Therapy Session 5: Finding herself in the shattered reflections.

Scene opens in the same pale blue room. The ticking clock seems louder today. Maybe it’s the silence. Maybe it’s her. The lamp hums above, casting half-light on two familiar faces. Lilith is curled up in the armchair again, but this time her posture is tighter. A coiled spring. Black hoodie pulled low. No makeup. Just shadows. Dr. Harris sits in his usual chair, legs crossed, notebook unopened.

"I saw the tournament match."

His tone is even. No accusation. Just a fact. An observation placed gently between them like a raw nerve. Lilith doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t look up. But her mouth twitches. A smirk? A wince?

“Of course you did. Everyone did. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Her voice is hollow, soaked in something that isn’t quite regret. Not quite bitterness either. Just tired. Dr. Harris shook his head as he began to speak.

“Blast From The Past. You couldn’t even make it past the first round. You lost focus. Where was that fire you had before? That drive to prove to Kevin he needed you. You just proved he didn’t.” He waits, letting her sit with it. She doesn’t take the bait. “You were quieter than usual. No post-match interview. No fire. No retaliation. That’s not like you.”

Lilith sighed, running her fingers through her hair. “Maybe I ran out of matches to bleed for.”

She lets the words hang, then finally looks up. Her eyes are colder today. Not sharp. Not angry. Just... dulled.

Dr. Harris took the moment to speak up. “Or maybe losing forced a kind of silence you weren’t ready for.”

She scoffs, shakes her head, curls deeper into herself. “You think I gave a fuck about winning that damn tournament?”

But it sounds defensive. Shaky. She knows it. Dr. Harris always knows it.

“I think you care about not being forgotten. And losing in front of the world makes it easier for them to move on.”

Lilith glares at him. But there’s no venom in it.

“You think I don’t know that? They already forgot me the moment the bell rang. The moment I didn’t pin her.” She leans forward now, voice rising. “Everyone kept looking at me like I was the weak link. Maybe I was. Maybe that’s all I ever am. Static on a broadcast everyone tunes out.”

Dr. Harris nodded, speaking quickly. “Did you feel like you failed yourself?”

“I wasn’t supposed to be the one pinned. That wasn’t the story I wanted.” She looks down at her hands—bandaged. Bruised. Not from the match. From after. From fists against walls, and every mirror in her hotel room.

Dr. Harris closes his book. “That’s the thing about stories, Lilith. Sometimes the audience reads a different chapter than you wrote.” Silence again. The clock ticks. Dr. Harris speaks gently now. “Tell me what losing felt like.”

Lilith scoffs, leans her head back, stares at the ceiling like the answer might drip from it.

“It felt like standing in a crowded room screaming—and no one even looking up.”
She sighs. “Like my pain wasn’t big enough. My rage not loud enough.”

Dr. Harris finally opens his notebook. Not to shield himself—but to record. “So you’re telling me the match wasn’t just about winning. It was about proving you still mattered.”

She looks at him now. Tired. Honest.

“It’s always about that. Every promo. Every punch. Every stomp. I’m not just fighting them—I’m fighting oblivion.” She hugs her knees closer to her chest. “And I’m losing.”

Dr. Harris lowered his glasses looking at her with studious eyes. “You were alone in that match. What did it feel like to fight against someone when you felt like no one was in your corner?”

Lilith laughs—but there’s no humor in it. Just bitterness. “It felt like waiting for a ghost to show up. She was a monster in the ring—but she’s not me. Not really. No one ever is.”

Dr. Harris shook his head. “Do you think you’re easy to be with?”

Lilith flinches. That lands. She hasn't spoken for a long time. Just breathing slowly. Then she finally speaks up “I don’t know how to be soft. Or still. Or... easy. I burn too loud. And people... they either get too close and melt, or they run before the heat hits.”

Dr. Harris leans forward now, elbows on knees. “That match wasn’t a betrayal. It wasn’t abandonment. It was just a loss. A part of the job. And maybe that’s scarier for you than betrayal—because it means sometimes, pain just happens. No enemy. No narrative. Just life.”

Lilith closes her eyes. Breathing in deep. The truth hurts more than the loss.

Dr. Harris speaks up at this point. “Did you look in the mirror after the match?”

She hesitates. Shaking her head. “I smashed it.”

Dr. Harris tilted his head. “Why? Why would you smash a mirror like that?”

Lilith speaks quietly. “Because she looked disappointed. Like she expected more. Like I wasn’t enough.” She opens her eyes, voice trembling. “I couldn’t take her judgment too.”

Dr. Harris took a moment, thinking over his next words. “Maybe that wasn’t judgment. Maybe it was grief.” Lilith frowns. He continues. “Grief for the version of you that thought winning would fill the hole. That thought recognition would equal love. That thought violence would be enough.” She bites her lip and looks away. “What would it mean if people forgot you, Lilith?”

Lilith spoke up now. “It would mean I never mattered.”

Dr. Harris shook his head. “That’s not true.”

Lilith glared at him now. “How would you know?”

He closes the notebook, setting it aside finally. “Because you’re here. Again. Still trying. Still talking. Still asking the mirror to show you something real. That’s more than most people do.”

Lilith’s jaw clenches. She swallows hard.

Dr. Harris stood, walking around the room. “Losing doesn’t make you invisible. It just makes you human.”

She hates that word. “I don’t want to be human. Humans break.”

Dr. Harris shrugged his shoulders. “So do mirrors. But we keep looking anyway.”

Silence. But it’s softer now. Like a blanket, not a blade. Lilith finally uncurls, stretches her legs out, stares at the ceiling again. Her voice, almost a whisper. “What if I’m more than the violence?”

Dr. Harris gives a final nudge. “Then we find out who that woman is.”

Scene closes on Lilith walking out of the room. She doesn’t have the mirror anymore—but something in her posture is different. Not hope. Not yet. But hunger. Not just for blood. But for truth.


Not theatrical darkness, but total sensory deprivation. A sound begins—slow, wet breathing. Uncomfortably close.

A heartbeat joins it, but not the steady thump of life—it’s uneven, arrhythmic, like something learning to beat.

The camera sparks to life. Fuzzy, grainy. We see Lilith in a room too large to be real, walls covered in sheets of cracked mirror, all slightly askew. Each reflection shows her at a different moment—laughing, weeping, seething, silent. None of them blink in sync.

Lilith, low, speaking to herself at first.

“Hell has no throne.
No gold. No velvet. No kingdom.”

She tilts her head at one mirror showing her curled in a fetal position, pale, breathing slow.

“No crowns.
Just teeth. Just heat.
Just the echo of your own voice,
chewing on your thoughts like meat.”

She turns to face the camera, stepping slowly forward, bare feet dragging slightly like they don’t belong to her. Her smile is lazy, not quite kind.

“There is no Queen in Hell.
Except me.”

She walks as she speaks, voice drifting with the cadence of poetry, but underneath it—rage. Deep and rooted like mold in the walls.

“You want to be royalty?
You cling to a title
You believe you earned it.
But it’s all just make believe.”

She shook her head. There was something that could be said about a woman like Victoria. She had seen them before, destroyed them.. She sent them packing. Victoria wasn’t a Queen, she was nothing more than a pawn.

“Victoria—that name,
that title—
you wear it like armor made of mirrors.
Polished. Pretty. Reflective.
But easily destroyed.”

Her hand glides across a jagged mirror edge, slicing open a finger. She doesn’t flinch. Blood streaks downward in slow motion.

“But what happens when no one claps?
What happens when the glass cracks and there’s no one there to see their face in you?”

She turns a mirror toward the camera. It doesn’t reflect the room. It shows fire.

“You think you’re safe because you’ve survived a few trials?
Because you played the wheel and it didn’t break you?
The Roulette Champion.
The False Queen.
Your throne is built on lies
Your Kingdom is crumbling
How ironic.”

She sneers, a twitch of disdain.

“Because I don’t play games.
I unmake them.
And when I pull the tablecloth from the altar,
let’s see if you still feel holy when everything smashes at your feet.”

She spins suddenly, grabbing one of the mirrors and hurling it off screen. The crash is loud. Satisfying. She doesn’t flinch.

“I hear the whispers.
Where's Lilith been?
Why hasn't she spoken?
Is it all just a game?
Did she run away?
Is she broken?”

She shakes her head.

“No.”

Her voice is low, gravelly.

“I was... watching.
Listening to the silence that came after Kevin disappeared.
Not just gone from the ring.
Gone from me.
I listened to the silence after my loss.
My first loss here in Sin City Wrestling.”

Her voice shakes now, a crack of something real breaking through the performance. She grins through it.

“He stopped speaking.
So I ripped my own voice out just to see what silence tasted like.
Spoilers darlings,
It tastes like copper.
Like iron.
Like teeth
Like blood..
And I loved the taste of it.
Every last drop of it.”

Her hand lifts to her lips, stained in a blood red color.

“I talked to the walls.
I screamed at the ceiling.
I ran my fingers through glass, as if it was nothing.
I buried parts of myself in places I can't draw maps to anymore.”

