Show Posts
1
Supercard Archives / Re: FRANKIE HOLLIDAY v MIKAH v LAURA PHOENIX - 2025 BFTP FINALS
« on: May 23, 2025, 12:48:13 PM »
Together Again. Gee, it's good to be together again.
Paris, France
The flat just outside central Paris had the kind of charm you’d expect from an old postcard—arched windows, wrought iron balconies, and the golden wash of late afternoon light settling over the hardwood floors. But inside, the Madison-O’Connell clan were anything but peaceful.
Laura stood in the corner near the wide window, arms crossed, watching the traffic on the street below. She didn’t say much—she didn’t need to. The silence around her was just a pause in her storm.
Behind her, chaos reigned.
Aaron darted around the living room with his toy airplane, zooming it through the air with sound effects that echoed off the walls. “Watch out! Crash landing!”
“Airrrplane!” Máire squealed, chasing after him in tiny, wobbling steps. She wore one of Nick’s oversized Yankees hats, which kept slipping down over her eyes.
“Careful with her!” Bella called, jogging behind with a sippy cup in one hand and a half-tied ponytail swaying as she moved.
“She likes it!” Aaron yelled back. “She’s chasing me!”
“Because she thinks you're a snack, not a pilot,” Malachi muttered from the kitchen, cutting up apple slices with one eye on the mayhem.
From the couch, Aileen O’Connell watched it all with a smirk, nursing a mug of tea and giving Laura a once-over. “You gonna let the chaos win, or are you still planning to raise hell in that ring next week?”
Laura’s lips curled into a dry smile. “Who says I can’t do both?”
Nick came up beside her, handing her a fresh cup of coffee. “You’re not even trying to relax, are you?”
She took it without looking at him, eyes still fixed on the Paris skyline. “I relax when the job’s done.”
“Which one?”
“All of them.”
There was a pause, filled only by the shriek of Máire attempting to scale the couch like Everest, followed by Mal plucking her off mid-climb.
Laura turned away from the window and walked slowly toward the center of the room. She crouched down to Aaron’s level just as he buzzed by again.
“You ready to watch me win again, champ?”
He nodded fiercely, pushing imaginary buttons on his plane. “You’re gonna beat ‘em all. Boom! Like that!”
“Boom,” she echoed with a grin, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
Máire waddled over next, hands out. “Up! Up!”
Laura scooped her up, the little girl giggling as Laura gave her a spin and rested her on her hip. “Even my biggest fan believes in me.”
“Gammy strong!” Máire declared, her voice slightly garbled but proud.
Laura chuckled. “That’s my pretty girl.”
She looked to Bella, who stood a little apart now, watching her mother with a softness in her eyes. It wasn’t reverence exactly—it was respect. Earned. Reinforced. The kind you couldn’t fake.
Laura handed Máire back to Bella and turned toward the hallway, motioning to Nick.
“I’m gonna get some air. And maybe… talk a little shop.”
“What If You Could?”
Paris, Late Evening
The apartment was finally quiet.
Aaron had crashed, tangled in a blanket on the pullout. Máire was tucked into her travel crib, one fist curled under her cheek. Even Nick had turned in, a book still open on his chest.
And Laura? She was alone on the balcony, nursing the last of a glass of wine, a hoodie zipped over her tank top, her hair messily tied back. Paris sparkled in front of her like a dream—but it felt a million miles away.
She pulled her phone out and opened her notes app. Not to write. Just to look.
Names. Matches. Bullet points on Mikah. On Frankie Holliday. Promos watched. Interviews analyzed. She’d always done her homework—obsessively, quietly, like a scholar preparing for war.
But tonight… she didn’t feel like a student. She felt like a relic.
“Maybe they don’t want me to win,” she murmured aloud. “Maybe they just want the drama of watching me fall.”
She hated how the thought lingered.
Because the truth was… she used to think that way too. Back when she was the one clawing for a shot, back when her name wasn’t followed by "legend" or "return." Back when she was dangerous for being new.
She set the phone down and leaned forward over the balcony, breathing in the cold bite of the Paris night.
“I’m not here to show I still can,” she whispered. “I’m here because I should. Because I am.”
And because when you’ve been through the hells she’s survived, it’s not enough to still be standing.
You need to burn.
The city was quiet now, or at least as quiet as Paris could be. A few muted horns in the distance, the soft hum of life far below. The lights of the Eiffel Tower blinked in rhythm like a beating heart.
Inside the apartment, the rest of the Madison-O’Connell clan had long since gone to bed. Even the creaks of the old floorboards had settled.
Laura stood in the kitchenette, arms braced on the counter, staring at the untouched tea in front of her. She hadn’t meant to be up this long, but her body ached in a way that sleep couldn’t mend.
She didn’t hear Nick come in—just felt his presence before his hand gently touched the small of her back.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked softly.
She didn’t look at him. “Didn’t try.”
A beat passed before she turned to face him. His eyes, warm and steady as always, searched her face.
“You do know that after all these years that I can tell that you’re hurting. Even when you are good at hiding it from everyone else,” he said, not as an accusation, just fact.
