be "Head of Vibes."

[A beat. Tomas raises his bottle in salute.]

TOMAS
...I accept.

[A dry voice cuts through their scheming.]

"Please tell me this isn't another fantasy football scheme."

[Mercedes Vargas leans against a piling, her crossed arms straining the sleeves of her hoodie. The morning sun glinted off the championship belt slung over her shoulder like a particularly tacky purse.

Hugo spins toward her with the grace of a used-car salesman spotting a mark.]

HUGO
Mercedes! Perfect timing. You'll be—

MERCEDES
Let me guess: "security."

[His grin widens.]

HUGO
Director of Guest Relations.

[Tomas translated through a mouthful of beer.]

TOMAS
You throw drunks overboard.

[Mercedes sighed—the sound of a woman who'd body-slammed men for twenty years and still hadn't earned this level of nonsense. In one fluid motion, she hooks Hugo into a headlock, her bicep crushing his windpipe with practiced ease.

MERCEDES
Raise your hand if you want a demo.

Hugo flails like an overturned turtle. Tomas raises his beer bottle.

Later, Inside the Boat

[The cabin smells like wet socks and poor life choices. Mercedes pokes a warped floorboard with her toe.]

MERCEDES
This is the dumbest plan since Ricardo tried to open a vineyard in his studio apartment.

INT. RICARDO’S STUDIO APARTMENT – FLASHBACK (NIGHT)

[A MATCH CUT from Mercedes’ wrestling belt to a wine bottle clutched in Ricardo's hand. He stands amid a disaster: A bathtub overflowing with bruised Concord grapes, a stolen "Napa Valley Vineyard" sign hung crookedly above the toilet, secured with duct taped to the wall, and Irma painting protest signs ("This is NOT Sonoma").

He swirls a jelly jar of murky liquid, his silk scarf catching the dim light.

RICARDO
Philistine. This bathtub’s porcelain is older than most French oak barrels.

[He raises the jar like a chalice.]

RICARDO
Behold… Château Ricardo!

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

[Carmen fills the doorway, badge glinting under harsh hallway fluorescents.]

CARMEN
Neighbors called. Again.

[Ricardo’s grip tightens on the jar.]

RICARDO
Terroir is anywhere you dream it! Even...

[He gestures to moldy shower tiles.]

RICARDO
—in a rent-controlled Studio 6B.

[Carmen steps over a pile of stomped grape skins. Her boots leave pulpy evidence. She snatches the jar, sniffs.]

CARMEN
This smells like Robitussin.

RICARDO
Complexity!

Irma silently holds up a new protest sign: "ARREST THIS MAN."

[END OF FLASHBACK]

[Hugo, Tomas and Mercedes surveys the moldy interior of the boat. Hugo, undeterred, gestured to their "amenities": A bench upholstered in what might've been carpet in the 1980s ("VIP section!"), a dented bucket ("Keg cooler!"), her abandoned wrestling belt in a puddle ("Lost & Found slash weapon!")

Mercedes massages her temples. Twelve years in the ring, two torn ACLs, and this was her retirement plan?

Hugo claps her shoulder.]

HUGO
Exactly why it'll work.


Present Day ♦ T U C S O N, A R I Z O N A

[REC•]

[The Cactus Moon Saloon is quiet except for the hum of a dying neon sign. Mercedes Vargas kicks open the doors, her boots scattering dust across framed photos of midget wrestling posters deliberately hung at knee-height. She stops beneath a flickering neon "Lucha Libre Tonight" sign, its pink glow reflecting off the scars on her knuckles as she slams her fist onto a scarred wooden bar table.

"Let me get this straight. Candy wins her SCW in-ring return against Miss Manners—good for her, I guess—and suddenly Christian Underwood hands her a golden ticket straight into the Chamber match? No qualifying match, no struggle, just a free pass? And then we have Necra Octavian Kane pulling off one of her little stunts, getting Underwood to sign a contract that makes her the final entrant. No match, no announcement, just manipulation.

"Meanwhile, the rest of us are out here busting our ass week after week, earning our spots the hard way. But apparently, that doesn’t matter anymore. You don’t need to win matches or even talk to management. You just need to be Candy or Necra Octavian Kane. That doesn’t sound crazy to y’all? Because it sure sounds crazy to me."

[Mercedes grabs a shot glass from the bar, crushes it in her palm, and lets the shards scatter across the table like confetti.]

"Let’s get one thing straight: this match isn’t about proving anything to my opponents. It’s not about silencing the haters or earning your respect. I don’t need your respect—I’ve already got the respect of everyone who matters in this business. This match is about one thing and one thing only: reclaiming my spot at the top of this division. And if that means going through both of you—and anyone else who dares to stand in my way—then so be it.

"You want to talk about pressure? About adversity? Let me tell you something about pressure—it’s what creates diamonds. And I’ve been under pressure my entire career. Every time someone like you called me washed up, every time someone said I didn’t belong anymore, every time someone tried to write me off—I proved them wrong. Time and time again. And Sunday night will be no different."

[Mercedes takes a step forward, her eyes burning with determination.]

"I earned this opportunity. I earned every goddamn right of being in this match. I wanted to be in this match. I deserve to be in this match. There is no one alive on this roster than can say that I don’t have what it takes to become world champion. If you want to talk about dedication, if you want to find one of the pillars of the women’s division, you don’t have to go very far. Whether I was featured in the pre-show, the opening match, the mid-card or main eventing, there was a good chance my name was on the card and a very good chance you would see me in the ring. Just like you'll see me in the ring at Blaze of Glory.

"And when it’s all over—when I’m standing tall with the Bombshell Championship in my hands—you’ll finally understand why they call me ‘The Dynasty.’ Because no matter how many times people like you try to count me out… I always find a way to win."

[Mercedes pauses, letting her words sink in.]

"But back to Candy. Sweet, sugary, pointless Candy. You walk around here like winning a popularity contest means you deserve a title shot. Well guess what? The Chamber isn’t a pageant. There’s no judges, no scoring, no second chances. Just pain. And when you’re locked in there with me? You’re gonna realize that being liked doesn’t make you dangerous. Let me break this down for you, cupcake. That bubbly personality? Those cutesy winks to the crowd? They won't save you when I'm stomping your ribs through the steel grating. The Elimination Chamber doesn't care how many kids wear your merch—it only cares how much pain you can endure. And judging by how you tapped out to a basic armbar last month? You'll be screaming before the first pod opens. Tell me, Candy—when you're curled up in that corner, makeup running, begging the ref to stop the match... will you still be smiling then? Or will you finally understand what happens when a real woman takes your dollhouse and burns it down?

"You're not an athlete—you're a mascot. A living, breathing participation trophy who thinks smiling through losses makes you 'resilient.' Newsflash: Real champions don't get applauded for failing pretty. They get remembered for making their opponents bleed. And honey? When I'm done with you, they'll need to peel your glittery façade off that cage floor with a spatula.

"So go ahead, Candy—smile for the cameras. Wave to your little fans. Because when that pod door opens, the only thing sweet about you will be the sound of you crying when I’m done with you.

"Sprinkle, sprinkle."

[The camera catches Mercedes crushing a handful of candy sprinkles in her fist, letting the colored dust fall onto a nearby flyer for "Tiny Athletes, Big Fun!" at ZONA 520. She grinds the glitter into the wood with her boot heel as t takes a moment to collect herself before addressing Cassie Wolfe.]

"And Cassie… I know this is probably overwhelming for you. Being thrown into a match like this with so much on the line—it’s a lot for anyone, let alone someone as new as you.

"Now you’re standing across the ring from me, and let me make one thing perfectly clear: this isn’t about teamwork anymore. This is about survival. And when it comes to survival in this business, there’s no one better than me."

"You’re young, Cassie. Hungry. Full of potential. I see it; everyone sees it. But potential doesn’t win matches—experience does. And while you’re still figuring out who you are in this ring, I’ve already carved my name into the history books. You may call yourself ‘The Rebel Princess,’ but in this match, rebellion won’t save you. Your high-flying antics and youthful energy may dazzle the crowd, but they won’t be enough to overcome the decades of knowledge and skill I bring to that ring. You're so eager to prove yourself that you don’t even see how out of your depth you are. You’re like a puppy chasing cars, clueless about what to do when you actually catch one."

[Mercedes smirks coldly.]

"You might think this is your moment to prove yourself, Cassie. To show the world that you belong in the same conversation as the greats. But let me warn you now: stepping into the ring with me isn’t an opportunity—it’s a lesson. A lesson in what it takes to truly succeed in this business. A lesson in why legends like me endure while rookies like you struggle to find their footing.

"And don’t think for a second that I’ve forgotten how quick you were to dismiss me when we were partners. You didn’t trust me then, and now? Now you’ll learn exactly why underestimating Mercedes Vargas is the biggest mistake anyone can make."

You wanted to prove yourself on Sunday? Well, congratulations—you’re about to get your chance. Just don’t be surprised when it ends with you looking up at the lights while my hand is raised in victory."

[Mercedes pulls out a Cassie Wolfe "Rebel Princess" bandana from her pocket—stained with what looks like blood—and uses it to polish her knee pad.]