She paces slowly. Every footstep a sentence.

“And when they said my name out loud again,
it didn't feel like a return.
It felt like a summoning.”

A mirror flashes — a version of Lilith with black sclera eyes, grinning too wide.

“You think silence is a void?
No.
Silence is a pressure chamber.
And now I'm the explosion.”

She starts pacing faster now. Her bare feet leave red footprints. We don’t know if it’s paint, blood, or metaphor. We don’t ask.

“And now this little chessboard match.
Queen's Gambit.
How cute.
Like we're all pieces in some tidy little story.
Like we're meant to move only when allowed.”

She jerks her arm sideways, knocking over a stack of chairs arranged like pawns. They clatter and tumble like broken soldiers.

“But I don't move by rules.
I am moved by rage.
I step hand in hand with anger.
I was born from chaos, not crafted by order.”

She laughs softly, almost sweetly. Then when she speaks, again, it’s cold and calculated.

“You call me a threat like it’s an insult.
But that’s just a shape you use to fit me into your script.
Threat. Villain. Monster.
It makes you feel safe, doesn’t it?
Like I’m bound to the stage and the lights and the outcome.”

She kneels briefly, pressing her palm into a splintered reflection.

“But I am not your script.
I am the ink that runs when the paper gets wet with blood.”

She rises again, breathing heavier.

“Song... my partner?
She is silent and precise.
Graceful destruction.
An assassin.
We don’t belong together.
And that’s why it’ll work.”

She crouches low, crawling on all fours with eerie grace. Her face twitches, half-grin, half-growl, feral even.

“Because while she slices clean... I devour.
While she calculates. I thrive in chaos.
She’s graceful and delicate..
I am dangerous and go unchecked.”

She crawls until she’s under a hanging bulb that flickers with her every word.

“We are not two queens.
We are the sword and the scream.
And you don’t survive both.”

She rises again, and the mirrors show flashes: Victoria stumbling, Harper pinned down, Song with eyes like razors.

“She is the assassin in the night.
I am the nightmare that wakes you from sleep,
heart pounding, unable to scream.”

She claps once. Lights flicker in rhythm.

“Together.
We're not a team.
We're a reckoning choreographed in shadow and blood.”

She stops before a massive cracked mirror. The reflection in this one is twisted, delayed, like the footage is lagging. She watches herself... watching herself.

“Harper Mason.
The Strong One.
The workhorse.
The backbone.”

She walks slowly, hands trailing the wall.

“The one who gets things done while others pose, right?
The one they never worry about because you don’t break, do you?”

A chuckle. Bitter.

“You’ll be too busy
Trying to impress the Queen of Lies.
With your attempt at greatness.
Focused on the bullshit she feeds you.
Acting like a starving lunatic.
Slurp it up little one.
It will take more than just her dose.
But we know it’ll fail.”

She stretches her arms out like a crucifixion, head rolling back as if receiving a vision.

“I bet they pat you on the back a lot, huh?
Nice job, Harper.
You did great out there.
You held it together.”

Her voice turns mocking, saccharine.

“So stable. So dependable.
The Future of the business.”

She turns vicious instantly, stepping into the camera’s face.

“But what happens when something unstable grabs you by the spine and yanks?
What happens when it tears you apart?
Rips you open and see’s what makes you tick?
What do you do when there’s no pattern to follow?”

Lilith's fingers twitch. She flexes like she's feeling invisible strings being pulled.

“What if I don’t want to pin you, Harper?
What if I want to ruin you?
What if I want to undo the image they built for you?
Turn that hardworking reputation into gristle between my teeth?”

She laughs. Not loud. Not manic. Just... delighted. Like a child pulling the wings off a fly.

“Because this match isn’t about the Bombshell Roulette Championship.
Such a pretty little thing.
Gold and Glory.
It’s not about status.
It’s not even about winning.”

She walks into the darkness, voice still heard as the camera lingers.

“It’s about the unveiling.
About showing all of you that the roles you've been clinging to
are costumes soaking in gasoline.
And I brought the match.”

We hear the sound of something striking. A flame, brief. Burning hot and fast.

“There is no winner here.
Only survivors.
And even that is temporary.”

Suddenly she’s seated, cross-legged on a floor made of shattered glass, bleeding from a dozen small cuts she doesn't seem to feel. Her eyes flick upward.

“I have lived in my own silence for weeks.
Because I was waiting.
Not for the right moment.
For the wrong one.
The moment where it stops making sense.
Where the crowd can’t chant your name because they’re too busy screaming.”

She begins rocking gently. Humming. Childlike. The sound becomes distorted. She sways side to side a little.

“Where Victoria’s shine turns to smoke.
Where Harper’s balance becomes wobble.
That’s where I thrive.
That’s where I destroy kingdoms.
That’s where I plant flags in the flesh of my enemies.”

She reaches into her mouth and pulls something out slowly. A thread. Long. Dark. Wet. She keeps pulling. It seems endless. Finally she snaps it between her teeth and drops it on the floor like it's a dead snake.

“There is no Queen in Hell.
Except me.
And I don’t sit on a throne.
I pace the walls.
I scratch sigils into stone with fingernails.
Until my fingers bleed.”

She pulls her hand from the floor. Blood. Glass embedded in the skin.

“I make altars out of regret.
And when I speak…”

She leans into the lens. A whisper escaping her lips, as if she’s telling a secret.

“Reality flinches.”

She smirks, her eyes cold and uncaring.

“And when the match ends,
and they scrape the wreckage from the ring…
Don’t call it victory.
Call it a curse fulfilled.”

The lights flicker again. A low, grinding sound in the background—like metal dragging on stone.

“I didn’t come back to be seen.
I came back to make sure you see yourselves
in every single mirror I smash.”

The broken mirror behind her flickers with more visions—screams, fire, empty arenas, reflections without faces.

“Every shard reflects a truth.
And none of them are beautiful.
They all show the truth.
You are far too afraid to face.
In the end, you are a false pretender.”

The lights begin to flicker again. The mirror behind her shows not her reflection, but flashes of her opponents screaming, losing, breaking. None of it has happened yet. Lilith is eerily calm now.

“This is not about victory.
This is baptism.
Not in fire.
Not in water.
In the kind of darkness that stares back.”

She stands one final time, blood dripping from her hands now.

“Victoria, Harper—you haven’t been silent.
You’ve been comfortable.
I will peel the comfort from your bones.
I will make you question why you ever put on boots and called this a sport.
I am not the opponent.
I am the reckoning.”

She steps into a final spotlight. The mirror behind her shatters entirely.

“And when it’s done…
When you’re left coughing blood into your trembling hands…
Don’t look for mercy.
Don’t look for the Queen.”

Beat.

Her smile returns. So soft. So sincere.

“Because there is no Queen in Hell.
Except me.”

She shoves the camera away. The camera crashes to the marble floor and the feed cuts to static.


The dream did not begin.

It ruptured.

A crack in the fabric of silence, a scream without sound. There was no waking into it—only a slipping. A bleeding. Like Lilith had been caught in a riptide pulled not from water, but from memory. Ash blanketed the world. Thick, soft, endless. It coated the ground and the breath, graying the air into something heavy and still. The sky above sagged, swollen with an unseen storm. No stars. No moon. Just pressure—oppressive and constant.

And then—

She felt it. A vibration through the bones. A name shivering up her spine like a long-forgotten melody.

“Lilith.”

Not a shout.

A call.

Wounded. Wanting. Soft, like prayer… of confession.

She turned, though direction had no meaning in this place. There was no ground. No walls. No light. Still, she turned, drawn not by logic but by the tether that had never fully unraveled.

Kevin.

His name echoed in the marrow, burned beneath her ribs. She had buried that ache once—wrapped it in rage, smothered it in silence. But the ember was still there, and now it flared to life like breath on coal.

She moved forward. Slowly. Bare feet sinking into ash that held no heat. The air changed. She crossed into the forest of mirrors. Tall, warped, and cracked, they lined her path like sentinels—each one reflecting not her as she was, but as she had been. Each glass was a moment frozen: Lilith laughing with blood on her hands, Lilith holding Kevin’s jaw tenderly in the corner of the locker room, Lilith walking away while he watched her go.

She stopped before one—its surface trembling. In it, Kevin moved. Not in the past. Not in memory. Now. He wandered, barefoot like her, the ash curling around his ankles. His mouth shaped her name like it hurt. Like it bled.

“Lilith…”

She didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. He was here. She stepped through the mirror. The surface folded around her like warm silk, and the world tore open. She emerged into the same landscape as Kevin—but behind him. Close, but unseen. Not yet.

Not until he needed her.

The dream changed shape around them. Kevin moved through a hallway made of rusted doorways. Each door pulsed with memory. He reached for them like relics, his fingers tracing names he could no longer say out loud. He stopped at the last door. The one still breathing.

It opened like an eye.

Lilith did not follow right away. She watched him disappear through the frame, then stepped in behind him.