She gave a breath of a laugh, but it came out more like a sigh. “Physically? Always. Emotionally?” She paused. “Only when I think too hard.”
Nick stepped around her and gently took her hand, leading her toward the couch. She let him. They sat together in the quiet for a long moment, his hand tracing idle patterns over hers.
And then she asked, barely above a whisper, “Do you ever miss it?”
Nick’s expression didn’t change much—but Laura saw the flicker behind his eyes. Pain. Not from his body. From memory.
“Every day,” he said.
Laura nodded slowly. “Do you ever think… What if you could? What if they found some miracle thing and said you could take one more match?”
Nick smiled sadly, then reached up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I think about it all the time. But then I look at Aaron. I look at you. And I remember what the doctors said. One bump. One wrong landing… and I might never walk again. Might not even hold my son again or our granddaughter. Or even you. ”
Her throat tightened. She reached up, covering his hand with hers, squeezing it hard. “I hate that. I hate that that choice was taken from you. And I hate how selfish I am for wishing I could still see you in there.”
Nick pulled her in, their foreheads resting together.
“You’re not selfish,” he whispered. “The one thing I love about you the most is that you’re a fighter. You always have been. But Laura…” He tilted her face to meet his eyes. “You don’t need me to fight beside you to have me. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her voice cracked when she spoke. “I just… I don’t want to do this without you. Not the matches. Life.”
“You won’t. You’re not.”
“I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” she admitted, tears slipping from her eyes now. “If I lost you… and had to raise Aaron alone…”
He kissed her—soft and sure.
“You’d do it,” he said. “Because you’re Laura fucking Madison. You’d mourn, and you’d break. And then you’d rise like you always do. Because you don’t know how to do anything else.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“I know.”
She buried her face in his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms tight around her.
“You’re not going to lose me, Laur. I’m being careful. I have to be. Because I want to be with you. With our kids. For as long as this damn body lets me.” He tilted her chin again. “But don’t think for one second that my staying out of the ring means I’m less. You carry the weight for us both now. And you’re doing it beautifully.”
She nodded slowly, trying to breathe through the tangle of love and fear in her chest.
“I need you,” she said.
“I’m right here,” he replied.
And in that moment, for just a while, the pain in her shoulders felt lighter. Because the man beside her wasn’t the warrior she once fought beside.
He was the reason she still fought at all.
Conversations in the Dark
The space is mostly empty, the hum of fluorescent lights overhead the only real noise aside from the occasional echo of someone else far off, slamming a mat or exhaling hard between sets. But in the corner of the ring under a lone spotlight, Laura Madison sat on the second turnbuckle — hands taped, hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, sweat still clinging to her neck after her last sparring session.
There was a camera set up in front of her. Nothing flashy. Just real.
And that’s how Laura wanted it.
No glitz. No bullshit.
Just her.
She stared into the lens, letting the silence stretch long enough to become sharp.
Then she exhaled, low and deliberate.
“Let’s talk, shall we?”
Her voice was steady, rich with that low burn of someone who’d heard enough.
“Frankie Holliday. Mikah. You both had quite a bit to say, didn’t you? Felt real brave getting cute with your words when I wasn’t there to answer. But I’m here now. And sweetheart, I’ve got time.”
She slid off the turnbuckle, stepping into the center of the ring like it was a throne. Like it had always belonged to her.
“Let’s start with you, Frankie. You said people are acting like it’s ‘the second coming’ because I’m back. No, honey. They're acting like that because they remember. They remember who built the roads you're walking on. Who was headlining before your voice ever cracked. Who was throwing hands in main events while you were still learning how to lace your damn boots.”
“You think this is a new era? Good for you. You should be proud of where you’re standing. But let me make something perfectly clear…”
Laura leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing with razor-sharp focus.
“This ‘new era’ still runs through me.”
“You’re not the first flavor-of-the-month rookie who stumbled into the spotlight, mouth moving faster than their brain. And you won’t be the last. But I’ve seen your kind come and go. Fast climbs. Faster falls. You earned your shot, Frankie — I won’t take that away from you. But the second you opened your mouth about me like I was yesterday’s headline? You signed your own pain order.”
“Experience doesn’t matter? Baby girl, experience is the reason I know how to take people like you apart without breaking a sweat. Experience is why I know you’ll rush in wide open looking for that one viral moment — and I’ll be waiting with a receipt in the form of a knee to your jaw.”
She took a breath. Calm. Controlled. Lethal.
“Now then... Mikah.”
Laura actually chuckled, low and bitter.
“You said I belong in a museum.”
Her expression turned cold, her voice a hair softer — deadlier.
“Aren’t you one to fucking talk? Have you ever stepped foot in a museum, Mikah? You know what they hold? Masterpieces. Artifacts of power and legacy and permanence. That’s me. What are you? Some Instagram filters and a history of ‘almosts’.”
“Yes, you’re a legend in SCW. That’s the funny part. I didn’t forget. But somewhere along the way, you did. Because instead of showing me the respect I earned, you treated me like I was something to roll your eyes at. Like I’m some washed-up story trying to rewrite history.”