"Andrea, right now you tell yourself you're number one, and the only way to prove it is by being number one, and holding the Bombshell World Championship makes you number one. But let me tell you something: you could be a challenger, a contender, or even a champion—but when you’re standing across from me, you title means nothing. Because when the bell rings and it’s just you and me in that ring, that's when reality hits harder than my knee to your pretty little face. So enjoy your little Cinderella story while it lasts, princesa. Because when the clock strikes midnight at Blaze of Glory, you'll wake up bruised, broken, and beltless - wondering how you ever thought you could hang with the elite. And that's not a prediction. That's your immediate future."

[Mercedes flips open a Tucson sports newspaper - Andrea's face circled in red with "THE PHOENIX" scrawled across it - before setting it ablaze with a Zippo. She watches the flames consume the page in a rusted barrel marked "SCW Trash".]

"Kayla Richards, you think this is your redemption story? You think this is your time where you get the guy, the gold, and the glory? Two out of three ain’t bad—but the gold will be with me. Let me paint the real picture for you. When that chamber door closes and there’s nowhere left to run, no excuses left to make, and no more words left to say—you’ll realize that you’re not stepping into the ring with just another opponent. You’re stepping into the ring with a legend. A survivor. A champion. Sunday won't be your redemption story, When the Chamber locks, you’ll realize: this isn’t your moment. It’s just another chapter in mine.

Your little ‘bad girl’ act doesn't intimidate me. I’ve faced women tougher, smarter, and far more dangerous than you could ever dream of being. You don't think I belong in the main event, and that's fine. But ask yourself: what’s worse—having to face Mercedes Vargas in that Chamber... or having to explain to the world how badly I broke you on the way out.

"Hug Finn tight tonight, mamita. After Sunday, you’ll need a shoulder to cry on."

[Mercedes snatches a "Kayla 4 Champ" sign from the wall, tearing it in half with before throwing the pieces at the camera.]

"Necra... oh, Necra. You never could leave well enough, could you? You could have been livint a simple, happy life in retirement, but we all know the reason you retired was because you couldn’t hack it. The Chamber’s gonna remind you why.

"You slink around in your little black leather and your face paint, pretending you’re some kind of monster under the bed. But let me tell you something—monsters don’t need costumes. Monsters don’t pretend. And when the Chamber locks behind us? You’ll realize the only thing scary about you is how badly I’m going to expose you.

"You want to play mind games? Fine. But here’s the thing about mind games—they don’t work on someone who’s already five steps ahead. You think your little theatrics intimidate me? Please. I’ve broken tougher women before breakfast. You’re not a nightmare, Necra—you’re a joke. A cheap haunted house attraction where the only thing screaming will be YOU when I put you through the damn Chamber floor."

[Mercedes kicks over a chair, sending it clattering into a wall of lucha libre masks—one resembling Necra’s painted face cracks down the middle. She stomps on the fragments, grinding them under her boot heel.]

"So here’s my advice to anyone who thinks they’ve got what it takes to step up to me: bring everything you’ve got—your talent, your ambition, your desperation—because trust me, you’re going to need it. But even then? It won’t be enough.

*You see, the difference between me and the rest of you is simple: I don’t just talk about being great—I am great. My name is etched in SCW history, not because I begged for opportunities or whined about being overlooked, but because I took everything this business threw at me and turned it into gold. Andrea, Kayla, Candy, Cassie, Necra—you’re all walking into the Elimination Chamber hoping for a miracle. Me? I’m walking in knowing I’m the inevitable.

"This match isn’t about who’s the nicest or who has the best sob story—it’s about survival. It’s about who can endure the pain, the punishment, and the brutality that comes with stepping into that chamber. And let me tell you something: none of you have what it takes to survive me. I’ve been through wars in that ring, I’ve faced legends and broken records, and I’ve done it all with a smile on my face because I thrive where others crumble.

"Blaze of Glory XIII will be no different. When that chamber door locks and there’s nowhere to run, no one to save you, and no excuses left to make, you’ll all realize exactly who you’re dealing with. I’m not just another competitor—I’m Mercedes Vargas, the standard-bearer of this division, the measuring stick by which all of you are judged. And spoiler alert: none of you measure up.

"So pray to whatever god you believe in that you don’t end up in my pod. Because when that door opens? I won’t just eliminate you—I’ll erase you. And years from now, when people talk about Blaze of Glory, they won’t remember your names. They’ll only remember how I turned all five of you into footnotes on my path to immortality.

You wanted a war? Congratulations. You’re cannon fodder. See you in hell, ladies."

[Mercedes exits into the desert night, but not before she carves "DYNÁSTYA" into the table with a switchblade. The camera lingers as distant coyotes howl.]

Blog: Almighty Fire
semana del 9 al 16 de marzo de 2025

I used to think that I was a loner, that I never even had fans. As it turns out, I was very wrong. See, you learn eventually that haters are literally your biggest fans. They go out of their way. Without even following you, to see everything you do. Talk about you. Obsess over you. It’s a win either way, no?

Let’s talk about those imitators for a second. They watch my every move, study my every word, and try to replicate what I do in that ring. But here’s the thing: you can copy the moves, but you’ll never have the magic. You’ll never have the presence, the poise, or the power that comes with being me. Because what I have? It’s not something you can teach. It’s not something you can learn. It’s something you’re born with—and trust me, I was born to be great.

And don’t think I haven’t noticed all the little whispers backstage. ‘Mercedes is losing her edge.’ ‘She’s been on top for too long.’ Sweetheart, if being on top for this long bothers you, then maybe it’s time you stopped aiming so low. The truth is, I’ve been at the peak of this mountain for so long that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to look up at anyone else. And that’s not arrogance—it’s just reality.

They all want what I have—the accolades, the spotlight, the legacy. But here’s the thing: wanting it and earning it are two very different things. And while they’re busy running their mouths, I’m busy running my business.

Not many people can say they've had a legendary Hall of Fame career, won so many championships, be known as one of the most decorated wrestlers in the company, have seen people come and go, but still manage to maintain their place in the Bombshell Division. Some give excuses, others criticize the company. But those who stay and work hard definitely become legend. I'm at a place in life where I'm most happy and could not win another title and still be more relevant than I am now.

The women's division is so deep. You really have to show up now. There's no longer matches that are going to be a sure walkthrough. To be in Sin City Wrestling for well over a decade is to experience the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. Sometimes, it hurts. But I take it and move forward

They said I was done. They said Mercedes Vargas had nothing left to prove. But here I am—still standing tall while others have come and gone. This isn't just about proving them wrong—it's about reminding everyone why I’m still the standard in this company.

At Climax Control 416, I silenced the doubters once again by defeating Crystal Zdunich and earning my spot in the Bombshell World Championship Elimination Chamber match. It wasn’t just a victory, it was a statement. Crystal brought her A-game—hell, her entire alphabet—but I brought something more: experience, resilience, and the will to win. This isn’t my first rodeo, and it won’t be my last.

Losses are part of this business. They’re humbling, frustrating, and sometimes infuriating—but they’re also opportunities. Climax Control 419 last weekend didn’t go as planned. Teaming with Cassie Wolfe was never going to be easy, and the tension between us showed in the ring. But let me be clear: one match doesn’t define me, nor does it define my legacy.

Cassie might think this loss proves her point—that I’m past my prime, that I don’t belong at the top anymore. But here’s the thing: setbacks don’t break legends—they build them. Every great wrestler has faced defeat, but what separates champions from pretenders is how they respond to it. And trust me, I’ve responded to worse than this.

Andrea Hernandez and Kayla Richards may have won this battle, but they haven’t won the war. Andrea’s reign as Bombshell World Champion is still on borrowed time, and Kayla’s arrogance will be her undoing sooner or later. As for Cassie? Maybe now she’ll understand that respect isn’t given—it’s earned. She has potential, but potential without discipline is just wasted talent.

Teaming with Cassie Wolfe wasn’t ideal—she’s young, brash, and clearly has a lot to learn about respect in this business. She might think she’s clever with her digs about my past reigns or calling me irrelevant, but I’ve been where she is now—and I’ve surpassed it. You don’t become a Grand Slam Hall of Famer by being carried—you do it by carrying this division on your back.

I don’t need to justify my career to Cassie or anyone else. She can talk about my past reigns, throw shade about me teaming with Goth, or bring up Harper’s win over me all she wants—it doesn’t change the fact that I’m still here, still winning, and still making history while she's busy trying to make a name for herself.

Cassie clearly has a chip on her shoulder when it comes to me. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my career, it’s how to adapt. I’ve been in this business longer than Cassie’s been alive—I’ve seen it all, done it all, and faced every challenge thrown my way. So if I had to drag her kicking and screaming to victory against Andrea Hernandez and Kayla Richards, then so be it. 

You know, I was hoping Cassie finally realized that teaming with me wasn't a punishment—it’s an opportunity. An opportunity to learn from the best, to see what greatness looks like up close and to maybe—just maybe—pick up a thing or two about what it takes to be a true legend in this business. But if she's too blinded by her own ego to see that, then maybe she's not as smart as she thinks she is.

This loss isn’t the end of my story—it’s just another chapter. Blaze of Glory XIII is around the corner, and when I step into that Elimination Chamber, I’ll remind everyone why Mercedes Vargas is still the gold standard in SCW. Legends don’t stay down—they rise stronger.