The cathedral was made of bone. Familiar. Sacred. A structure she had built for him in dreams she no longer remembered dreaming. Every wall was carved with her name. Every echo was tuned to the sound of his heartbeat. He found the altar. Found the voice she had left behind.

“I’m not your light in the dark, Kevin.
 I’m the reason you know the dark has shape.”

He knelt before it like it might forgive him.

The dream cracked again.

And Kevin moved on.

Now the ash glowed.

The path led to a sea of teeth—chattering softly, like laughter underwater. Kevin crossed it barefoot, each step sending ripples through the bone-white tide.

And on the other side— The throne.

Lilith sat upon it, waiting. But not soft. Not safe. She was radiant in ruin. Her skin glowed where the cracks ran deepest, light seeping from every fault line like fire behind shattered glass. The throne beneath her was a monument to violence—blades, bones, broken promises. Her crown was made of silence.

Kevin approached.

Not with awe. With exhaustion. He dropped to his knees. And said her name again.

“Lilith…”

She opened her eyes. And the dream froze. The tether snapped taut between them, binding them like it once had before silence grew teeth. She stepped down from the throne. Her bare feet whispered against the ash-glass floor.

Kevin looked up. His eyes were wreckage. Haunted. Hollowed out.

“Why didn’t you come?” he asked. His voice was low. Broken.

Lilith knelt in front of him. Her hand found his cheek. She smeared ash across it like a benediction.

“I did,” she whispered. “You just didn’t open your eyes.”

His hand found hers, gripping it tightly. “I thought I lost you.”

“You did,” she answered. “But I’m the kind of thing that finds herself again.”

Kevin’s forehead met hers. He breathed her in like absolution. “I need you.”

The words hung there. Not pleading. Not dramatic. Just true. Lilith did not flinch. She held him. Let him collapse into her like the man who once stood behind her in every war. Her arms wrapped around him, and for a moment, neither one moved. Neither one spoke.

And the world held its breath.

The ash stilled.

The knives dissolved.

The sky bled gold and red and black.

In this sacred unreality—this pocket of myth and memory—they were whole again.

Not healed.

But bound.

Lilith stroked Kevin’s hair with trembling fingers. His heartbeat fluttered against her ribs. He was warm and shaking, and she memorized the weight of him in her lap as if she’d lose it all again by morning. She bent close. Whispered against the curve of his ear.

“You called me back.
 So now we burn together.”


Camera opens: a flickering flame. It pulses like a heartbeat, center frame. A low hum. No music. Just Lilith’s voice—beginning in darkness.

“There’s a moment in the silence before the scream.
Not peace.
Not calm.
Something else.
A stillness so complete it feels like suffocation.
That’s where I’ve been.
Not resting.
Not healing.
Not hiding.
I’ve been coiled.
Waiting for the right match to strike.
And now… I smell gasoline.”

The flame bursts upward, revealing Lilith in a cracked, cathedral-like space. The walls are draped in decayed banners—old victories turned to ash. The camera zooms in slowly. She sits cross-legged on a throne of broken steel chairs, blood on her hands, her mouth, her eyes too calm.

“Let’s get this out of the way.
I’m not here to make friends.
I’m not here to play fair.
I am not here to be clapped for, posted about, or paraded as the "dark horse" everyone underestimated.
I am the weight you didn’t train for.
I am the moment in the match when your lungs stop pulling air and your brain tells you to quit, and something older keeps moving anyway.”

She stands now, barefoot, each step leaving a smear across the floor like paint—or blood.

“Harper Mason.
Let’s start with you.
The Slaytanic Avenger
The Future.
Everyone’s Favorite Handshake.
You are the ribbon they wrap around mediocrity to make it look noble.
The girl who gets thanked, but never feared.
Congratulated, but never crowned.
You work hard.
You show up.
You hit your marks.
But you’re not dangerous, Harper.
And that’s your death sentence.”

Lilith stops in front of a twisted mirror showing Harper mid-match, shouting, fighting, sweating—yet somehow still fading.

“You mistake consistency for resilience.
But I’ve seen real resilience.
It lives in silence.
It digs with its nails when there are no cameras left.
It doesn’t care about applause.
You think because you’ve survived hard matches, you’re untouchable.
But survival isn’t strength.
It's a delayed consequence.
And I am the consequence.
The overdue debt.
The weight that doesn’t break your back—
…it snaps your spine like brittle chalk.”

The mirror shatters behind her. Lilith doesn’t flinch. She’s already walking.

“Then there’s Victoria.
The Queen.
The Roulette Champion.
The golden veneer over a hollow core.
You walk like you’ve earned something eternal.
Like the belt on your shoulder sanctified your soul.
But I know better.
I know what a crown looks like when it’s desperate.
I know what a throne sounds like when it creaks under the weight of a lie.”

Lilith kneels beside a pile of ruined glass—each shard showing Victoria at her highest moments. She drags her fingers through them like bones.

“You need the crowd.
You need the crown.
You need the throne.
You need the title.
You need the illusion.
You need the adoration.
Because if they stop looking at you,
you cease to exist,
To matter.
Because you didn’t have that
From your parents.
You’re not the Queen, Victoria.
You’re the mirror.
And when I crack it—
no more reflections.
Just shards.
And if I cut my hands doing it?
So be it.
I’ve bled for worse.”

She laughs now, low, bitter. She stands, brushing dust from her knees.

“And Song…
My sweet, sharp-edged shadow.
The one they call an assassin.
The calm in the storm.
You’ve been silent.
You’ve been watching.
And I respect that.
But hear me clearly, partner:
If you falter—
if you freeze when it’s time to carve,
if you hesitate when it’s time to strike—
I will leave you behind.
Not because I want to.
Because this world demands it.”

Her tone softens—not kind, but intimate. Like a mother warning her child before a storm.

“I didn’t choose you because I believed in unity.
I chose you because I believed in your precision.
Your stillness.
Your ability to kill quietly.
But this isn’t a silent death, Song.
This is a blood opera.
And if your blade wavers—if your heart flutters instead of stabs—
I will make sure you pay the price.”

She walks into a narrow hallway of red light. The walls breathe. The floor pulses. It’s more alive than architecture.

“There’s no room in this war for softness.
No space for mercy.
Not when Harper still believes she can “outwork” the abyss.
Not when Victoria clutches her title like it will keep her safe from the void.
Not when the crowd thinks this is just another Roulette match.
It isn’t.
It’s a reckoning.
It’s a sacrifice.
It’s a ritual.
And I’m the knife.”

She stops at a door covered in symbols. Her hand touches it. It peels open, revealing a cold, white ring under flickering lights.

“This ring?
It’s not a stage.
It’s not a proving ground.
It’s not the place where stories get finished.
It’s the pit.
And when you fall in?
You don’t crawl out the same.
Ask anyone.
Ask the ones I buried beneath silence.”

She enters the ring now, bare feet smudging red across the mat. She crouches low, voice dropping to something sacred and terrifying.

“I’m not here to win.
Winning is too small for me.
Too tidy.
No.
I’m here to unmake.
To peel skin from myth.
To chew the sinew of your reputations
until all that’s left is bone and the crowd's confusion.”

She tilts her head, almost smiling.

“When this match ends,
Harper will be asking where the mat went—
because she’ll be buried beneath it.”

Victoria will be clutching the Roulette belt like a lifeline, unaware that I already fed it to the fire.

“And Song…
If you fail to do what needs doing—
if you forget what we are,
forget the dance of blade and shadow we promised to be—
then you’ll find yourself alone.
And I’ll leave your name in my wake like all the others.
Etched into the wall of the ones who almost mattered.”

She leans into the camera now. Eyes unblinking. Voice barely above a whisper.

“This isn’t a promo.
It’s a sermon.
A warning.
A prophecy.
There is no Queen in Hell.
Except me.
And I didn’t come here to rule.
I came here to ruin.”

Cut to black. The last thing heard is the sound of breathing—too close. Too calm. Then, a whisper.

(Victoria was used with her handler’s permission)

Harpin’ On With Harper, Backstage at Climax Control 424, Copenhagen, Denmark
Sunday the 4th of May 2025, 23:00pm

*on camera, start vlog, promo part one*

Earlier tonight Harper’s latest title match in SCW had been announced, a Fatal Four Way that pitted her against Victoria Lyons, Lillith Locke and Song for the Bombshell Roulette Championship at Into the Void XII, but first she finds herself teaming with the champion in a tag team match against Song and Lillith at the Go Home Show.

Needless to say, when we open on Harper backstage at Climax Control following the Main Event? She clearly has a lot on her mind.

”So, as a young woman who’s dad served in the US Army while I was growing up and as a result spent most of my childhood traveling the world? I’ve always been someone who strives to do what’s right, whether it’s been for myself or others, something that has been difficult since I became a wrestler, difficult but not impossible.” Harper stated as she lets out a deep breath. ”And I’ll admit, when the Viking Era Tour was announced at Blaze of Glory? I was excited, beyond the fact that I’m a metalhead who likes Amon Amarth I mean.