She stepped forward again, the light catching the sharp line of her jaw.
“I’m not here because I can’t let go. I’m here because I chose to remind this company what it looks like when someone walks into a ring without needing a gimmick or a catchphrase or a pity party to be great.”
“You wanna question if I still belong? You should be asking yourself how you’re going to survive standing across from someone with nothing to prove and everything to burn. Because unlike you two... I don’t need this win. Not one single solitary soul expected me to make it even THIS far. But I want it. And that makes me so much more dangerous.”
Laura stopped pacing, planting herself dead center again. Her arms crossed now, tone final.
“I’m not here to take sass. I’m not here to trade barbs and hashtags. I’m here to fight. To dominate. And to win. Not because I have to prove I’m still relevant — but because it’s fun as hell to remind people I’m still better than most of this locker room with one knee tied behind my back.”
“So come Into the Void ready. Bring your best. Talk your shit. Try to make your mark. But remember this…”
“I am not just another comeback story. I am not some nostalgia act. I am Laura. Fucking. Phoenix.”
She leaned into the camera one last time, her voice dropping to a near-whisper:
“And I’m about to give you both a lesson you’ll never forget.”
The camera held on her eyes — burning bright, burning steady.
It’s Okay To Call It Out
Another Quiet Night
Inside, the room was dim. Just the amber glow of a standing lamp in the corner and the city’s golden shimmer reflecting off Bella’s face as she sat curled on the oversized couch, a throw blanket tossed across her legs. Her phone was in her lap, voice recorder app open, unsaved takes stacked beneath a blank one waiting to be filled.
Her thumb hovered over the record button, but she didn’t press it.
A quiet shuffle came from the hallway. Bella glanced up to see Laura, dressed in lounge pants and an old SCW t-shirt, pad barefoot into the room with two steaming mugs in her hands.
“What is it about this damn week? Apparently you couldn’t sleep either?” Laura asked, handing her one of the mugs.
Bella took it gratefully. “Nah. Mind won’t shut up.”
Laura sat down beside her, folding one leg underneath her.
“You’ve been quiet since dinner,” she said gently.
Bella offered a small shrug. “Just thinking.”
Laura raised an eyebrow. “Thinking? Or spiraling?”
Bella chuckled softly — the kind of tired laugh that hides the weight behind the eyes.
“Little of both,” she admitted. “It’s… it’s my defense. More specifically it’s Mercedes Vargas. I did some thinking today, knowing what I need to say....feeling a tad bit hypocritical with her, especially since she’s got a high ranking vet underneath her. She’s in the Hall of Fame, for God’s sake.”
“I feel like even saying something about it at times feels like I’m shorting you. My own mother who is attempting history herself in winning the Blast from the Past.”
Laura sipped her tea, listening, not rushing the moment.
Bella continued, voice quieter now. “And I know you have an honest to goodness chance of winning the damn thing. But… I can’t lie — part of me feels guilty. Like I’m about to slap the crown off someone’s head who helped build the damn throne.”
Laura nodded slowly, eyes thoughtful. She’d been there — had been the one whose crown they came for.
“You’re allowed to feel that,” she said. “Let me explain something to you. Respect isn’t weakness, Bella. It just means you see the whole picture. It means you care.”
Bella turned toward her, frowning. “Then why does it feel like I’m the villain the second I open my mouth?”
Laura leaned forward slightly.
“Because you grew up watching this business practically under a microscope,” she said. “But that’s the trick of legacy. It makes certain people immortal in your mind — until you’re the one holding the sword.”
Bella’s fingers gripped her mug a little tighter.
“It’s weird, I don’t want to disrespect her,” she said. “But after everything she and I went through, I feel like I just have to prove I belong CONSTANTLY...of course it feels like it’s on a constant basis with her. I want to win and I want to retain. But how do you do that without coming off like every other brash rookie who ever called a vet ‘washed up’?”
Laura tilted her head, then offered a small, knowing smile.
“Well you are far from a brash rookie now. But you speak YOUR truth. The real truth. That’s the difference. You don’t need to tear Mercedes down with lies or cheap shots. Her legacy speaks for itself — so let it. And then speak for yours. This match isn’t about shoving her into the past. It’s about showing that the future is already here. You are already here.”
Bella nodded slowly, the fire beginning to flicker behind her eyes.
“And if she doesn’t see it that way?”
Laura shrugged, casually confident.
“Then you’ll show her.”
She set her mug down and rose to her feet, brushing a kiss to the top of Bella’s head.
“Be proud of your voice. Even if it shakes a little.”
Bella looked up, eyes softer now. “Thanks.”
Laura offered her a wink. “Hey, It’s perfectly fine to remind Mercedes that history doesn’t scare you. You’re writing your own.”
She disappeared down the hall, leaving Bella alone with the quiet again.
One More Time
The lights are dim. There’s a quiet hum from the street below, distant traffic and muffled nightlife. Laura Phoenix sits on the edge of a small table, one leg crossed over the other. Her phone is leaned up against a water glass. She doesn’t bother with a backdrop, or a fancy camera crew.