Maybe I’m closer to the end of my career than the beginning—but that only makes every match mean even more. I may not be who I was at my peak—but even now, I'm still better than most of the roster, I'm still a threat and I'm still good enough and smart enough to compete at a very high level. So while Andrea and Kayla celebrate their win, I’ll be preparing for what’s next. Because if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s this: you can knock me down, but you’ll never keep me there.

Blaze of Glory XIII is coming—and it doesn’t matter who steps into that chamber with me. Andrea, Kayla, Cassie—they’ll all learn what I already know: Mercedes Vargas isn’t just a name; she’s the gold standard in SCW.


[The wrestling gym hums with the rhythmic sounds of effort—grunts, heavy breathing, and the occasional squeak of sneakers against the mat. The ring dominates the center of the room, an imposing square surrounded by workout equipment and scattered weights. Under the harsh glow of fluorescent lights, Mercedes Vargas moves with precision and intensity, her body a blur of controlled power.

She lunges forward, gripping an imaginary opponent. Her muscles flex as she executes a flawless grapple, her movements fluid and deliberate. It’s almost artistic, the way she transitions seamlessly into a strike. Her fists slice through the air with purpose, each motion refined by years of practice. Sweat glistens on her brow, dripping down her temple as she pushes herself harder. This isn’t just training—it’s a ritual. A fight against doubt. A fight for resilience.

Her thoughts swirl like a mantra: Resilience. Creativity. They’re not just for the ring—they’re for life. Wrestling forces her to adapt, to think on her feet when the odds seem insurmountable. It’s not about brute strength alone—it’s about strategy, finding beauty in chaos. And sometimes, life throws her into matches she didn’t expect.

Mercedes pauses, leaning against the ropes as her chest heaves with deep breaths. She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand and gazes across the gym, momentarily lost in thought. The ring is her sanctuary—a place where she confronts fears and insecurities head-on.

The lights dim slightly as she steps out of the ring, ready to face whatever challenges await beyond its confines.]


[The art gallery buzzes with quiet activity. The faint hum of conversation blends with the soft shuffle of footsteps on polished floors. Paintings and sculptures are scattered throughout the space, each piece carefully arranged to draw the eye. In the center of it all, Irma adjusts a canvas perched on an easel, her brow furrowed with concentration. She steps back, tilting her head as if trying to see the painting from a new perspective.

The door swings open, and Mercedes Vargas strides in, still flushed from her workout. A towel hangs around her neck, and she uses it to dab at the sweat on her face. Her presence is electric, a stark contrast to the subdued atmosphere of the gallery.]

MERCEDES
You should’ve seen me in the ring today—I was on fire.

[Irma glances over her shoulder and offers a faint smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She sighs, turning back to the canvas.]

IRMA
I wish I felt that way about this show. I don’t even know if my work says anything anymore.

[Mercedes walks over to examine one of Irma’s paintings. The colors are bold and raw, each brushstroke heavy with emotion. She tilts her head slightly, taking it in.]

MERCEDES
It’s raw. It’s real. That’s what people connect with. Trust me—wrestling or art, it’s all about putting yourself out there.

[Irma hesitates, her fingers brushing against the edge of the easel.]

IRMA
But what if it’s not enough? What if I’m not enough?

[Mercedes steps closer and places a reassuring hand on Irma’s shoulder. Her grip is steady, grounding.]

MERCEDES
You are. Believe me, I’ve been there—doubting myself before every match. But you fight through it because your passion deserves to be seen.

[Irma’s fingers trail along the edge of the canvas, her gaze lingering on the bold streaks of color she once painted with such confidence.]

IRMA
It’s just… sometimes I feel like I’m shouting into a void. What if no one hears me? What if no one even cares?

[Mercedes crosses her arms, leaning casually against a nearby wall, but her expression is anything but casual. Her eyes soften as she watches Irma wrestle with her insecurities.]

MERCEDES
You know, I used to think the same thing. Every match, I’d wonder—what if I lose? What if no one remembers me? But then I realized something.

[Irma glances at her, curiosity flickering in her eyes.]

IRMA
What?

[Mercedes pushes off the wall and steps closer, her tone growing more animated.]

MERCEDES
It’s not about them. It’s about you. Your work—your art—it’s your voice. Even if only one person hears it, even if it’s just you, that’s enough. Because it’s yours.

[Irma exhales slowly, as if trying to let go of the weight pressing down on her chest.]

IRMA
Easier said than done.

[There’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.]

MERCEDES
Of course it is. If it were easy, everyone would do it.

[Mercedes gestures toward the painting in front of them.]

MERCEDES
But look at this. You’ve already done the hard part—you’ve put yourself out there. That takes guts.

[Irma studies the painting again, this time with a different perspective. The chaotic swirls of color that once seemed uncertain now feel deliberate, almost alive. She tilts her head slightly and lets out a soft laugh.]

IRMA
I guess I do have guts.

MERCEDES
Damn right you do! And don’t forget it.

[For a moment, they stand in comfortable silence, both women staring at the painting as if seeing it for the first time.]

[Later that evening, laughter and conversation fill the air as guests mingle and admire Irma's artwork during her show. Mercedes enters again, dressed casually but exuding confidence as she spots Irma across the room and waves.]

MERCEDES
Look at this place—it’s packed!

[Irma laughs nervously as Mercedes approaches.]

IRMA
I can’t believe it… people actually showed up.

[Mercedes places a reassuring hand on Irma's shoulder.]

MERCEDES
Of course they did! You’re amazing—and so is your work.

[Mercedes glances at one of IRMA's paintings—a bold piece with jagged lines and vibrant colors that seem to radiate energy.]

MERCEDES
This one’s my favorite. It reminds me of a match—messy but full of heart. Just like life.

[Irma looks at the painting thoughtfully as confidence grows in her expression.

[Later that night, after everyone has left, Mercedes stands alone in front of Irma's boldest painting—a piece symbolizing resilience and growth through its chaotic yet striking design.

Mercedes’ phone buzzes in her pocket. She pulls it out and reads a text from Tomas about a getaway weekend on his boat.  She smiles faintly and pockets her phone and studies the painting one last time before stepping out into the night, ready to face whatever battles lie ahead—inside or outside the ring.]


[A warm, modest dining room. The table is neatly arranged with plates and silverware. A simple family meal is laid out in the center. Mercedes sits across from her brother Jorge while their mother Estelle moves quietly around the table, refilling glasses and serving dishes.

Jorge sets his fork down, his eyes narrowing as he addresses Mercedes.]

JORGE
So, still chasing that wrestling dream? When are you going to settle down and get a real job?

[Mercedes stiffens, her jaw clenched in anticipation of a fight. She pushes her chair back slightly, her eyes locked intensely on her brother.]

MERCEDES:
Wrestling is my job, Jorge.

[Mercedes stiffens but doesn’t respond immediately. Estelle intervenes softly.]

ESTELLE:
Jorge, leave her be.

[JORGE crosses his arms over his chest but doesn’t drop his gaze from Mercedes.]

JORGE:
I just don’t see how it’s sustainable. You can't live off passion forever.

[Mercedes stiffens, ready to argue, but Estelle interrupts before she can speak.]

ESTELLE:
You know, I had dreams once too—before family became my whole world.

[Mercedes looks at Estelle in surprise. The room falls silent except for the faint clinking of silverware against plates. Estelle sits down and smiles sadly at Mercedes.]

ESTELLE
Don’t let anyone tell you to stop fighting for what you love.

[The room remains quiet after Estelle’s heartfelt words. Mercedes lowers her gaze to her plate, deep in thought as the weight of Estelle’s words sinks in. Estelle begins serving herself food again, breaking the silence.]

JORGE
Well, I just think it’s time to be practical. Dreams are great, but they don’t keep the lights on, Mercedes.

[Mercedes lifts her head, her jaw tightening as she glares at Jorge.]

MERCEDES
And what would you know about chasing dreams, Jorge?

[Estelle raises a hand, her voice calm but firm.]

ESTELLE
Enough. This is a family dinner, not a debate.

[The tension lingers for a moment before Jorge sighs and turns his attention back to his plate. Mercedes leans back in her chair, crossing her arms defensively.]

MERCEDES
You act like wrestling isn’t a real job… but it’s everything to me.

[Estelle looks at Mercedes with a soft smile, her tone gentle.]

ESTELLE
I know it is, sweetheart. And I admire that about you.

[Mercedes glances at Estelle, surprised by the support in her voice. Estelle reaches across the table to place a hand over Mercedes.]

ESTELLE
Just promise me one thing—don’t lose yourself along the way. Dreams are important, but so is remembering who you are and where you come from.

[Mercedes nods slowly, her defensive posture softening as Estelle’s words sink in.]

JORGE
You can’t live off passion alone. At some point, you’ll have to grow up and face reality.

[Mercedes exhales sharply, her patience fraying.]

MERCEDES
Reality? You think I don’t know what reality is? Every time I step into that ring, I’m putting my body on the line. Every bruise, every broken bone—that’s my reality. And it’s more real than anything you’ve ever done sitting behind a desk.

[Jorge sets his glass down with a loud clink, his jaw tightening.]