Iceland, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, The Netherlands and, of course, Into the Void being held in Paris, talk about a killer tour right? What the hell can go wrong?” Harper wondered out loud as she ran a hand through her hair. ”Oh, just Victoria Lyons taking an interest in me beyond me being a potential challenger for her title! It’s been a chaotic few weeks, I’m not about to deny that, but there is a light at the end of the tunnel! Hell, I was almost tempted to say “gold at the end of the rainbow but I thought that was too on the nose!”

Harper states as she lets out a deep breath.

”Yes, I’m one of Victoria’s challengers come Into the Void, but do you want to know who else is in that match? Song and Lillith Locke! Victoria thought I was going to have to face those two women in a Triple Threat to determine her next challenger but nope.” Harper states as she brushes some hair over her shoulder. ”Christian surprised her with the announcement that it’s going to be a Fatal Four Way Roulette Title Match earlier tonight! But first?

Well, I had heard stories of Christian having a sick sense of humour, but teaming me up with Victoria in a tag match against Song and Lillith? Yeah, I guess there isn’t really a limit to how low he’ll go to  build up a match.” Harper stated as she shook her head. ”My animosity with Victoria, funnily enough, dates back to the match that started her on her current path: last year’s Queen for a Day Match! We both took part in that match, she won, started the whole queen shit and a few weeks later? Her Roulette Title Reign began, I’ll talk more about this after next week’s show because that’s not important right now, what is important? Is getting some momentum going heading into this match!”

*end vlog*

Backstage at Climax Control 424, Copenhagen, Denmark
Sunday the 4th of May 2025, 23:30pm

It’s been half an hour since Harper filmed her first Vlog for the tag match against Lilith and Song and Harper clearly has a lot on her mind as she waits for Josh to come back.

”What the hell was Cassie thinking when she said that to Sel?!” Harper wondered to herself as she leaned against the wall and checked her TikTok For You Page on her phone. ”Now Josh has had to take her back to the hotel to avoid further blow back from, well, everything that happened between her and Sel and I’ve got my tag match and Roulette Title Match to worry about on top of that.”

“My oh my, Josh has left you on your lonesome?” Harper glances up and her expression darkens as she sees Victoria walking up to her. “Some mentor he is.”

”It’s exactly as I said, Josh and Cass had to leave early because of that incident with Seleana.” Harper grunted as she folded her arms. ”Which I’m partially holding you responsible for by the way!”

“I was merely speaking the truth in my confrontation with Cassandra last week.” Victoria commented as she shook her head and Harper’s eyes narrowed. “Everything else just happened.”

”Does that include Cass not speaking to me all week long? Because that’s exactly what the past week has been like for me!” Harper responded as she shook her head and let out a deep breath. ”Look, I still don’t know what your game is Victoria or what exactly you’re getting out of this but next week? We’re partners against Song and Lillith and I need to know one thing.” Harper added as she stepped forward to get in Victoria’s face. ”Can I trust you as a tag team partner?”

“Impeccably, this isn’t my first rodeo as a tag team wrestler or do I need to remind you of the fact that me and Eddie are former Mixed Tag Team Champions?” Victoria asked as she brushed some hair over her shoulder. “Trust me, you’re in good hands.”

”I’d sooner trust one of my dogs to not eat any unattended food but Christian hasn’t exactly left me with much choice.” Harper responded as she shook her head. ”Besides, we both know this is a one night only thing, come Into the Void? That goes out the window we’ll be opponents and your reign will end.”

“If you mean my reign as queen? Please.” Victoria responded as she shook her head before holding up the Bombshell Roulette Title. “Whoever wins this year’s Queen for a Day Match will just be a pretender to my throne.”

”You’re so arrogant that you think you’re untouchable because you broke Krystal Wolfe’s Roulette Title record?” Harper asked as she shook her head. ”No one is unbeatable Victoria and all things have to end at some point, if you ask me? Your reign’s ending at the same event that played host to the match that set you on your current path.” Harper added as she pointed to the title. ”Both of them!”

“Good to see that you haven’t lost your fire.” Victoria responded as she started to walk off. “See that you back your words up in the ring, both at the Go Home Show and at Into the Void in three weeks, otherwise? I’m going to eat you alive.”

”If you really think you’re so unbeatable, answer me this.” Harper stated as she glared at Victoria. ”Why haven’t you set your sights on Kayla yet? Sure, you only have one win over her but the two times you did wrestle Kayla she tried and failed to submit you, you passed out rather than submit to her.”

“I do have certain ambitions yes.” Victoria stated cooly as she glanced over at Harper. “But those are on a need to know basis, and you don’t need to know.”

”If you’re going to dodge the question? Fine, but at least you’re honest about it.” Harper responded before Victoria walked off.

Harpin’ On With Harper, Amsterdam, The Netherlands
Tuesday the 6th of May 2025, 11:00am

*on camera, start vlog, promo part two*

Harper, Josh and Cassie have been in Amsterdam since yesterday morning and Harper has mostly been focused on the upcoming Tag Team Match between her and Victori and Song and Lillith, we cut to her hotel room in Amsterdam as the twenty year old wrestler is making herself comfortable ahead of her second vlog.

”Let’s look at who stands to gain the most from winning this Tag Team Match for a sec, because I know I’ll be doing the same for the Fatal Four Way in Paris.” Harper stated as she brushed some hair over her shoulder. ”On one hand, you have me and Victoria, two women who have been pretty strongly connected to the Bombshell Roulette Title since the show in Iceland, obviously Victoria’s the Bombshell Roulette Champ so that goes without saying while I seem to be the target of her attention over the past few weeks.

Song and Lillith? They seem to be afterthoughts in this whole affair, don’t they? Song wasn’t even in the Blast from the Past Tournament and I’m not even sure when the last time she even saw action on Climax Control was! Lillith’s record in SCW since her debut match, against Song no less, has been pretty spotty, two wins, one loss which was, off course, her Blast from the Past Match, it’s almost like Victoria picked those names out of a hat, ain’t it?” Harper asked as she leaned back with her arms crossed. ”And considering Victoria thought she was setting up a Triple Threat #1 Contenders Match for me to win? That wiuldn’t surprise me one bit.”

Harper shrugs her shoulders as she continues.

”However there’s literally nothing stopping Lillith and Song from using that apparent fact as motivation to win.” Harper admitted with a frown as she brushed some hair over her shoulder. ”For those two? The story practically writes itself, Victoria thought we were easy opponents for Harper? Well, we’ll how them in this tag team match at the Go Home Show! See what I mean? Victoria may as well have had a big, flashing neon green sign that read “I don’t care about anyone but Harper in this mess” and that’s gonna add more fuel to Song and Lillith’s fire.

In other words? Victoria’s dismissive attitude towards our opponents in this tag team match has a very real possibility of biting her in the ass!” Harper added as a smirk appeared on her face. ”Now, don’t get me wrong, the idea of me bailing on this match right as it’s heating up and Victoria needs to tag me in? After everything she’s put me through since the Iceland show? Yeah, it’s tempting, but I need to look at this practically because a win here would not only break the losing streak I’ve been on since my first Internet Title Match against Bella but give me a serious momentum boost heading into Paris and Into the Void, especially if I’m the one who scores the pin in this match!”

*end vlog*

Canal Cruise, Amsterdam, The Netherlands
Tuesday the 6th of May 2025, 14:00pm

Harper and Josh are enjoying a site seeing Canal Cruise through Amsterdam alone because Cassie was laying relatively low because of what happened between her and Seleana at the last Climax Control, but that doesn’t mean that Harper doesn’t have a lot on her mind.

”Amsterdam’s a beautiful city, isn’t it?” Harper asked Josh and he nodded in agreement. ”Yet it’s going to play host to me most difficult tag team match of my career on Sunday.”

“On paper the ball is definitely in your court Harper.” Joshua nodded in agreement as he folded his arms. “Say what you will about Victoria but she has proven herself to be an excellent wrestler and as a tag team wrestler in SCW? She is fairly dominant, two wins and one loss, to say nothing of the fact that she went undefeated for months after her debut last year, but then there’s the tension between you two.”

”Yep! And you know Lilith and Song are going to exploit that for everything it’s worth.” Harper nodded in agreement as she let out a sigh. ”This match is all about gaining a momentum boost heading into Victoria’s defence at Into the Void, that much is obvious, what’s less obvious is Victoria’s motivations behind her targeting me these past couple of weeks! I’ve confronted her in promos twice but that got buried in the details that led to this match being made it’s still not a great feeling.”

“The feeling that she’s trying to manipulate you and turn you against me and Cass?” Josh asked and Harper nodded with a sigh as she leaned forward. “You’ve seen how Cassie’s been taking it, to say nothing of what happened to her over the past couple of weeks, me? I’ll still support you and Cassie no matter what but we’re going to have to sort this situation out one way or another, one way might be you taking the title from Victoria.”

”Setting aside how easier said than done that would be against Victoria one on one, never mind in a multi-person match, who’s to say that that would stop her?” Harper pointed out and Josh nodded as he got the idea. ”Let’s face it, we’d both be shocked if Victoria isn’t moved on to the Internet or even World Bombshell Divisions when she does finally lose the title, but at the same time? she might try to get the title back.”