She's dressed in simple black — a hoodie and jeans. No war paint. No armor.
Her voice? Razor-wire soft.
“You want one more? Fine.”
She glances at the camera. Not with anger.
With certainty.
“But this isn’t a promo. I’m not here to perform for clicks. I’m not here to out-clever you. I’m here because there’s still a part of me — the part that built everything you’re standing on — that wants to make sure that everyone including the both of you understand what’s about to happen.”
She exhales slowly, as if she’s giving the words time to form correctly.
“Frankie Holliday. You’re not a threat. You’re a test balloon. Inflated ego, lightweight, and all air. You’ve got fire, I’ll give you that. But fire without direction? It burns out. Or worse…”
Her eyes narrow slightly.
“It gets put out.”
“You talk like you’ve been disrespected, like the world hasn’t given you your due. But deep down, I think you know you skipped a few steps. That’s why you lash out. That’s why you keep throwing my name around like saying it gives you legitimacy.”
“You want to use me as your measuring stick? Good. Because at Into the Void, I’m going to show you just how far you still have to go.”
Laura shifts, leaning in a little. Her tone drops to an almost maternal cadence — the kind that warns you before the belt comes off the wall.
“And Mikah…”
She smiles, faint. Not fond.
Like a woman watching someone she used to admire lose the plot.
“You used to be something. Truly. You weren’t just a star — you were a standard. But somewhere along the way, you stopped evolving. You got comfortable. And now you’re still here, still talking, still trying to convince yourself you haven’t been passed by.”
“But I’m not your past, Mikah.”
“I’m your present. And I identify as a MASSIVE fucking problem. A very CLEAR and present danger.”
“I get called a relic, a throwback quite a bit. But the truth is, I never needed to rebrand, reinvent, or repackage myself to be dangerous. I stayed dangerous. You just stopped paying attention.”
“That’s the difference between us.”
There’s no yelling. No venom. Just clarity. And maybe that’s what makes it scarier.
“You both think you're about to steal a moment. Make a name off mine. Rewrite my ending to make your beginning shinier.”
She leans closer, resting her forearms on her knees. Her voice becomes whisper-thin.
“But what happens when I don’t let you?”
“What happens when the veteran doesn’t play nice? When the legacy doesn’t fade quietly? When the comeback doesn’t end in loss — but in domination?”
She lets the silence hang — gives the weight of her words space to echo.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Laura slowly rises to her feet and walks to the window. She looks out at Paris, never turning back to the camera.
She looks into the lens like it’s the person she’s about to hurt.
“Paris.”
“Seems poetic, doesn’t it?”
A bitter smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.
“The city of lights. Of romance. Of legacy.”
She tilts her head slightly, voice calm and level — like a surgeon before the first incision.
“Fitting that it’s where yours ends.”
She pauses, not for effect — but because she chooses every word like it's a loaded round.
“Frankie. Mikah. You came into this thinking this match was about you. That Laura Phoenix was just the obstacle. The name on the flyer. The stepping stone you needed to make people believe the hype.”
She shakes her head slowly.
“But I don’t exist for your validation. I’m not here to give you your moment. I’m here to make sure you don’t get one.”
She sits back, arms folding — not defensive.
Immovable.
“Frankie, you talk like you’ve already made it. Like you're the second coming of someone who’s never even been. You want to spit on my name like I’m holding you back? Sweetheart, the only thing holding you back is your mouth — and the fact that your work ethic doesn’t match your volume.”
“You're not misunderstood. You’re just not there yet.”
Her jaw tightens, but her voice never rises.
“You said you’re not here to be my next chapter. That you’re the main character now.”
“That’s cute.”
She leans forward, steepling her fingers like she’s talking to a child who needs to be set straight.
“Frankie Holliday is a storyline. A side-arc. A spark with no fire behind it. And when I beat you, no one’s going to say damn, look what Laura did to Frankie… they’re going to say, ‘Right. Of course she did.’ Because that’s the difference between presence… and potential.”
And then, Laura smirks — but it’s not warm. It’s cold. It’s earned.
“Mikah.”
“You used to be untouchable.”
The smirk fades.
“Now you’re just uncomfortable. With your place. With the way the world moved on and didn’t slow down for you to catch up.”
“You call me a museum piece? At least they preserve those. You’re just collecting dust.”
“Let’s be honest — you didn’t come back to fight. You came back to be seen. To remind everyone you're still here, still relevant. But the problem is, you’re not dangerous anymore.”
“You’re desperate.”
Laura stands now — not pacing, just rising like a storm that took its time getting here.
“And that’s why you’re both in trouble.”
“Because I’m not desperate. I’m not trying to prove I still belong. I’m not coming back to hold onto a past that’s slipping away.”
“I am the past.”
“I am the present.”
“And in Paris, I am the WHOLE fucking problem that either of you can’t escape.”
She walks slowly to the window. The Eiffel Tower glows in the distance. Laura stands with her back to the camera, but her voice remains clear.
“I don’t need the fans. I don’t need the flowers. I don’t even need the win.”