JORGE
Don’t you dare lecture me about hard work. I’ve sacrificed plenty for this family—

MERCEDES
And what do you think I’m doing? Wrestling isn’t just some hobby for me, Jorge. It’s my life. It’s who I am.

[Estelle steps in again, her voice calm but firm as she tries to diffuse the escalating argument.]

ESTELLE
Enough. Both of you.

[Her words carry weight, silencing the room for a moment. She looks at Jorge first, her expression sharp.]

ESTELLE
Jorge, your sister is not asking for your approval. She’s asking for your respect.

[Jorge leans back in his chair, crossing his arms but saying nothing. Estelle then turns to Mercedes, her gaze softening.]

ESTELLE
And you… I know how much wrestling means to you. But don’t let your anger blind you to the people who care about you.

[Mercedes looks down at her plate, her shoulders slumping slightly as Estelle’s words sink in. The room falls into another uneasy silence before Jorge finally speaks again, his tone begrudging but less harsh.]

JORGE
I just don’t want to see you get hurt… or waste your time chasing something that won’t last.

[Mercedes looks up at him, her eyes narrowing.]

MERCEDES (quietly but firmly)
Getting hurt is part of it. And so is the risk. But I’d rather fail doing something I love than spend my life wondering what could’ve been.

[Jorge studies her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he sighs and picks up his fork again. Jorge mutters under his breath, his tone laced with frustration.]

JORGE
Stubborn as ever.

[Estelle smiles faintly and places a hand over Mercedes’ on the table.]

ESTELLE:
That stubbornness is what makes her who she is.

[He shifted slightly, his voice dropping to a quieter murmur.]

JORGE
Well, I still think—

[Estelle shoots him a sharp look, cutting him off mid-sentence.]

ESTELLE
Jorge. Not another word.

[Jorge grumbles under his breath but says nothing more. The room falls into an uneasy silence as everyone continues eating. After a moment, Mercedes speaks softly, her gratitude evident in her gentle tone.]

ESTELLE
You know, Jorge… Mercedes isn’t wrong.

[Jorge looks up, his brow furrowing slightly as Estelle continues.]

ESTELLE
Passion doesn’t always make sense to everyone. But it’s what keeps us alive. You may not understand her world, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less valid than yours.

[Mercedes glances at her mother, surprised by the quiet strength in her voice. Estelle turns to Jorge with a knowing smile.]

ESTELLE
And let’s not forget, you weren’t always practical either. Remember when you wanted to be a musician?

[Jorge shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his expression softening as he lets out a reluctant chuckle.]

JORGE
Yeah… but that was a long time ago. I had to grow up.”

[Estelle leans forward, her tone gentle but firm.]

ESTELLE
Growing up doesn’t mean giving up on what makes you happy. It just means finding a way to make it work.

[Jorge looks at Mercedes, his gaze less critical now. There’s a flicker of something—perhaps understanding—in his eyes.]

JORGE
I guess I just don’t want to see you get hurt… or end up disappointed.

[Mercedes straightens in her chair, meeting his gaze head-on.]

MERCEDES
I get hurt every day, Jorge. That’s part of the job. But disappointment? That only happens when you stop trying.

[The room falls silent again, but this time it feels less tense. Jorge nods slowly, as if conceding the point.]

[Estelle smiles warmly and pats Mercedes’ hand before returning to her meal.]

[The lights dim slightly as the family continues their quiet dinner, leaving them in a reflective tableau.]


Present Day ♦ L O S A N G E L E S, C A L I F O R N I A

[REC•]

[The camera pans over the vibrant, rainbow-colored Micheltorena Steps in Silver Lake, Los Angeles. Mercedes Vargas stands at the bottom, dressed in a sleek black outfit that contrasts with the bright surroundings. She looks up at the stairs, a confident smirk on her face.]

"You know, I’ve waited long enough to address everyone about Climax Control 420, the go-home show before Blaze of Glory."

[Mercedes begins walking up the stairs, her heels clicking against the concrete as she speaks.]

"And trust me, the wait was worth it. Why? Because reacting out of emotion is so basic. That’s not me. That’s not Mercedes Vargas. I don’t do petty; I do power moves."

[She pauses halfway up, turning to face the camera with a dramatic flourish.]

"I have a splitting headache, my hand hurts, my body hurts. But what hurts the most is that I know it, those stupid fans know it, all those idiots in San Francisco knows it. I had that much won last weekend. It would’ve been so easy to come here and whine about Andrea Hernandez and Kayla Richards getting lucky last weekend or Cassie Wolfe dropping the ball. But let’s be real—luck is fleeting, and mediocrity is forever."

[Mercedes continues her ascent, her voice echoing off the surrounding building.]

"In two weeks, we step into the Elimination Chamber, and let me tell you something, history has a funny way of repeating itself. Andrea Hernandez knows all too well how cruel history can be. December 2 Dismember 2019? She walked out empty-handed in her first ever Elimination Chamber match—and while she wasn't the defending champion at the time, or the one to win the title that night, but she still walked out with nothing but regret. Sure, she eventually won the title at Blaze of Glory the next year, but Evie Jordan snatched that title faster than her reign could even matter in the main event of Into the Void. And now, five years to the day she won her first Bombshell Championship? Andrea’s scared—scared of losing her title without being pinned, scared of history repeating itself like it did when Evie dethroned her at Into the Void.

"But not to worry; I’ll make it easy for Andrea. Because at Blaze of Glory, history will repeat itself again like it did in her first chamber match at December 2 Dismember, like it did at Into the Void when she lost the title to Evie. Andrea will be staring down another avalanche of failure inside the Elimination Chamber—and I’ll be the one to bury her under it. And as for Kayla Richards? If I don’t leave as champion, she won’t leave at all."

[She turns back to the camera, her expression serious.]

"But let's put everything into perspective when it comes to my opponent this weekend. Now she may more concerned about glitter, but Candy is a former Bombshell Roulette Champion. She had a 154-day reign! Did it help change anyone's opinion that she's a threat in division? Probably not, but let's get this back to where it should be.

"Candy—sweet little Candy. Congratulations on your big win over Miss Manners at Climax Control 418 and for earning your golden ticket into the Elimination Chamber match, courtesy of Christian Underwood himself."

[Mercedes descends the stairs now, her eyes locked on the camera.]

"I mean, really, it must feel like a dream come true for you. But let me be the first to wake you up because this isn’t Candyland, sweetheart—this is Sin City Wrestling, and you’re stepping into my world now."

[As she reaches the bottom, Mercedes pauses for dramatic effect.]

"You see, Candy, while you were busy sprinkling glitter and cupcakes all over the ring, I’ve been out here doing what I do best: cementing my legacy as the most decorated Bombshell in SCW history. That’s not just a title; it’s a responsibility. It’s why I don’t dwell on losses like last week’s match against Andrea Hernandez and Kayla Richards. No, I think about the bigger picture—the war, not the battle—and that war culminates inside the Elimination Chamber at Blaze of Glory.

"But before we get there, you and I have some unfinished business at Climax Control 420. You know how they say pick your battles? Well, this match wasn't my choice, but fighting is. I’m not Miss Manners, and I’m not here to play nice. When we meet in San Francisco, I’ll show you what happens when glitter meets grit. Because while you’re dreaming of rainbows and unicorns, I’m focused on one thing: domination. You may have earned your way into that Chamber match with a little win here and a little favor there, but when you stand across from me this Sunday? This isn't all about fun and games. No, I’m about making statements. And my statement is simple: no one—and I mean no one—uses me as a stepping stone to Blaze of Glory.

"Candy, let me remind you what’s at stake here. You’re walking into an Elimination Chamber match with some of the most dangerous women in this company: Andrea Hernandez, Kayla Richards, Necra Octavian Kane and yes—me. Do you really think cupcakes and glitter are going to help you survive that? Andrea is already shaking in her boots knowing she could lose her title without being pinned. Kayla Richards? She’s on borrowed time if I have anything to say about it. And you? Well, let’s just say that after Climax Control 420, your sweet little dreams of glory might just melt away faster than frosting in the sun."

[The camera follows Mercedes as she walks away from the Micheltorena Steps, her heels clicking against the pavement with every confident step. The bright colors of the stairs fade into the background, replaced by the bustling streets of Silver Lake. Mercedes stops near a mural painted on a nearby wall, its vibrant imagery providing a striking backdrop to her commanding presence.]

"These steps? They symbolize my climb—the victories, championships, and defining moments that built my legacy. And as I leave these steps behind—just as I’ve left countless opponents behind in my career—I’m reminded of what drives me forward: resilience and determination. And Candy? You’re just another step for me to conquer on my way to the top."

[Mercedes stops in front of another mural—a depiction of a phoenix rising from the ashes—and smirks as she gestures toward it. She gestures toward the mural behind her, its bold colors reflecting her intensity.]

"This mural? It’s not just paint on a wall—it’s a testament to my journey. Every stroke, every color, every detail tells a story of resilience, dominance, and legacy. Much like this city, I’ve built myself brick by brick, moment by moment, and match by match. And just like this mural stands tall amidst the chaos of Silver Lake, I stand tall in Sin City Wrestling, ready to remind everyone why I’m the most decorated Bombshell in history."