“All very good points, but we’ll see what happens.” Josh responded with a nod and Harper grinned. “And before then? You’ve got a tag match to win.”

”Don’t I know it.” Harper responded before she turned her attention back to the scenery.

Harpin’ On With Harper, Amsterdam Canal Cruise, Amsterdam, The Netherlands
Tuesday the 6th of May 2025, 15:00pm

*on camera, start vlog, final promo part*

As Harper admires the scenery around her she got ready to film he promo for the match with Victoria and Song and Lillith.

”This Tag Team Match is of course the prelude to the big match at Into the Void in Paris, and whoever wins the match for the team will have all the momentum in the world heading  into the Fatal Four Way.” Harper commented as she leaned back a bit in the boat. ”Let’s look at the other women in this match one more time and rank them in terms of who needs the momentum more, Victoria? Does she even need the momentum? If she makes it past Into the Void as champ there’s a good chance that she’ll reach full year as champion, need a say more?

Song? Master Lilly outright said that Song’s contract is expiring at Summer XXXTreme and it doesn’t sound like she’s going to be renewing, can you say one last shot at glory? And Lillith? Technically I’m in the same boat as her because we’re the only Bombshells in the match who haven’t held titles since we joined SCW, but she’s also the most recent signee out of the four women in both matches so there’s that.” Harper stated as she shook her head. ”I’ll make this short and sweet, no one else in this match needs the win more than me!”

Yep.

”My last singles win was at Inception, four months ago! And since then? I’ve been on one of the worst losing streaks of my career to date, in some ways this tag team with Victoria is blessing and a curse.” Harper started as she ran a hand through her wavy, dirty blonde hair. ”A blessing because she’s the champion heading into the match at Into The Void in Paris and of course this tag team match, a curse because Christian has gone to his old playbook of painting rivals in a tag match together.

Happened last year during the lead up to High Stakes where I teamed with Bobbie Dahl against the Zdunichs and it’s happening again this year where I face Song and Lillith with Victoria as my partner.” Harper lets out a deep breath. ”Christian sure does love forcing me to team with my enemies ahead of a big match against them, doesn’t he? Well, guess what guys? I won that match against the Zdunichs and I’ll win this match against my fellow challengers for the Bombshell Roulette Title!”

It’s that simple.

”Turns out Teaming With The Enemy is a great motivator for me, who know right?” Harper stated as she flips some of her hair over her shoulder. ”And as I said at the start of the vlog? This match is all about building momentum for the title match in Paris, we have Victoria who, win or lose this match, will be the champion heading into that match, we have Song who might not even be in the company after Summer XXXTreme and we have the wildcard Lilith, the newcomer getting her first title opportunity in SCW.

And then there’s me, the challenger seemingly handpicked by Victoria weeks in advance, the only one in the match who has both been in SCW for well over a year and has yet to win a title in SCW.”  Harper added as she used her thumb to point at her chest. ”And if I have any say in the matter? That little fact is changing at Into the Void because I will be walking out the new and youngest Bombshell Roulette Champion at the tender age of twenty! I’ve been grinding enough to get this point of my career and if you ask me? I’m ready!”

And with that Harper decided to wrap things up.

”Go ahead Lillith, underestimate me and see how far that gets you, same goes for you Song and Victoria? Start marking down the days towards the end of your reign as Bombshell Roulette Champ!” Harper added as she leaned forward with a smirk. ”Because the beginning of your final days as champion starts this Sunday in Amsterdam and ends at Into the Void in Paris, Song and Lillith can put up all the fight they want because it won’t matter.

Why? Because I don’t plan on letting two Joanie Come Latelies get in the way of my dreams in SCW!” Harper stated as she flipped some hair over her shoulder. ”Don’t believe me? Just watch this match on Sunday because it’ll serve as a prelude to my moment at Into The Void because the world is in dire need of a new champion in the Bombshell Roulette Division and her name will soon be Harper Mason!”

Harper stopped recording her vlog as the scene fades.

Tuesday, April 29, 2025.
TIME:11:55 a.m..

Mikah had enlisted Leighton to travel with them over the last several weeks and until the overseas tour was over to have her watch the kids when they both wanted to be in the gym or on the off chance that they were booked on the same night and needed their gaggle of kids corralled. Mikah had booked a huge suite at a five star, luxury hotel that had three bedrooms. And then booked Leighton her own room. She let Lindsay have her own room while KJ and Myles shared one. She figured that Ridley would probably end up in bed with her and Kris anyways. She had lined Leighton up for the day, making sure that she could handle KJ, Lindsay, Myles, and Ridley before she went to the gym. She knew that Kris wouldn’t be there right away and it would give her a few hours to release some of her own frustrations before he got there.

She got to the gym around 8:45 a.m. and was surprised to find the gym empty as she and Kris had requested. She hated training around other people and would much rather spend the money for it to only be her and those she liked, which weren’t many. She sets her things down on a chair as she looks at the ring but she couldn’t do that until Kris got there. However, she could strength train and do a work out for a while. She wasn’t sure when her husband would show up, but she wasn’t too worried about it.

A few hours later, noises of frustration could be heard throughout the gym. She had already gone for a run on the treadmill, lifted weights, and did the elliptical. She took a break and scrolled through social media, which probably wasn’t the best idea. She also checked on Leighton with the kids, and they were doing fine. But she was growing just a little frustrated that Kris hadn’t shown up yet but she knew that he didn’t have a match this coming weekend, but she did. And it was against a competitor that wasn’t Cassie Wolfe. Mikah knew that Alicia Lukas wasn’t one to be underestimated and that she couldn’t just breeze by her as if she was nothing. She knew she had to put in the work to get the win on Sunday. It was going to be a battle and she was going to do everything that she could to ensure that it was her arm that is raised on Sunday and not Alicia’s.

And then to top it all off, she saw a tweet that was sent from Christian Underwood himself to her husband, in a reply to one of her husband’s posts. And of course, she wasn’t frustrated at her husband because he cannot control what others said, but she was still frustrated nonetheless. She was trying her best to get her frustration out before Kris got to the gym, but it was only a ticking time bomb that was in her head. She had gotten pretty good at communicating with Kris over the years and she wasn’t bottling things up anymore, but this time, Kris wasn’t around and it was only festering in her head.

;;Mikah “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

She grumbles to herself as she hits the punching back in front of her. She had taped her hands up to protect them from the work out she was doing with the hanging punching bag. She hits the bag again, as hard as she can and whips around as she hears a voice behind her.

::KRIS “So, am I free to assume your morning hasn't been all sunshine and rainbows…?”

Her eyes narrow at him as she sees her husband standing there, having just shown up.

;;Mikah “You’re late.”

She points out to him, her voice flat and almost void of emotion. But the emotion was there in her eyes and he had gotten pretty good at reading her emotions and body language.

::KRIS “I am here now. We still have the place to ourselves. No harm done.”

He raises his right hand innocently, and makes the exaggeratedly slow move to lift his bag off of his shoulder and put it down on the mat.

::KRIS “I figured you'd want to be warmed up and ready to go before hitting the ring anyways. Was I wrong?”

She just gives him a look as she pushes the punching bag she was using and then walks over to a chair and sits down. It wasn’t his fault that Christian Underwood said what he said, but that didn’t mean that she had to be happy about it.

;;Mikah “I’ve been here nearly three hours. I think I’m more than warmed up. And had time to check in on Leighton and the kids. I see that Ridley didn’t weasel her way into coming with you.”

It wasn’t a fair statement to make as they both often gave into what the nineteen month old demanded. But right now, she was okay with pointing the blame at her husband.

;;Mikah “I hope you got enough sleep? Or have had enough caffeine this morning, at least.”

She wasn’t really looking at him as she was focusing on taking the tape off of her hands. She didn’t need it in the ring and really only used it when she hit the punching bag. She glances over at him but then glances back down at her hands. She takes the last pieces of tape off and gets up, brushing past him to toss the tape into the nearby trashcan.

::KRIS “Neither? Although, now I feel less bad about convincing Ridley to stay behind since you clearly woke up and chose violence today.”

He spins as she moves around him. He had definitely picked up on the hostility in her voice and wasn't going to take his eyes off of her in case whatever was bubbling up to the surface finally exploded.

::KRIS “....and you are better than me in the ring. I can't keep up with you like you want for as long as you can go. You need a head start or I am absolutely useless to you.”

She turns around to give him a slightly agitated look as he claims that she is better than him. She never believed that was anywhere close to the truth.

;;Mikah “You say that so confidently that you make me almost want to believe that it’s true.”

It was a constant argument, even jokingly between them. But there is a slight edge to her voice that gives the inclination that maybe she wasn’t joking this time.

;;Mikah “And….I haven’t chosen violence today, I’m fine.”

It was hard to convey that she wasn’t really frustrated with him, but he’s her husband and usually gets the rough side of her emotions.