She turns slightly, just enough for her profile to be visible — sharp. Unforgiving.
“But I’m taking it anyway.”
Cut to black.
Paris, France
The flat just outside central Paris had the kind of charm you’d expect from an old postcard—arched windows, wrought iron balconies, and the golden wash of late afternoon light settling over the hardwood floors. But inside, the Madison-O’Connell clan were anything but peaceful.
Laura stood in the corner near the wide window, arms crossed, watching the traffic on the street below. She didn’t say much—she didn’t need to. The silence around her was just a pause in her storm.
Behind her, chaos reigned.
Aaron darted around the living room with his toy airplane, zooming it through the air with sound effects that echoed off the walls. “Watch out! Crash landing!”
“Airrrplane!” Máire squealed, chasing after him in tiny, wobbling steps. She wore one of Nick’s oversized Yankees hats, which kept slipping down over her eyes.
“Careful with her!” Bella called, jogging behind with a sippy cup in one hand and a half-tied ponytail swaying as she moved.
“She likes it!” Aaron yelled back. “She’s chasing me!”
“Because she thinks you're a snack, not a pilot,” Malachi muttered from the kitchen, cutting up apple slices with one eye on the mayhem.
From the couch, Aileen O’Connell watched it all with a smirk, nursing a mug of tea and giving Laura a once-over. “You gonna let the chaos win, or are you still planning to raise hell in that ring next week?”
Laura’s lips curled into a dry smile. “Who says I can’t do both?”
Nick came up beside her, handing her a fresh cup of coffee. “You’re not even trying to relax, are you?”
She took it without looking at him, eyes still fixed on the Paris skyline. “I relax when the job’s done.”
“Which one?”
“All of them.”
There was a pause, filled only by the shriek of Máire attempting to scale the couch like Everest, followed by Mal plucking her off mid-climb.
Laura turned away from the window and walked slowly toward the center of the room. She crouched down to Aaron’s level just as he buzzed by again.
“You ready to watch me win again, champ?”
He nodded fiercely, pushing imaginary buttons on his plane. “You’re gonna beat ‘em all. Boom! Like that!”
“Boom,” she echoed with a grin, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
Máire waddled over next, hands out. “Up! Up!”
Laura scooped her up, the little girl giggling as Laura gave her a spin and rested her on her hip. “Even my biggest fan believes in me.”
“Gammy strong!” Máire declared, her voice slightly garbled but proud.
Laura chuckled. “That’s my pretty girl.”
She looked to Bella, who stood a little apart now, watching her mother with a softness in her eyes. It wasn’t reverence exactly—it was respect. Earned. Reinforced. The kind you couldn’t fake.
Laura handed Máire back to Bella and turned toward the hallway, motioning to Nick.
“I’m gonna get some air. And maybe… talk a little shop.”
“What If You Could?”
Paris, Late Evening
The apartment was finally quiet.
Aaron had crashed, tangled in a blanket on the pullout. Máire was tucked into her travel crib, one fist curled under her cheek. Even Nick had turned in, a book still open on his chest.
And Laura? She was alone on the balcony, nursing the last of a glass of wine, a hoodie zipped over her tank top, her hair messily tied back. Paris sparkled in front of her like a dream—but it felt a million miles away.
She pulled her phone out and opened her notes app. Not to write. Just to look.
Names. Matches. Bullet points on Mikah. On Frankie Holliday. Promos watched. Interviews analyzed. She’d always done her homework—obsessively, quietly, like a scholar preparing for war.
But tonight… she didn’t feel like a student. She felt like a relic.
“Maybe they don’t want me to win,” she murmured aloud. “Maybe they just want the drama of watching me fall.”
She hated how the thought lingered.
Because the truth was… she used to think that way too. Back when she was the one clawing for a shot, back when her name wasn’t followed by "legend" or "return." Back when she was dangerous for being new.
She set the phone down and leaned forward over the balcony, breathing in the cold bite of the Paris night.
“I’m not here to show I still can,” she whispered. “I’m here because I should. Because I am.”
And because when you’ve been through the hells she’s survived, it’s not enough to still be standing.
You need to burn.
The city was quiet now, or at least as quiet as Paris could be. A few muted horns in the distance, the soft hum of life far below. The lights of the Eiffel Tower blinked in rhythm like a beating heart.
Inside the apartment, the rest of the Madison-O’Connell clan had long since gone to bed. Even the creaks of the old floorboards had settled.
Laura stood in the kitchenette, arms braced on the counter, staring at the untouched tea in front of her. She hadn’t meant to be up this long, but her body ached in a way that sleep couldn’t mend.
She didn’t hear Nick come in—just felt his presence before his hand gently touched the small of her back.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked softly.
She didn’t look at him. “Didn’t try.”
A beat passed before she turned to face him. His eyes, warm and steady as always, searched her face.
“You do know that after all these years that I can tell that you’re hurting. Even when you are good at hiding it from everyone else,” he said, not as an accusation, just fact.
She gave a breath of a laugh, but it came out more like a sigh. “Physically? Always. Emotionally?” She paused. “Only when I think too hard.”