[She begins walking again, her pace deliberate and purposeful as she moves through the streets of Silver Lake. The camera keeps up with her, capturing every word as she speaks with unwavering confidence.]

"Blaze of Glory is coming, and I’m walking into that Chamber with one goal in mind—to walk out as Bombshell World Champion. As for you? Consider our match your first taste of reality because when it comes to Mercedes Vargas versus Candy... well, darling, there’s only one winner here—and it isn’t going to be you."

[Mercedes steps closer to the camera now, filling the frame with her presence as she delivers her final words.]

"So enjoy your moment in the spotlight while it lasts, Candy. And trust me when I say this: at Climax Control 420, the only thing sweeter than victory will be watching your sugar-coated dreams crumble at my feet."

***Fade***

COLD OPEN INT. MERCEDES’ LIVING ROOM – EVENING

[The cozy living room was a shrine to Mercedes Vargas's wrestling career—championship belts hung artfully on walls, vintage posters captured moments of her greatest victories, and action figures stood in dramatic poses across shelves. Mercedes herself sat on the plush leather couch, her fingers scrolling absently across her smartphone screen. The late afternoon Los Angeles light filtered through venetian blinds, casting geometric shadows across the room.

Her expression shifted subtly—from casual disinterest to sudden, sharp attention—as her phone buzzed with an incoming call. The caller ID showed "Mom," and Mercedes knew immediately this wasn't going to be an ordinary conversation.]

MERCEDES
Hey, Mom. What’s up?

[Her mother Estelle's excited voice burst through the phone's speaker, practically vibrating with energy.]

ESTELLE (V.O.)
Mercedes! Big news! Your father and I are opening a restaurant!

[Mercedes sat up straighter, her athletic frame suddenly alert.]

MERCEDES
Wait, what? A restaurant? Since when do you two know anything about running a restaurant?

[Estelle's enthusiasm was infectious, even through the phone line.]

ESTELLE (V.O.)
It’s not just any restaurant—it’s wrestling-themed! And we're not running  it, your friends are. They need your help to promote it. You’re their star attraction!

[Mercedes freezes for a moment, overwhelmed but intrigued.]

MERCEDES
Wrestling-themed? That’s... actually kind of cool. But me? Promoting it? I don’t know, Mom—

[Before she can finish, the apartment's door bursts open. Jorge walks in uninvited, laptop tucked under his arm and looking smug.]

JORGE
Did someone say “restaurant”? Because I smell a feature article!

[Mercedes glares at her brother but can’t help smirking. Some things never changed.]

MERCEDES
Jorge, do you ever knock?

JORGE
Why knock when I have perfect timing? This is big news, Mercedes. Your friends are opening a restaurant, and you’re the face of it! This could be my next big story.

[Mercedes rolls her eyes but can’t hide her nervous excitement.]

MERCEDES
Yeah, well, don’t get too excited. I haven’t said yes yet.

[She looks back at her phone as Estelle continues talking excitedly in the background.]

INT. CARMEN’S OFFICE – SAME TIME

[Carmen Reyes sits at her desk in a sleek office, surrounded by stacks of legal files. She’s on the phone with a client while glancing at an email from Mercedes about the restaurant.]

CARMEN
(to client)
Yes, I understand your concerns, but we’ll need more evidence before we can move forward with the case.

[She sighs and clicks on Mercedes’ email, reading it quickly before muttering to herself.]

CARMEN
A wrestling-themed restaurant? Of course they’d rope me into this somehow...

INT. JORGE'S APARTMENT

[Jorge sits at his cluttered desk, the glow of his laptop illuminating his face in the dim light of the apartment, a chaotic mix of old pizza boxes and scattered papers, remnants of late-night brainstorming sessions that never quite went anywhere. The faint hum of the computer fills the silence as he types furiously, his fingers dancing over the keys. A half-empty coffee cup sits precariously on the edge of the desk, its contents long gone cold. Fingers flying over the keyboard, he crafts a satirical article that pokes fun at his sister Mercedes' lofty dreams. With each word, a smirk creeps onto his face. He’s crafting a satirical article that mercilessly mocks his sister Mercedes’ lofty aspirations. He can almost hear her voice in his head, the way she passionately talks about her dreams, and it only fuels his resolve.“Who does she think she is?” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head as he types another biting line.

Just as he types the final sentence, a sudden ping from his phone breaks his concentration. It’s a message from Mercedes: "Can’t wait to share my big news with you! 😊"

His heart skips a beat, and for a moment, doubt flickers in his mind. Should he really publish this? He hesitates, fingers hovering over the keyboard as he considers her excitement. But then he shakes off the thought, a mischievous grin returning to his face.

With a triumphant click, he hits "publish," sending his biting commentary into the digital world. The room is silent except for the soft hum of the computer, as Jorge leans back, satisfied with his mischievous work.]

INT. RESTAURANT KITCHEN – NIGHT (FLASH FORWARD)

[Ricardo and Tomas are in the kitchen of the unfinished restaurant. It’s chaos—pots are boiling over, smoke fills the air, and Tomas is frantically fanning a burnt tray of appetizers while Ricardo tries to salvage a dish.]

RICARDO
Tomas! How did you burn everything in five minutes?!

TOMAS
It’s called “flavor,” Ricardo! You wouldn’t understand genius if it hit you in the face!

[Smoke alarms start blaring as Irma rushes in holding a plate of lopsided cupcakes.]

IRMA
I think I used salt instead of sugar... again.

[They all freeze as the fire alarm goes off and water sprays from the sprinklers above. Smash cut back to Mercedes in her living room as she hears all this chaos through her phone.]

INT. MERCEDES’ LIVING ROOM – CONTINUOUS

[Mercedes pinches the bridge of her nose as her mom continues rambling on speakerphone.]

ESTELLE (V.O.)
So what do you think? Are you in? We’re counting on you!

[Mercedes exhales deeply before responding with a resigned smile.]

MERCEDES
Yeah... sure. What could possibly go wrong?

INT. RESTAURANT KITCHEN – DAY

[The kitchen was a battlefield of culinary chaos. Ricardo stood in front of a stovetop with smoke billowing around him as he frantically waved a dish towel to clear the air. Pots clanged, timers beeped, and the unmistakable scent of something burning filled the room.

Tomas was perched on a stool nearby, holding a tray of raw chicken wings with an air of misplaced confidence. He inspected them thoughtfully before shrugging and placing them on a serving platter.

Tomas mutters to himself.]

TOMAS
Perfectly fine. Medium rare is trendy now.

[Meanwhile, Irma bustles around the kitchen island with a mixing bowl in hand, her brow furrows in concentration. She carefully measures out what she thought was sugar and dumps it into the batter for cupcakes. The granules sparkles innocently in the light—until Ricardo glances over and froze mid-motion.]

RICARDO
Irma! That’s salt! You’re putting salt in the cupcakes!"

[Irma stopped stirring and looked down at the bowl, her face falling as realization dawned.

IRMA
Oh no... again?!

[She groans and set the bowl aside, muttering under her breath about how recipes were unnecessarily complicated.
Across the room, Tomas was already making his next questionable decision. He grabs a ladle and began taste-testing the soup directly from the pot—only to spit it out dramatically into the sink.]

TOMAS
Too much pepper. Or maybe not enough? Who can tell these days?

[Ricardo turns back to his stovetop just in time to see flames licking up from one of his pans. He yelps and grabs a fire extinguisher, spraying foam wildly until both the flames and half of their appetizers were ruined beyond recognition.]

RESTAURANT DINING AREA – LATER THAT DAY

[Despite the earlier chaos, the dining area was transformed into an inviting space for the tasting event. Tables were adorned with crisp white linens and centerpieces featuring miniature wrestling belts as a nod to Mercedes’ career. Guests mingled with curiosity as servers brought out trays of appetizers—some salvaged from earlier disasters, others hastily prepared last-minute replacements.

[At one table sat a well-known food blogger, who eyed Tomas suspiciously as he placed a platter of chicken wings in front of her with an overly enthusiastic grin.]

TOMAS
Fresh from the kitchen. Bon appetit.

[Tomas walks away without waiting for feedback. The blogger picked up a wing, took one bite—and immediately froze. Her expression shifted from curiosity to horror as she realized it was completely raw inside.]

INT. RESTAURANT KITCHEN – SAME TIME

[Back in the kitchen, Ricardo paces nervously while Irma tries to salvage her salted cupcakes by frosting them heavily with buttercream icing. Tomas leans casually against the counter, oblivious to any concerns about food safety or presentation.

Ricardo mutters under his breath.]

RICARDO
We're doomed.

INT. RESTAURANT DINING AREA – EVENING

[The tasting event was in full swing when Jorge’s article went live online—and it wasn’t long before guests began murmuring among themselves as they read it on their phones.

[Mercedes enters the dining area just as Carmen approaches her hesitantly.

CARMEN
Is it true? That this restaurant is just... some vanity project for you?

[Mercedes freezes, her stomach sinking as she realizes what has happened.
Spotting Jorge across the room chatting casually with another guest, she storms over to him.]

MERCEDES
JORGE!