;;Mikah “I just want this weekend to be over and move on. Or not, whichever.”

She simply shrugs her shoulders as she walks just a little bit closer to him. She tries her best to take a deep breath and erase the frustrated feeling, but it wasn’t budging.

;;Mikah “Are you ready to just…get in the ring?”

She pauses for a moment, a smirk on her face.

;;Mikah “Or would you rather go back to the room and release  some … frustration that way..”

She winks at him in a suggestive manner. She can tell that he at least considers the thought before shaking his head.

::KRIS “That seems like a much more productive use of my time and talent, but I don't think it would help you beat Alicia.”

He makes a move towards the ring, but reconsiders his words almost instantly.

::KRIS “Then again, I am not sure what I can do on that front either. I am pretty sure she would kick my ass too. ”

She visibly rolls her eyes at her husband’s words as she gets up onto the apron and then gets in the ring.

;;Mikah “You know, for being the company’s fu–favorite, you sure don’t have much confidence in your own abilities.”

She gives him a look as she stands in the middle of the ring. She was going to curse but she was trying not to use such language at him or in conversation with him. And she had been doing better.

;;Mikah “I’m pretty sure that you could get wins handed to you on a golden platter if your opponents wouldn’t throw a hissy fit.”

She reaches up and pulls her hair up into a messy bun and secures it with a ponytail holder that she’d been keeping on her wrist.

::KRIS “My strategy is more about adapting and overcoming.”

Instead of hopping up onto the apron, Kris lays flat and rolls under the bottom rope before quickly popping up to his feet.

::KRIS “I get beat on a lot, and then get lucky. Maybe it is my hard head. Maybe it is stubbornness. Maybe there is some kind of skill to it that I am too dumb to understand. I don't know. It works.”

He shrugs his shoulders.

::KRIS “I use myself as a wrecking ball and hope for the best. If I tried to do things your way I would have never made it to any main events.”

She raises an eyebrow at him.

;;Mikah “My way? What do you mean?”

She watches him, her eyebrows sort of furrowing together as she watches him for a moment. He was definitely more agile than she was and definitely had a different type of ring style than she did.

;;Mikah “I’m not sure I did it that much differently than you did. Or other people did. But it doesn’t really matter anyways.”

She brushes it off as she looks at him.

;;Mikah “You’re still…you. And adored.”

She was trying her best to just let it go but she couldn’t.

;;Mikah “By the way, I’m not…it’s nothing to do with you. The whole ‘choosing violence’ thing…”

She didn’t want him to think that it was him that she was mad at, because it wasn’t. But it was definitely coming off that way.

::KRIS “I didn't say or think that it was. I am awesome. I knew it couldn't be me. I also never said that I thought it was a bad thing. I hope you get mad. I hope you stay mad. That blind rage turns into spiteful determination, and then nobody survives getting in your way.”

She was slightly surprised to see that he wasn't taking it personally even though he was still totally walking around on eggshells.

::KRIS “You'll need that. Use it. This one won't be easy like the first round.”

She raises an eyebrow at him.

;;Mikah “Are you implying that I needed to cheat to win? Because I didn’t. I only did that for funsies and to piss Cassie off. And it worked.”

She knew that he wasn’t but she wanted to bring it up and didn’t know when she would get another opportunity. She walks closer to him and sort of circles around him before she teasingly trips him to make him land on his back. She moves quickly to straddle his waist and grabs his arms to playfully pin his arms down to the mat.

;;Mikah “I wonder if you’d still be Christian’s favorite if he knew how easily I could pin you.”

She scrunches her nose at him, her face just above his.

;;Mikah “Or perhaps he’d be jealous…”

He is able to overpower her to get his arms free, and starts to sit up, even with her full weight on top of him. However, the moment his back is off the mat Mikah effortlessly raises her legs to his shoulders, locks her ankles,  and falls backwards, dragging him along for the ride. They roll through, with Mikah landing in the exact same position on top of him.

::KRIS “Several would be jealous, but Christian wouldn't even be surprised.”

Nor did Kris seem surprised that his attempt at an escape hadn't worked. Trying a new strategy, he arches his back for momentum before attempting to power her up again. This time she leans back to counter, but falls into his trap. He is able to hook his legs around her body and pull her backwards as he sits up. However, she rolls through and back to her feet. Before he can react she leaps, plants both knees into his shoulders and drives him back into the mat, this time with force.

::KRIS “See what I mean. Three hours in and this is child's play to you. I am meant to be in the air. You'd tear me apart on the mat.”

She winks at him a little bit.

;;Mikah “You’re still better than I am, or at least enough to be considered main event material and saved for the going home show. But I suppose you’ll work as a stand in for Alicia. And then after this, we can go do whatever we want.”

She winks at him before going to move off of him.

;;MIKAH “Even if that is each other.”

She winks at him as she straightens out her top and then fixes her bottoms next as they had rose up in places that she didn’t appreciate./

::KRIS “Well, you might not be the main event, but there's always the chance that the two of you will steal the show anyways, even with J2H and then  a Championship match going on after you.”

As she stands, he attempts to sweep her legs out from under her, but she leaps his foot effortlessly.

::KRIS “The way I see it, nobody can top what you two can do in that ring. I am glad I don't have to follow you. Hell, I am glad not to have to share the same card as the two of you. I'd hate to be in a main event that nobody remembers because all that mattered were two of the best bombshells trying to maim one another.”

She hesitates for a moment, her eyes looking him over and thinking about what he was saying.

;;Mikah “I think you’re trying to flatter me. Because you’re probably the only person who sees it like that. Or believes that it will be like that. But it’s sweet and supportive. And it makes me love you that much more.”

Her mood had easily shifted out of the frustrated one she had been in earlier and now into a much lighter one. One that was a lot more manageable and the anger was pretty much gone.

;;MIKAH “And I do, by the way. If I haven’t told you lately.”

She scrunches her nose at him.

;;MIKAH “Love you, that is.”




Friday, May 2,  2025.
TIME: 9:45 p.m.

The scene first shows Rosenborg Castle sitting in the dark, only lit up by a few street lights before it moves inside into what could be considered the main hall of the castle. Or the hall that a Queen’s throne could be placed in. When the camera moves closer to the front of the hall, Mikah can be seen sitting sideways in the chair. Her back was against one armrest and her legs were draped over the other. On her head is a crown that she’s placed crookedly on her head. She is sporting a pair of skinny jeans tucked into a pair of black stiletto booties and a simple black cropped top and a black leather jacket.

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown…”

She doesn’t look at the camera as she stares up at the ceiling, enjoying herself and finding comfort in the way that she is sitting.

“They say it with such reverence, like it’s some noble burden. Like the ones who wear it deserve our sympathy. Like queens are made of porcelain and not steel. But let me make one thing absolutely clear, Alicia: I’m not one of those fragile little fairytale queens. I don’t need your pity and I don’t want your applause. And I sure as hell don’t need your delusions of grandeur tainting the legacy I built with my perfectly manicured nails.”

She lifts her hands up to look at her nails, that were perfectly done just for this shot.

“Do you see this crown?”

She points to the crown that adorns her head.

“This crown was never meant for you. It was too heavy for your hollow little skull, too sharp for your soft little hands. But I? I was born to wear it. I carry the weight of dominance, expectation, and envy like it’s nothing—because I am everything.

And you?

You’re just another girl playing dress-up in my shadow.”

She glances at the camera, a smirk on her face before she looks back up at the ceiling.

“You’ve been chasing my ghost since the day I walked out of this company in 2018 for a brief retirement. You broke my records, wanting the attention and notoriety that I had. Since the day I owned the Bombshells division, not because I begged for the spotlight but because I commanded it and I fucking took it. I didn't need to beg the audience for respect, Alicia—I took it. I earned it.”

She hesitates for a moment before continuing on.

“And while you weren’t even in this company or relevant, I don’t remember which and I honestly don’t care to look it up, I was out there breaking records, breaking spirits, and breaking bitches like you.”

She waves off the thought with her hand.

“Let’s not rewrite history. You only ever found relevance because I stepped away, there was nobody else left that could handle the weight of the Bombshell’s division. I left a void, and you crawled into it like a parasite, clinging to what little was left of my spotlight. But now I’m back. And guess what?

Your time’s up.”

She points to her wrist as if she was wearing a watch and to signal that Alicia’s time is almost up.

“You keep screaming about your legacy. You talk about building this division, uplifting others, carrying the torch. Blah, blah, blah. It’s exhausting.”

Mikah covers her mouth as she fake yawns.

“Do you know what happens when I talk about my legacy? My previous accomplishments? They get dismissed or waved off because I couldn’t possibly be that same Mikah that I was years ago. Well guess what? I’m not, I’m better. But your legacy...”

She looks at the camera with a smirk on her face.

“Your “legacy” is a poorly written soap opera, Alicia. You’re the woman who almost mattered, who almost made a difference. The one who nearly made history. The forever bridesmaid with the broken glass slippers.

You’re not a queen.

You’re the court jester.”