Nick stepped around her and gently took her hand, leading her toward the couch. She let him. They sat together in the quiet for a long moment, his hand tracing idle patterns over hers.
And then she asked, barely above a whisper, “Do you ever miss it?”
Nick’s expression didn’t change much—but Laura saw the flicker behind his eyes. Pain. Not from his body. From memory.
“Every day,” he said.
Laura nodded slowly. “Do you ever think… What if you could? What if they found some miracle thing and said you could take one more match?”
Nick smiled sadly, then reached up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I think about it all the time. But then I look at Aaron. I look at you. And I remember what the doctors said. One bump. One wrong landing… and I might never walk again. Might not even hold my son again or our granddaughter. Or even you. ”
Her throat tightened. She reached up, covering his hand with hers, squeezing it hard. “I hate that. I hate that that choice was taken from you. And I hate how selfish I am for wishing I could still see you in there.”
Nick pulled her in, their foreheads resting together.
“You’re not selfish,” he whispered. “The one thing I love about you the most is that you’re a fighter. You always have been. But Laura…” He tilted her face to meet his eyes. “You don’t need me to fight beside you to have me. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her voice cracked when she spoke. “I just… I don’t want to do this without you. Not the matches. Life.”
“You won’t. You’re not.”
“I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” she admitted, tears slipping from her eyes now. “If I lost you… and had to raise Aaron alone…”
He kissed her—soft and sure.
“You’d do it,” he said. “Because you’re Laura fucking Madison. You’d mourn, and you’d break. And then you’d rise like you always do. Because you don’t know how to do anything else.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“I know.”
She buried her face in his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms tight around her.
“You’re not going to lose me, Laur. I’m being careful. I have to be. Because I want to be with you. With our kids. For as long as this damn body lets me.” He tilted her chin again. “But don’t think for one second that my staying out of the ring means I’m less. You carry the weight for us both now. And you’re doing it beautifully.”
She nodded slowly, trying to breathe through the tangle of love and fear in her chest.
“I need you,” she said.
“I’m right here,” he replied.
And in that moment, for just a while, the pain in her shoulders felt lighter. Because the man beside her wasn’t the warrior she once fought beside.
He was the reason she still fought at all.
Conversations in the Dark
The space is mostly empty, the hum of fluorescent lights overhead the only real noise aside from the occasional echo of someone else far off, slamming a mat or exhaling hard between sets. But in the corner of the ring under a lone spotlight, Laura Madison sat on the second turnbuckle — hands taped, hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, sweat still clinging to her neck after her last sparring session.
There was a camera set up in front of her. Nothing flashy. Just real.
And that’s how Laura wanted it.
No glitz. No bullshit.
Just her.
She stared into the lens, letting the silence stretch long enough to become sharp.
Then she exhaled, low and deliberate.
“Let’s talk, shall we?”
Her voice was steady, rich with that low burn of someone who’d heard enough.
“Frankie Holliday. Mikah. You both had quite a bit to say, didn’t you? Felt real brave getting cute with your words when I wasn’t there to answer. But I’m here now. And sweetheart, I’ve got time.”
She slid off the turnbuckle, stepping into the center of the ring like it was a throne. Like it had always belonged to her.
“Let’s start with you, Frankie. You said people are acting like it’s ‘the second coming’ because I’m back. No, honey. They're acting like that because they remember. They remember who built the roads you're walking on. Who was headlining before your voice ever cracked. Who was throwing hands in main events while you were still learning how to lace your damn boots.”
“You think this is a new era? Good for you. You should be proud of where you’re standing. But let me make something perfectly clear…”
Laura leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing with razor-sharp focus.
“This ‘new era’ still runs through me.”
“You’re not the first flavor-of-the-month rookie who stumbled into the spotlight, mouth moving faster than their brain. And you won’t be the last. But I’ve seen your kind come and go. Fast climbs. Faster falls. You earned your shot, Frankie — I won’t take that away from you. But the second you opened your mouth about me like I was yesterday’s headline? You signed your own pain order.”
“Experience doesn’t matter? Baby girl, experience is the reason I know how to take people like you apart without breaking a sweat. Experience is why I know you’ll rush in wide open looking for that one viral moment — and I’ll be waiting with a receipt in the form of a knee to your jaw.”
She took a breath. Calm. Controlled. Lethal.
“Now then... Mikah.”
Laura actually chuckled, low and bitter.
“You said I belong in a museum.”
Her expression turned cold, her voice a hair softer — deadlier.
“Aren’t you one to fucking talk? Have you ever stepped foot in a museum, Mikah? You know what they hold? Masterpieces. Artifacts of power and legacy and permanence. That’s me. What are you? Some Instagram filters and a history of ‘almosts’.”
“Yes, you’re a legend in SCW. That’s the funny part. I didn’t forget. But somewhere along the way, you did. Because instead of showing me the respect I earned, you treated me like I was something to roll your eyes at. Like I’m some washed-up story trying to rewrite history.”
She stepped forward again, the light catching the sharp line of her jaw.