[Mercedes glares at Jorge, holding up her phone with the offending article headline glowing on the screen: “From Wrestling Rings to Restaurant Dreams: Mercedes Vargas’ Next Big Move.” Jorge, standing a few feet away, looks up at her and blinks innocently. He quickly realizes she’s not in a joking mood.

The scene freezes as Jorge instinctively turns to bolt about to be chased by his very angry wrestler sister. Freeze frame holds as the scene fades to black, capturing the perfect comedic moment of sibling confrontation.]

• • •

Present Day ♦ LA S V E G A S, N E V A D A

[REC•]

[The screen fades in, showing Mercedes Vargas standing on a rooftop overlooking the Las Vegas skyline at dusk. The city lights twinkle behind her as she leans casually against the railing, her expression a mix of determination and defiance. Dressed in a sleek black leather jacket, she exudes confidence as the camera zooms in.]

"Las Vegas. The city of dreams, the city of stars. But on Sunday, at Inception, it’s going to be the city where history gets rewritten. You see, Song and I have danced this dance five times before. Two wins for her, three draws. And me? Zero wins. Nada. Zilch. That’s a bitter pill to swallow for someone like me, a two-time SCW Hall of Famer and multi-time champion.

"You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about this match. About everything it means—not just to me, but to Song, to the fans, and to SCW as a whole. This isn’t just another match on the card. It’s not just another chapter in our story. This is the chapter. The one that defines how this rivalry will be remembered. There’s something poetic about this match happening at Inception. The word itself means ‘the beginning.’ And maybe that’s exactly what this is—a new beginning for me when it comes to Song. A chance to finally close the chapter on this story where I’m always the underdog and start writing one where I come out on top."

[Mercedes smirks, adjusting her jacket.]

"I’ve heard it all before. The whispers, the doubts, the people saying, ‘Mercedes can’t beat her. She’s in her head. She’s outmatched.’ That’s fine. Let them talk. Let you believe that if it makes you feel better, Song. But here’s the thing about me: I thrive when the odds are stacked against me. I’ve built my career proving people wrong, and Sunday will be no different. You may have beaten me, but you’ve never broken me. And that’s the difference between us. You’ve had your moments, sure, but I’ve built a career on moments that people will remember forever. Championships, accolades, Hall of Fame inductions—those aren’t just handed out. They’re earned. And I’ve earned every single one of them."

[Mercedes crosses her arms, tilting her head slightly as a sly smile creeps onto her face.]

"But you? You’re just another name on a long list of people who thought they could keep me down. Spoiler alert: they couldn’t. And neither will you."

[Mercedes takes a step closer to the camera, her expression unflinching.]

"The thing about history—it’s not set in stone. It’s written by those who refuse to quit. And while you might have had my number in the past, Sunday is a new chapter, mamita. You may have gotten the better of me twice in singles competition, sure, but let’s not forget something important: every streak has an expiration date. And yours? It's overdue.

"Because this time, I’m not just fighting to win—I’m fighting to finally put an end to this narrative that you have my number. You don’t. You never did. What you had was opportunity—and on Sunday, I’m taking that opportunity back."

[She steps closer to the camera, her voice firm.]

"You may think you know me, but this isn’t the same Mercedes Vargas you've faced before. I’ve been through losing streaks, setbacks, and doubts—and I’m still standing. That’s what makes me dangerous. At Inception, I’m not just fighting for a win; I’m fighting to remind everyone why I’m one of the greatest Bombshells to ever step foot in SCW."

[Mercedes pauses, her tone softening but still sharp.]

"I’ll give you credit where it’s due, Song. You’re tough. You’re talented. You’ve earned your spot in SCW. But come Inception, none of that will matter because I’m walking into that ring with one goal: to finally put you down and prove to everyone—and to myself—that Mercedes Vargas doesn’t stay down forever.

"Because when that bell rings and we go toe-to-toe for the sixth time, I’m not walking into that ring as the same woman you’ve beaten before. I’m walking in as someone who has nothing left to lose and everything to gain. And trust me when I say this: that makes me more dangerous than I’ve ever been."

[Mercedes takes a deep breath, her tone softening but still carrying an edge.]

"So here’s what’s going to happen at Inception: we’re going to step into this ring one more time. You’re going to bring everything you have—every ounce of skill, every bit of fight—and it still won’t be enough. Because when that final bell rings and my hand is raised in victory for the first time against you? That’s when you’ll realize that history isn’t just rewritten—it’s redefined. And that I don't just rewrite history... I make it."

[Mercedes turns away from the camera, looking out over the city as the wind catches her hair. Her voice carries over her shoulder as she delivers her final words.]

"See you Sunday, Song. Bring everything you’ve got—because I’m bringing everything you can’t handle."

[She steps closer to the camera, her voice dropping to almost a whisper.]

"Prepare for the worst, hope for the best. And may the odds be ever in your favor."

[The camera lingers on her silhouette against the glowing skyline before fading to black once more.]

[***Fade***]

L O N D O N, E N G L A N D

[The soft glow of neon lights spills into the bustling lobby, where Mercedes stands at the front of the line with her friends, the air thick with the buttery scent of popcorn and the sweet aroma of candy. Ricardo, Irma, Hugo, and Tomas exchanged glances, each sharing in her enthusiasm as they moved closer to the ticket counter.]

MERCEDES: Okay, guys, this one’s supposed to be epic. I heard it has more twists than a rollercoaster. They say you’ll never see the ending coming. It’s like a wild ride that keeps you on the edge of your seat.

[Ricardo leans in, intrigued.]

RICARDO: Are we talking plot twists or just a lot of chaos?

MERCEDES: Both. I’ve heard it’s got action, suspense, and enough surprises to make your head spin. You’ll be guessing until the very last minute.

IRMA: Just don’t scream too loud during the scary parts; we don’t need you embarrassing us in front of everyone.

HUGO: Yeah, remember last time? You nearly jumped out of your seat.

[Ricardo, leaning against the wall with a playful grin, shakes his head.]

RICARDO: As long as it doesn’t have a plot twist like last time. I’m still trying to figure out what happened in that ending.

[Irma stands with her arms crossed, rolling her eyes in disbelief.]

IRMA: You just need to pay attention. I can’t believe you didn’t get the symbolism.

[Hugo is munching on popcorn and scrolling through his phone, casually indifferent to the pre-movie chatter. He chuckles softly and leans back, a smirk on his face.]

HUGO: Or maybe he was just too busy texting during the best parts.

[Ricardo shoots back with a smirk.]

RICARDO: Pot. Kettle.

MERCEDES: Did you see how I dominated in my match? This is what a little hard work and a lot of adrenaline gets you.

TOMAS: A little hard work? You had to win a submission match. Pretty sure that took a lot of work.

IRMA: I’m just glad you didn’t end up in the hospital this time. Remember last year’s match? That was wild.

[Just as they reach the front of the line, Tomas steps up to the ticket clerk.]

TOMAS: Five tickets for the new action movie.

TICKET CLERK: That’ll be $50.

[Tomas' face falls as he realizes he only has a crumpled five-dollar bill in his pocket.]

TOMAS: Uh, can I pay in charm?

TICKET CLERK: Charm?

[She leans slightly closer to Tomas, her expression clearly questioning his choice of words. She has a playful smirk forming on her lips.]

TICKET CLERK: Is that what you’re banking on to get into the movies tonight?

[Irma rolls her eyes playfully, a mock exasperation dancing across her face. She leans back slightly, crossing her arms as if to emphasize her disbelief.]

IRMA: Seriously, Tomas? Charm doesn’t pay for tickets, genius.

[As she shakes her head, a smile breaks through, showing that she’s more amused than annoyed. It’s a classic Irma move—part sarcasm, part encouragement—and it perfectly captures the playful dynamic of their group. The laughter around them only fuels her jest, making the moment all the more memorable.

Hugo chimes in with a mock-serious tone.]

HUGO: Don’t worry, man. I’m sure the movie will accept ‘good looks’ as currency.

TOMAS: Five tickets for the new superhero movie.

[The ticket clerk raises an eyebrow, a mix of amusement and skepticism crossing her face.]

TICKET CLERK: Which superhero movie?

TOMAS: Uh... the one with the guy in the suit?

MERCEDES: You mean every superhero movie?

[At that moment, Ricardo, eager to help, leans in.]

RICARDO: Yeah! The one where they save the world or whatever!

[The clerk chuckles.]

TICKET CLERK: That narrows it down to about fifty films.

[Just then, Irma pulls out her phone.]

IRMA: Wait! Is it this one?

[She accidentally plays a loud trailer for a romantic comedy instead. The whole group bursts into laughter as people in line behind them start giggling.]

MERCEDES: Definitely not that one. But it might be more fun than whatever Tomas was thinking.

[Amidst the laughter and playful banter, they finally settle on a movie—after a few more hilarious attempts to remember titles—and the ticket clerk shakes her head with a smile as she hands them their tickets.]


Present Day ♦ L O S A N G E L E S, C A L I F O R N I A

[REC•]

[Mercedes pauses her nail file, glancing up with a playful smirk as she addresses the camera directly. The sunlight streaming through her chic Los Angeles residence highlights her poised demeanor, and she leans forward slightly, engaging her audience.]

"You know what I like about triple threat matches? Not only do I get to face two opponents, but I get to face two opponents at the same time, and it doesn't get better with the opponents I stood across from the ring most recently.