She waves her hand again, making a movement as if she was waving a wand or a scepter of some sort.

”But that’s not to dismiss the fact that you have had some kind of career here in SCW. And that you’re not one of the dime a dozen floozies that this company seems to walk in and out of those doors on the regular. You at least have some grit and you are more than competent in the ring. However, that doesn’t mean that you should get everything you’re demanding…”

She simply shrugs her shoulders at the thought.

“You talk about respect like it’s currency, and in that case, you’re broke. Bankrupt. Because respect isn’t given—especially not to someone like you. It’s taken. And the moment you stepped into this tournament, you should have known you were walking into my world. Not a level playing field, because when I’m involved, there’s never a level playing field. Not a friendly competition. A slaughterhouse—and I’m the butcher.”

She takes a deep breath before moving to get a little more comfortable in the chair.

”Let’s talk about your last few matches, shall we?”

She moves finally to sit up and she adjusts the crown on her head so it doesn’t fall off and clatter to the floor.

“You stumbled through them. Dragged your legacy behind you like a corpse. Tried to convince everyone that the old Alicia still exists. But she doesn’t, she’s gone. Buried under your own insecurities, crushed by the weight of a crown you never could handle, and could never carry but you at least tried. When you look in the mirror you see a warrior. However, when I look at you, I see somebody that doesn’t have what it takes anymore.. You’re a museum piece, Alicia—dusty, outdated, and forgotten.”

She looks around the room before looking back at the camera.

“You keep showing up with your speeches about resilience and heart like anyone gives a damn. This isn’t a fucking Disney movie. There are no happy endings here, not for you or anybody else in this tournament. Especially not for someone who thinks hard work alone equals greatness. You can train all you want, you can scream until your voice cracks. But it will never make you me.

Because I don’t just show up—I take over.

I don’t adapt—I dominate.”

The confidence is easily written in Mikah’s eyes as she looks square into the lens of the camera.

“You call yourself the foundation of this division? Bitch, I’m the one who fucking burned it down to the ground and rebuilt it to what I wanted it to be. The only thing you can claim is that you were the first to break my record and even then, you’re not considered to be the best. That’s still me. But you’ve had your chances to try again but you’re no Amber Ryan and you’re no me. But you had a few lucky reigns.. And now?”

A certain look of arrogance passes through her eyes as she leans forward.

“Now it’s time you finally acknowledge the truth: you’re just the transitional era between my greatness. You call yourself a queen—but where’s your kingdom now? Scattered, shattered, and forgotten. You have no throne to return to, Alicia. No subjects to worship you. Because they’ve already chosen their ruler and it’s me.

You want to talk about champions? About greatness?

I don’t chase belts—I make them matter.”

The confidence in her eyes was unmatched to any other look that she’s held before.

“You’re chasing the Bombshell Championship  like a lovesick teenager, clinging to it like it gave you purpose and me? I walked into this tournament to win a chance for that championship. But if I wanted to I could  snatch whatever title I damn well please. Internet title? Mine if I want it. Roulette title? Cute, maybe for a laugh. Bombshells Championship? It’s already on reserve.  I'm not in this tournament for a comeback story, I'm in it to remind the world that I never left the top.”

She crosses one leg over the other as she gets comfortable on the throne.

“And while you’re sitting backstage reflecting on your broken dreams and shattered pride, I’ll be standing in the center of the  ring, wearing that crown like the weapon it is.”

A  smug looks passes through her eyes as she stares into the lens of the camera.

“This isn’t your redemption arc, Alicia. This is your reckoning.”

The silence settles as she lets her words sink in for a minute or so before continuing on.

“You know what really gets me? You act like you’re still the measuring stick, like beating you actually means something. Like you’re the bar. Bitch, you’re not the bar—you’re the fucking floor. And I’m going to mop the floor with you come Sunday

You want to talk about passion? Drive? Determination?

Passion didn’t stop me from becoming the most talked-about Bombshell in the history of SCW, drive didn’t carry me through historic title reigns, and determination didn’t make me the name that the rookies whisper about in locker rooms. Talent did, skill did, charisma did. And you have none of those things—not anymore. Maybe at one point, you were those things but now? You’re just trying to cling onto what you once were in this company and what you want to prove that you can still be. But me?”

She raises her eyebrows and tilts her head to the side just a little bit.

“I still have talent and charisma while you…you're a charisma vacuum. A walking sob story in knee-high boots. Every time you open your mouth, it’s like listening to a failed TED Talk wrapped in self-pity. If you want sympathy? Go cry on a podcast. If you want respect? Earn it, again. But you won’t, because deep down you know the truth.”

She pouts her bottom lip out before shaking her head.

“You can’t beat me. And you won’t beat me.”

It was a bold statement to make but she didn’t care. She made her career out of making bold statements and she wasn’t about to sugarcoat it for Alicia.

“You’ll come out with your best game face, your tights pulled up high, that same tired I’m still a fighter look in your eyes—and none of it will matter. Because I’m going to beat you, humiliate you, and leave your legacy lying in the middle of the ring in a pool of sorrow and regret.

And when the dust settles, I won’t just walk away.

I’ll stand there, holding my arm up high as the winner.”

She raises her arm up as an example before placing it back down beside her.

“You said it yourself, Alicia—heavy is the head that wears the crown. And maybe, just maybe, that weight crushed you because it was never meant for someone like you. But me?”

She shrugs her shoulders a bit as she looks at the camera.

“I was born wearing this crown. It’s in my blood. It’s in my bones. And whether it’s the Internet title, the Roulette title, or the Bombshells World Championship—I don’t just wear the crown.”

She pauses for a moment.

“I am the crown.”

She reaches up and fixes the crown on her head so that it’s sitting straight on her head.

“I am the headline, the nightmare, the inevitable.

And at Blast from the Past?

I end your delusion.

I end your story.”

Again, she pauses as she lets her words sink in.

“Maybe your appearance in this tournament would have been celebrated more—but the second my name was announced, all relevance turned away from you and the spotlight snapped back to where it belongs. And your little cheer squad? The ones still chanting your name like it means something? They’re not loyal—they’re nostalgic. They don’t believe in you, Alicia. They believe in who you used to be. They don’t chant because they expect you to win; they chant because they’re praying for a miracle. And when you crash and burn, they’ll move on like they always do.

But me? I don’t need their approval. I don’t need their applause. I’m not here to sell t-shirts or post motivational quotes on Instagram. I’m here to win. I’m here to dominate. I’m here to take back what was always mine.”

There is no sympathy in her eyes as she keeps the focus on the camera.

”The truth is, Alicia... deep down, I don’t even think you believe in yourself anymore. Every time you show up for one of these ‘comebacks,’ you sound more like someone trying to convince themselves they still matter, that they still have what it takes. You cut the same speech, wear the same scowl, and pretend this time it’ll be different—but it never is.

You’ve become a broken record. Skipping. Cracking. Uninspired. The sad part is, even you can hear it. That quiet doubt in your voice? That hesitation in your step? It’s the fear. The fear of facing someone like me. Because I’m not like Candy or Cassie Wolfe or Harper Mason. You know what I can do in the ring, because I’ve done it plenty of times before. And it’s the fear of knowing you don’t belong in the same ring anymore that is eating at you and forcing you to make a comeback.

But once I’m done with you? Once I’ve peeled back the layers of the lie you call a legacy? There’ll be nothing left for you to hide behind. No legend. No redemption arc. No still got it  moment. Just silence. Just reality.

And Alicia? The reality is simple:

You don’t want this like I do.

You don’t need it like I do.

This isn’t your obsession—it’s your coping mechanism.”

She tucks her hair behind her ears as she looks at the camera again.

“And clearly, I need to  remind you and everybody fucking else that there is only one name that matters in this division.”

She stands up and straightens out her leather jacket.

“And it’s mine.”

She holds her chin up a little higher.

“Say it with me. . .”

A smirk crosses her face.

“Mikah”

She is quiet momentarily before smirking once again, the look rarely leaving her face.

“And it’s time for everybody to bow down.”

She moves and stands on the throne like chair.

“To the fucking Queen.”

For the first time in about seven or eight years, however long it has been since Bobbie and I have been involved with SCW in some way, I find myself experiencing something I never thought I would. For the first time that I know of, I’ll be attending an SCW show without Bobbie there. And not only attending, but I’ll be wrestling in the main event. It’s a weird feeling.

Bobbie has always been the active wrestler. I was only supposed to be her manager and be there to support her and cheer her on during her matches. Now that the roles have been reversed, we’ve had to endure a very heartbreaking loss and Bobbie needs some time to deal with it in her own way. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely wish she could be joining me in Denmark and cheering me on in the main event this week, but what kind of husband would I be if I didn’t understand her need for some time and space away from the SCW cameras? I actually insisted she take some time away, because as hard as this has been for me, it’s even harder for her.

I wish we weren’t going through this during SCW’s most recent tour. We were both looking forward to this one, especially the earlier Iceland stop and has hoped I would have advanced farther in the Blast From the Past tournament, but crap happens right? Life throws wrenches at you trying to knock you down when you’re riding high. But when one opportunity is lost, another one comes along and I don’t plan on wasting this opportunity I’ve been given this week.