“I’m not here because I can’t let go. I’m here because I chose to remind this company what it looks like when someone walks into a ring without needing a gimmick or a catchphrase or a pity party to be great.”
“You wanna question if I still belong? You should be asking yourself how you’re going to survive standing across from someone with nothing to prove and everything to burn. Because unlike you two... I don’t need this win. Not one single solitary soul expected me to make it even THIS far. But I want it. And that makes me so much more dangerous.”
Laura stopped pacing, planting herself dead center again. Her arms crossed now, tone final.
“I’m not here to take sass. I’m not here to trade barbs and hashtags. I’m here to fight. To dominate. And to win. Not because I have to prove I’m still relevant — but because it’s fun as hell to remind people I’m still better than most of this locker room with one knee tied behind my back.”
“So come Into the Void ready. Bring your best. Talk your shit. Try to make your mark. But remember this…”
“I am not just another comeback story. I am not some nostalgia act. I am Laura. Fucking. Phoenix.”
She leaned into the camera one last time, her voice dropping to a near-whisper:
“And I’m about to give you both a lesson you’ll never forget.”
The camera held on her eyes — burning bright, burning steady.
It’s Okay To Call It Out
Another Quiet Night
Inside, the room was dim. Just the amber glow of a standing lamp in the corner and the city’s golden shimmer reflecting off Bella’s face as she sat curled on the oversized couch, a throw blanket tossed across her legs. Her phone was in her lap, voice recorder app open, unsaved takes stacked beneath a blank one waiting to be filled.
Her thumb hovered over the record button, but she didn’t press it.
A quiet shuffle came from the hallway. Bella glanced up to see Laura, dressed in lounge pants and an old SCW t-shirt, pad barefoot into the room with two steaming mugs in her hands.
“What is it about this damn week? Apparently you couldn’t sleep either?” Laura asked, handing her one of the mugs.
Bella took it gratefully. “Nah. Mind won’t shut up.”
Laura sat down beside her, folding one leg underneath her.
“You’ve been quiet since dinner,” she said gently.
Bella offered a small shrug. “Just thinking.”
Laura raised an eyebrow. “Thinking? Or spiraling?”
Bella chuckled softly — the kind of tired laugh that hides the weight behind the eyes.
“Little of both,” she admitted. “It’s… it’s my defense. More specifically it’s Mercedes Vargas. I did some thinking today, knowing what I need to say....feeling a tad bit hypocritical with her, especially since she’s got a high ranking vet underneath her. She’s in the Hall of Fame, for God’s sake.”
“I feel like even saying something about it at times feels like I’m shorting you. My own mother who is attempting history herself in winning the Blast from the Past.”
Laura sipped her tea, listening, not rushing the moment.
Bella continued, voice quieter now. “And I know you have an honest to goodness chance of winning the damn thing. But… I can’t lie — part of me feels guilty. Like I’m about to slap the crown off someone’s head who helped build the damn throne.”
Laura nodded slowly, eyes thoughtful. She’d been there — had been the one whose crown they came for.
“You’re allowed to feel that,” she said. “Let me explain something to you. Respect isn’t weakness, Bella. It just means you see the whole picture. It means you care.”
Bella turned toward her, frowning. “Then why does it feel like I’m the villain the second I open my mouth?”
Laura leaned forward slightly.
“Because you grew up watching this business practically under a microscope,” she said. “But that’s the trick of legacy. It makes certain people immortal in your mind — until you’re the one holding the sword.”
Bella’s fingers gripped her mug a little tighter.
“It’s weird, I don’t want to disrespect her,” she said. “But after everything she and I went through, I feel like I just have to prove I belong CONSTANTLY...of course it feels like it’s on a constant basis with her. I want to win and I want to retain. But how do you do that without coming off like every other brash rookie who ever called a vet ‘washed up’?”
Laura tilted her head, then offered a small, knowing smile.
“Well you are far from a brash rookie now. But you speak YOUR truth. The real truth. That’s the difference. You don’t need to tear Mercedes down with lies or cheap shots. Her legacy speaks for itself — so let it. And then speak for yours. This match isn’t about shoving her into the past. It’s about showing that the future is already here. You are already here.”
Bella nodded slowly, the fire beginning to flicker behind her eyes.
“And if she doesn’t see it that way?”
Laura shrugged, casually confident.
“Then you’ll show her.”
She set her mug down and rose to her feet, brushing a kiss to the top of Bella’s head.
“Be proud of your voice. Even if it shakes a little.”
Bella looked up, eyes softer now. “Thanks.”
Laura offered her a wink. “Hey, It’s perfectly fine to remind Mercedes that history doesn’t scare you. You’re writing your own.”
She disappeared down the hall, leaving Bella alone with the quiet again.
One More Time
The lights are dim. There’s a quiet hum from the street below, distant traffic and muffled nightlife. Laura Phoenix sits on the edge of a small table, one leg crossed over the other. Her phone is leaned up against a water glass. She doesn’t bother with a backdrop, or a fancy camera crew.
She's dressed in simple black — a hoodie and jeans. No war paint. No armor.