"I don't need to tell you that the better woman won at Violent Conduct, but then when you really think about it, it wasn't such a bad night for yours truly, considering that I ended whatever notions Prudence Pierce and Bobbie Dahl had of walking out of London at my expense. It was fun—well, for me anyway. As a matter of fact, I had so much fun that I couldn't stop talking about it on my flight back home. I almost expecting Prue and Bobbie to have some excuses ready as they read them off note-cards this weekend."

[She chuckles softly, shaking her head as if the thought amuses her.]

"That said, I guess this is the perfect time to mention my golden opportunity this weekend when I step into the ring against Victoria Lyons for the Bombshell Roulette Championship. And credit where it's due, she deserves her flowers. Last weekend, she and her cousin won the World Mixed Tag Titles against the Wolves of Gheimhridh. Do you know how hard it is to beat Finn and Kayla? Let me repeat that: Victoria and Eddie Lyons were able to beat not only two accomplished performers, but the world champions of the men and women's divisions, the best that SCW had to offer in very little time. When you're able to pull off something like that, it definitely means you're going places, and to be honest, I'm looking forward to being in the ring with Victoria. She probably won't feel the same about me, but I'll manage."

[As she exhales slowly, a flicker of determination ignites within her, illuminating her resolve.]

"Believe it or not, people pretty much know my story already; they think they have me all figured out. I’m sure you’ve heard the narratives, or maybe you couldn’t care less. But let’s be real—you have a sense of where I fit in the hierarchy. There are the super-talented wrestlers, those who are simply "good," and then there are those who will never measure up—the ones who just aren’t in your league. I understand why some might think the odds are stacked against me, and that’s perfectly fine. Competition only makes me stronger, and I like to think I excel by playing to my strengths."

[Mercedes glances at her reflection in a nearby mirror, taking a moment to admire the fierce determination etched across her face. The lighting casts a soft glow, highlighting the intensity in her eyes as she studies herself.]

"One could make the argument pretty damn easily that Victoria Lyons was lucky to still be undefeated before she fell from the unbeaten at the go-home show to Violent Conduct at Climax Control 405 against Luna. Nonetheless, she narrowly escaped Bella Madison at Violent Conduct with some late heroics to get out of London without losing the Bombshell Roulette Championship to our hard luck New York native. So it stands to reason why Vicki is now in a clearly tough spot this weekend.

"Now, don’t get me wrong, Victoria has talent. She wouldn't have lasted this long if she wasn't. But, see, talent alone won’t cut it. It’s about experience, cunning, and knowing how to play the game, and I've been at this game long enough to know that every match is a chessboard, and I’m always three moves ahead."

[Mercedes pauses, a playful smile creeping onto her face.]

"It's not just about who hits harder; it’s about who plays smarter."

[Mercedes pauses to apply a fresh coat of polish, her confidence radiating.]

"This Sunday, I stand on the brink of history—90 wins in my SCW career, poised to tie the record for the most Bombshell Roulette Championship reigns as a five-time champion. What’s that? Oh yes, Victoria, I’ll gladly add your second defeat to your record.

"Now, granted, the last time I saw you really wasn't a memorable experience. You defeated me once, but only because you seized an opportunity during a chaotic match. The Ultimate X Over the Pool wasn’t just about me; I was exhausted and at my weakest. If it hadn’t been for Alexandra Calaway, I would have faced you instead of Bella Madison in the end. Like I said, not a pleasant experience.

"That was two months ago, and yes, I carry a grudge—so what? Here’s the deal, Victoria: I won’t fret over it any longer. This isn’t something I’ll be worrying about for much longer. I’m coming for that Bombshell Roulette Championship, and I won’t let you slip away again. You have my full attention now. There will be no distractions between us—just you and me in that ring, no excuses, no interruptions."

[Mercedes leans into the camera, her eyes blazing with intensity as she delivers her next powerful statement.]

"Just like these nails, I’ll be sharp and flawless when I step into that ring. I'm as focused as I've ever been, and for you? For you, Victoria Lyons, this Sunday on Climax Control, I'm planning on making this match short as a favour so you make it before bedtime. Take the opportunity to strategize, develop your game plan, and get in some training. Watch a few tapes of my previous matches if you think it’ll help. Do whatever you need to do to get ready. Bring that fighting spirit of yours, and don’t forget to say your prayers and take your vitamins."

[Turning slightly, she runs a hand through her hair, the movement fluid and deliberate.]

"You've been riding high on that overinflated ego of yours for far too long. I'm going to puncture it, deflate it, and leave it in tatters. They say history is written by the victors. Well, I'm about to write you out of the history books entirely. Your chapter in this company is coming to an abrupt and painful end. And I'll make sure it's footnoted with "couldn't cut it when it mattered most.""

"You’ve had your victories, sure, but those victories don’t define you—they merely set the stage for your next challenge. And I am that challenge. I’m the one who’s going to challenge everything you think you know about competition.

"I’m not just fighting for a title; I’m fighting to solidify my legacy in the Bombshells Division. And let’s be real, the fans expect nothing less than a show-stopping performance, and I plan to give them one they won’t forget."

[She leans back, crossing her legs elegantly, exuding a calm confidence that contrasts with the intensity of her words. The camera captures her poised demeanor, a stark reminder of the fierce competitor she is.]

"Victoria, your words reflect desperation more than truth. You may flaunt your crown, but remember, it’s not just about titles; it’s about legacy. I’ve built mine over decades, and while you sip wine in a bathrobe, I’ve been in the ring earning respect. While you’re busy calling me a relic, let’s not forget that relics hold history. They tell stories of battles fought and won—stories that shaped the very foundation of this company. The roads you've traveled are the roads I paved for entitled bitches like you to have a shot at greatness. I walked so you could run.

"You want to call me yesterday's news? You’re right. I’m yesterday’s news, today’s news, tomorrow’s news—and I’ll be Sunday’s news too, at your expense.

"Since you like to claim how I'm so analytical in everything, analyze this: Whatever plans you have for Sunday, I suggest you find new plans. Better yet, cancel them. Let the air out of the balloons, hold off on the streamers and that huge banner, and put that champagne on ice, mamita, because you’re going home empty-handed and one title lighter than when you arrived. This story isn’t going to have a happy ending."

[She sets down her nail file and leans forward, her eyes sparkling with unwavering determination.]

"You think you’re better than me? You go on ahead and try to convince yourself and those fans just that. I don't necessarily think you are, but I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and we'll see if you're right. In fact, I'm going to hold you to that. So lace up those boots one last time. Savor that walk down the ramp. Because once you step through those ropes, your world as you know it ends. And a new nightmare - one crafted by my hands - begins."

[With a final flourish of her nail file, she adds a smirk before her voice softens.]

"Prepare for the worst, hope for the best."

[Mercedes stands up again, striking a pose as if she were already in the ring.]

"And may the odds be ever in your favor."

[***Fade***]

S U N P R I N C E S S C R U I S E L I N E R

[Mercedes Vargas gazes out at the breathtaking skyline, her long black hair cascading down her back, framing her face with an air of elegance. Dressed in a striking short red dress, she commanded attention, the vibrant color echoing her passionate spirit. A delicate blue flower nestled behind her right ear, a subtle yet charming detail that added a touch of serenity to her appearance.

[She slightly lowers her head, the pain of Sunday's outcome at Summer XXXTreme still felt raw, still felt numb to the point where she struggles to process her emotions, the weight of disappointment hangs heavy. Memories of the match replay in her mind, each moment a reminder of what could have been.

[Ricardo walks onto the deck, noticing her near the railing.]

RICARDO: You all right? You’ve been quiet since the match.

[His voice breaks the silence, prompting her to look up, revealing a flicker of vulnerability beneath her poised exterior.]

MERCEDES: Just trying to wrap my head around everything. I thought I had it in the bag.

RICARDO: I know it hurts. But you fought hard. That counts for something.

MERCEDES: Does it? It feels like a failure right now.

RICARDO: It’s not. Every setback is a setup for a comeback. You’ll bounce back stronger.

MERCEDES: You really think so? I just feel lost.

RICARDO: Trust me. Take some time, but don’t let this define you. You’re too talented for that.

MERCEDES: Thanks, Ricardo. I needed to hear that.

RICARDO: Anytime. Remember, even the best have their off days. Look at the champions; they’ve all faced defeat at some point.

MERCEDES: That’s true. I guess I just wanted to prove myself, especially after all the buildup.

RICARDO: And you did! You showed everyone what you’re capable of. It’s just one match. You’ve got a whole career ahead of you.

MERCEDES: I know, but it’s hard to shake off the feeling of disappointment. It’s like a shadow that won’t leave.

RICARDO: I get that. But think about what you can learn from this. What would you do differently next time?

MERCEDES: I suppose I could focus more on my strategy. I got a bit caught up in the moment.

RICARDO: Exactly! Use this experience to fuel your fire. You’re not just a competitor; you’re a force to be reckoned with.

MERCEDES: You always know how to lift my spirits. I appreciate you being here.

RICARDO: Always. And hey, how about we grab some food? A little distraction might help.

MERCEDES: That sounds perfect. Let’s do it!

[After their exchange, Ricardo gently places his hand on her shoulder. It was the least he could do.]

• • •

[Mercedes and her friends disembark from the cruise ship, the salty breeze tousling their hair. As they stepped onto the dock, the sun warmed their faces, and laughter filled the air as they chat about the memorable experiences they shared on board.]

IRMA: I can't believe the cruise is over! It feels like just yesterday we were setting sail.

TOMAS: Remember that sunset dinner on the deck? It was breathtaking.

HUGO: And the karaoke night! You totally stole the show, Mercedes!

MERCEDES: Only because you guys cheered me on! What was your favorite part, Richie?

RICARDO: Definitely the snorkeling trip. Those fish were so colorful!

IRMA: I loved the dance parties! We should do this again next year.

MERCEDES: Did I mention I’m heading to Thailand?

IRMA: Wow, that sounds fantastic! Are you trying any local dishes?

RICARDO: Next time, we’re all going together. I want to experience that!

TOMAS: Absolutely. What are you most excited to see?

MERCEDES: The street food. I've heard the pad thai and mango sticky rice are must-tries.

HUGO: Those are delicious! Are you planning to visit any temples?

MERCEDES: Yes! I want to see Wat Pho and the Grand Palace. The architecture looks stunning.

IRMA: You’ll love it! The culture is so rich. Are you going to do any shopping?

MERCEDES: Definitely! I want to check out the markets for some unique souvenirs.

RICARDO: Make sure to bargain! It’s part of the experience.

MERCEDES: I’ll keep that in mind! I’m just so excited to immerse myself in everything.

HUGO: You’re going to have the best time! Have you thought about any specific markets you want to visit?

MERCEDES: I’ve heard the Chatuchak Weekend Market is a must. It’s huge and has everything from clothes to handicrafts.

IRMA: That sounds amazing. Just don’t get lost in there. It’s easy to spend hours browsing.

TOMAS: And make sure to try some street snacks while you’re there! I’ve heard the grilled meats are incredible.

RICARDO: Oh, and don’t forget about the coconut ice cream. It’s supposed to be heavenly.

MERCEDES: I’m writing all of this down. I want to make the most of my trip.

HUGO: You should also check out some cooking classes. Learning to make Thai dishes would be a fun souvenir to bring back.

MERCEDES: That’s a great idea. I’d love to learn how to make green curry.

IRMA: And you can host a dinner party when you get back to show us what you learned.

RICARDO: Count me in! I’ll bring the drinks.

THOMAS: This is going to be epic. We’ll be living vicariously through you until we can go together.

MERCEDES: I promise to take tons of photos and share all the stories. I can’t wait to tell you about my adventures.

IRMA: Just make sure to send us some pictures of the food. We want to drool over your meals.

MERCEDES: You got it. I’ll keep everyone updated. Now, let’s grab a bite to eat before we head home. I’m starving.

IRMA: Good idea. Let’s find a nice café nearby. We can keep the vacation vibes going just a little longer.

TOMAS: Lead the way, Mercedes. We’ll celebrate the end of this trip and the start of your next adventure.

[As they walk together, laughter fills the air, their excitement for the future blending seamlessly with the memories of their recent cruise.]

• • •

Present Day ♦ S A N T A M O N I C A, C A L I F O R N I A

[REC•]

[In front of the camera, Mercedes takes a deep breath, her excitement is adamant as she stands confidently at Santa Monica Pier, the vibrant atmosphere buzzing with energy around her. Dressed in stylish summer gear, she sports a fitted tank top that showcases her toned arms and a pair of high-waisted shorts that highlight her athletic build. A pair of trendy sunglasses rests atop her head, catching the sunlight, while her hair flows freely in the ocean breeze.]

"So, Summer XXXTreme has come and gone. I poured my heart and soul into that the Ultimate X Over the Pool. I fought hard, and while I walked off that cruise ship empty-handed, again, I know I gave it my all. The competition was fierce, and I learned a lot about myself and my opponents. That said, Victoria Lyons, I owe you an apology, I really wasn't familiar with your game. I don't get impressed easily, and I was left impressed. We may be going our separate ways, but I'm sure this won't be the last time we see each other."

[Mercedes pauses, takes a deep breath, and clenches her fists, showcasing her determination. Like Mercedes, Alexandra Calaway and Bella Madison also gave their all, but Victoria wouldn't go quietly. In Mercedes's mind, it was destiny delayed, not denied.]

"After some much-needed R&R, I'm ready to step back into that ring and prove myself as we approach this weekend's showdown. That leads me to this weekend where I, Mercedes Vargas, step into the ring against Diamond Steele and SCW newcomer Raine. This is supposedly a Proving Grounds match, but exactly who has something to prove here? Raine stumbled in her debut last weekend and Diamond is four matches into her in-ring return and her first match in over a month."

[Mercedes exudes confidence as she addresses her opponents with unwavering determination.]

"Raine, I'll start with you. Now, I get it. It’s tough starting a new job. The anxiety, the butterflies, making a first impression – preferably the right impression...it’s enough to make anyone a nervous wreck. Taking the SATs would be a piece of cake compared to this. And no matter how many times you've convinced yourself, the butterflies in your stomach never seem to let up. The questions never seem to let up either: are your coworkers going to like you? Were they going to pick on you? How are you going to act around management? Fitting in as “the new girl” and starting out on the right foot are probably the least of your worries, mamita. Living up to the hype you've built up for yourself is probably going to be tougher than you expected."

[Mercedes pauses, crossing her arms confidently, and gives a knowing smile, as if to say she's been through it all before and emerged stronger.]

"For the first time in years, you're the rookie again, the newcomer, the fish out of water. Having to learn new names and faces will take getting used to, but then this is what you signed up for. You signed on the dotted line and now you're officially part of the Sin City Wrestling roster. The first few days, weeks and months will be telling as to how you're received by what I'm assuming will be a capacity crowd in Bangkok, Thailand in just a few days time.

"Your opponents will be ready, the crowd will be ready, but will you? As the latest addition to the Bombshell roster, you had better be. In a division of twentysomethings, overnight sensations, yesterday's hopefuls, and tomorrow's stars, keeping up is only half the battle.

[Mercedes takes a moment to adjust her stance, exuding confidence and focus.]

"Now the question remains whether you will stand out from the crowd or become just another face in the crowd. I know you are one of my next opponents, and it doesn’t matter to me what you’ve done in other companies. You believe you are the hottest new thing on the block, but on Sunday, you are just another person standing across from me. And I’m going to beat you because I’m not just better than you think—I’m better than you think you are."

[Mercedes leans in slightly, her eyes locked onto the camera, intensifying her message.]

"Now, granted, you may have given Andrea a run for her money last weekend, but when it comes to skill, I’m in a league of my own. You’re stepping into the ring with someone who’s not just experienced but relentless. I’m sure you’ve taken the time to study my moves, anticipate my strategies, and prepare to counter everything I throw at you. You might think you’ve seen everything I have to offer, but trust me, I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.

"I know you’ll bring everything you have, and I welcome the challenge. But understand this, Raine: I’m not just another opponent. I’m a competitor who thrives under pressure, who rises to the occasion when the stakes are high. But don’t think I’m going to underestimate you; every loss is a lesson learned. Lucky for you, school’s in session, and I’m the teacher. Raine and Diamond, you may think you’re ready for this challenge, but I’m about to school you in the art of wrestling."

[Mercedes gives a confident nod, as if to emphasize her readiness and determination. She pauses, letting her words sink in before turning her attention to Diamond Steele.]

"And as for you, Diamond? It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Almost too long. I’m genuinely glad we're sharing the ring for the first time in ages, but maybe you don’t feel that way, and that’s okay. Since Into the Void, you kinda fell off the grid in SCW, so I totally understand that Mark had to find warm bodies for this tournament of his, but if you think you can just stroll in and take the spotlight, I’m here to remind you that I’m not just another opponent. I’m a force to be reckoned with. We’ve shared this ring, faced each other time and time again. If you think I’m going to be intimidated or worried because you showed up, or because your name is next to mine, you are dead wrong.

"Here's the thing that sets me apart from every other so-called 'legend' in this business. I'm not content with past glories. I'm not here to rest on my laurels or reminisce about the 'good old days'. Every match, every promo, every moment in this ring is another chance for me to prove why I'm the best damn wrestler SCW has ever seen."

[Mercedes Vargas continues, her eyes locked on the camera with a determined gaze.]

"This Sunday, it’s not just about reminiscing on past encounters; it’s about creating a new chapter. A chapter where I come out on top, where I show the world that I’m not just a name from the past, but a dominant force in the present. The only thing that this match is really about for me, is proving myself at least one more time."

[Mercedes Vargas takes a moment to let her words resonate before delivering her final thoughts.]

"So Raine, Diamond? bring your best, because I’m coming to claim my victory. The question isn’t who is going to let me; it's who is going to stop me."

[As she exhales slowly, a flicker of determination ignites within her, pushing her to confront the challenges ahead, ready to channel her frustration into future victories.

[Her voice softens.]

"Prepare for the worst, hope for the best. And may the odds be ever in your favor."

[With a fierce determination, Mercedes Vargas walks away, leaving a clear message that she’s ready to dominate and teach a lesson in the ring.]

[***Fade***]