Her voice? Razor-wire soft.
“You want one more? Fine.”
She glances at the camera. Not with anger.
With certainty.
“But this isn’t a promo. I’m not here to perform for clicks. I’m not here to out-clever you. I’m here because there’s still a part of me — the part that built everything you’re standing on — that wants to make sure that everyone including the both of you understand what’s about to happen.”
She exhales slowly, as if she’s giving the words time to form correctly.
“Frankie Holliday. You’re not a threat. You’re a test balloon. Inflated ego, lightweight, and all air. You’ve got fire, I’ll give you that. But fire without direction? It burns out. Or worse…”
Her eyes narrow slightly.
“It gets put out.”
“You talk like you’ve been disrespected, like the world hasn’t given you your due. But deep down, I think you know you skipped a few steps. That’s why you lash out. That’s why you keep throwing my name around like saying it gives you legitimacy.”
“You want to use me as your measuring stick? Good. Because at Into the Void, I’m going to show you just how far you still have to go.”
Laura shifts, leaning in a little. Her tone drops to an almost maternal cadence — the kind that warns you before the belt comes off the wall.
“And Mikah…”
She smiles, faint. Not fond.
Like a woman watching someone she used to admire lose the plot.
“You used to be something. Truly. You weren’t just a star — you were a standard. But somewhere along the way, you stopped evolving. You got comfortable. And now you’re still here, still talking, still trying to convince yourself you haven’t been passed by.”
“But I’m not your past, Mikah.”
“I’m your present. And I identify as a MASSIVE fucking problem. A very CLEAR and present danger.”
“I get called a relic, a throwback quite a bit. But the truth is, I never needed to rebrand, reinvent, or repackage myself to be dangerous. I stayed dangerous. You just stopped paying attention.”
“That’s the difference between us.”
There’s no yelling. No venom. Just clarity. And maybe that’s what makes it scarier.
“You both think you're about to steal a moment. Make a name off mine. Rewrite my ending to make your beginning shinier.”
She leans closer, resting her forearms on her knees. Her voice becomes whisper-thin.
“But what happens when I don’t let you?”
“What happens when the veteran doesn’t play nice? When the legacy doesn’t fade quietly? When the comeback doesn’t end in loss — but in domination?”
She lets the silence hang — gives the weight of her words space to echo.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Laura slowly rises to her feet and walks to the window. She looks out at Paris, never turning back to the camera.
She looks into the lens like it’s the person she’s about to hurt.
“Paris.”
“Seems poetic, doesn’t it?”
A bitter smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.
“The city of lights. Of romance. Of legacy.”
She tilts her head slightly, voice calm and level — like a surgeon before the first incision.
“Fitting that it’s where yours ends.”
She pauses, not for effect — but because she chooses every word like it's a loaded round.
“Frankie. Mikah. You came into this thinking this match was about you. That Laura Phoenix was just the obstacle. The name on the flyer. The stepping stone you needed to make people believe the hype.”
She shakes her head slowly.
“But I don’t exist for your validation. I’m not here to give you your moment. I’m here to make sure you don’t get one.”
She sits back, arms folding — not defensive.
Immovable.
“Frankie, you talk like you’ve already made it. Like you're the second coming of someone who’s never even been. You want to spit on my name like I’m holding you back? Sweetheart, the only thing holding you back is your mouth — and the fact that your work ethic doesn’t match your volume.”
“You're not misunderstood. You’re just not there yet.”
Her jaw tightens, but her voice never rises.
“You said you’re not here to be my next chapter. That you’re the main character now.”
“That’s cute.”
She leans forward, steepling her fingers like she’s talking to a child who needs to be set straight.
“Frankie Holliday is a storyline. A side-arc. A spark with no fire behind it. And when I beat you, no one’s going to say damn, look what Laura did to Frankie… they’re going to say, ‘Right. Of course she did.’ Because that’s the difference between presence… and potential.”
And then, Laura smirks — but it’s not warm. It’s cold. It’s earned.
“Mikah.”
“You used to be untouchable.”
The smirk fades.
“Now you’re just uncomfortable. With your place. With the way the world moved on and didn’t slow down for you to catch up.”
“You call me a museum piece? At least they preserve those. You’re just collecting dust.”
“Let’s be honest — you didn’t come back to fight. You came back to be seen. To remind everyone you're still here, still relevant. But the problem is, you’re not dangerous anymore.”
“You’re desperate.”
Laura stands now — not pacing, just rising like a storm that took its time getting here.
“And that’s why you’re both in trouble.”
“Because I’m not desperate. I’m not trying to prove I still belong. I’m not coming back to hold onto a past that’s slipping away.”
“I am the past.”
“I am the present.”
“And in Paris, I am the WHOLE fucking problem that either of you can’t escape.”
She walks slowly to the window. The Eiffel Tower glows in the distance. Laura stands with her back to the camera, but her voice remains clear.
“I don’t need the fans. I don’t need the flowers. I don’t even need the win.”
She turns slightly, just enough for her profile to be visible — sharp. Unforgiving.
“But I’m taking it anyway.”
Cut to black.