I may not be fighting for a World Heavyweight Championship match, but it’s the next best thing. If I win the main event this week, I’ll move on to face Kevin Carter for the Internet Championship at Into The Void IX! But I have my work cut out for me because I have to beat three other guys in order to get the shot at Kevin and the title, and it’s no ordinary match.

But that’s fine with me. I need to experience all of the craziness that being a wrestler brings. It’s how I will get better in the ring. I’ll learn from every experience and every mistake I will make, because let’s face it…I will make mistakes. I’ll get hurt from time to time, but one thing I can promise everyone?

I won’t quit. I’m not going to back down from any challenge no matter how daunting it may seem. I’m determined to be a better wrestler and a stronger human being, because I’m tired of people looking at me as being weak. I’m not weak. And I’m going to prove it.

Had I not been going through a rough time when I faced Eddie Lyons a few weeks ago, I could have beat him. But I’m doing better and I’m not about to let myself get distracted for my match this week.

I’ll be focused! I’m ready to win!!

---

It’s time for Artie to travel to Denmark for the next several days. It feels weird to be traveling for an SCW show without Bobbie, but he knows she’d be there right with him if either of them felt it was a good idea for her to join him. But they didn’t so she is staying behind with Loki and her parents to keep her company and to comfort her if needed. He knew she was in good hands so this eased his nerves for the most part.

Artie, however, would not be traveling alone. Because he needed the support and attention just as much as Bobbie did, his father had offered to join him on the trip and have a few days of father-son bonding that they don’t get very often these days. And who would Artie be to turn down such an offer from his father. His father, too, needed the time away after having an incredibly stressful year dealing with his soon to be ex-wife- Artie’s mother, Amelia.

Artie had flown to Illinois a day before their flight to Denmark to make things easier. That was yesterday, but the duo is now boarding said international flight which is due to take off in the next thirty minutes. They are walking down the aisle of the plane as they search for their seats with their carry-on bags. “How was Bobbie when you talked to her?” His father asks as they finally find their seats and begin to put their bags in the overhead bins.

Artie sighs as he tosses his bag in next to his father’s and then takes his seat first. “She was alright, I guess.” He replies, sounding a little sad now. “She really wanted to come with but she’s also not ready to face the inevitable sympathy from everyone we see.”

Artie’s father nods as he sits in the seat next to his son. “Understandable. She’s still processing losing the baby and what to do next. You sure you’ll be able to handle it, though?” He asks as he looks at his son with curiosity but also genuine concern.

Artie shrugs and says, “I guess I will find out if it happens. I mean I’m still not over losing the baby, but I’m processing it and grieving in my own way. Wrestling is kind of therapeutic in that way, ya know?”

His father chuckles and nods. “Oh yeah. There’s nothing like being able to kick and punch some other fellas to let out some anger and frustration. Bobbie didn’t want to get back to wrestling to do the same?” It was an honest question coming from his father. The answer, though, was a little more complicated.

“Well, she’s still physically healing.” Artie begins, as he takes a deep breath and scratches his head. “But she’s also trying to decide if she wants to try again, or go for IVF like we were about to when she found out she was pregnant.” He shrugs.

His father seems surprised at hearing this and he stares at Artie for a few moments, trying to gather how he feels about it. “And what do you want?”

Artie again shrugs. Before he can answer, his attention is drawn to the aisle just ahead of them. His eyes narrow and he suddenly becomes angry. “You’ve got to be kidding me? What is she doing here?!”

His father looks confused for a second before turning his attention to who has gotten him so angry. He then stands up and heads over to…Artie’s mother! Artie tries to stop him, but his father is on a mission. He watches as his father confronts his mother who is now equally surprised to see him. She turns her focus to Artie and her face lights up.

He closes his eyes and prays she doesn’t head over to him, but when he opens them he is disappointed to find that she indeed was standing in front of him. But he refused to make eye contact or even say a word to her.

“Artie…” She says, still with a smile on her face even though she was well aware that he wanted nothing to do with her ever again. “I promise you, I had no idea you’d be on this flight.”

Artie laughs and shakes his head. He looks at his father, who adds more to the conversation. “Amelia, you need help. Truly. Are we going to have to get a restraining order so incidents like this stop?”

Amelia laughs and shakes her head. Artie begins to think that is sounding more and more like a great idea. “Oh Arnie, don’t be so dramatic. I’m telling the truth.”

Artie rolls his eyes. “Unlikely. You expect us to believe you didn’t know we were going to Denmark? So what are you going to Denmark for?” He glares at her, knowing full well that she is lying. That is all she has done over the last year. Lie.

“Ok look,” she begins and that is all Artie and his father need to hear. His father brushes past her and takes his seat once again, and both are prepared to ignore her. The plane is preparing for take off anyway. “Yes, I knew you were going to Denmark, but I had no idea when you were leaving or what flight you’d be on. Nor did I know that your father would be traveling with you. Where is Bobbie?”

Artie glares at her more angry than before. “Where Bobbie is is none of your business, so you can keep her name out of your mouth. You lost all rights you had to ask about her.”

One of the flight attendants then walks up to Artie’s mother with a friendly smile. “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to take your seat. We’ll be taking off shortly.” Amelia returns a polite smile and nods, quietly agreeing she would do so in just a moment.

She turns back to Artie. “I heard about Bobbie’s miscarriage…”

“Don’t even…” Artie closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“I won’t bother you anymore for the duration of the flight, but I hope once we get to Denmark that you’ll agree to have coffee or lunch with me so we can at least talk.” Artie shakes his head and refuses to look at her any further. She nods and with one final look to Artie’s father, she turns and walks away, returning to her own seat.

Artie lets out a sigh and shakes his head again, burying it in his hands. “She refuses to give up. Now I’m really glad Bobbie isn’t here.” He lays his head back on the headrest, looking absolutely defeated.

“Don’t you pay her any mind, son.” His father says, patting him on the shoulder. The flight attendants finish up closing the overhead bins, one of the final preparations before take off. “You have a big match on Sunday to focus on so don’t let her get into your head.”

Artie laughs, quietly thinking in his head that it’s a little late for that. He had told himself there would be no distractions this week. This match was bigger than any match he has had so far, and he wanted to prove all of the doubters wrong. Unfortunately for him, it was now his mother who had other plans. And knowing his mother, she wasn’t going to give up until she got her way.

This was going to be a long(er) flight…

---

I just can’t win. If it’s not one thing, it’s another, and this week? It’s my lying cheating horrible mother who decided to grace us with her presence. The flight to Denmark was long. Over eight hours, and while she kept to her word and did not bother my father or me for the entirety off the flight, just knowing she was sitting a few rows ahead of us made it that much worse. Seriously, what did we do to deserve any of this insanity we’ve experienced over the last year? What are we being punished for?

I don’t know how my mother found out about Bobbie’s miscarriage, but at this point it doesn’t really matter. Nothing she says will change what I told her last time I saw her. I want her out of mine and Bobbie’s life for good. She’s done far too much damage to repair any of it at this point, so I don’t understand why she is continuing these attempts at reconciling.

She doesn’t care that I have the biggest match of my life so far coming up on Sunday. If she had her way, I wouldn’t even be wrestling anyway. I’m a grown man and she still feels like she has to protect me and run my life. I never used to mind it, but now that I’ve seen how much hurt it can bring, I want it to stop.

Even despite that I think I have to give in and meet with her at some point before Sunday. I’ll do my best to tune her out and not listen to what she has to say, but as long as I sit down and let her say what she needs to say, that should hopefully be enough for her. At least I hope it is.

I guess this could be sort of a good thing to happen right now. If I’m going to continue wrestling for the foreseeable future, I need to work on working past the distractions. I have to make sure that I don’t let what is happening outside of the ring affect my ability to fight my opponents and win when I need to. My mother is perhaps my biggest stressor in my life lately so this is the perfect opportunity to focus on picking up the win after that bell rings and moving on to face Kevin Carter for the Internet Championship.

But that doesn’t mean I am looking forward to this meeting with my mother. My stomach hurts just thinking about it…

---

After landing in Denmark and settling in for their stay for the next few days, Artie sent his mother a message agreeing to meet for coffee. His mother was thrilled, but his father couldn’t believe he was agreeing to this meeting. But he knew he had to do it. If not, she would find a way to confront him on Sunday before his match, and that…he couldn’t let happen. He had to do things on his terms.

So he currently finds himself in a small local cafe in Copenhagen, seated at small table in the front corner. His mother is seated across from him, both with their cups of coffee in front of them. Artie is slowly stirring in some cream and sugar, avoiding eye contact with his mother. She takes a quick sip of her coffee, smiles and continues looking at him.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Artie.” She says, gently placing her coffee back down on the saucer. He just rolls his eyes and says nothing in response. “I don’t know where to start with everything I have to say. I know none of it will matter to you or even Bobbie if you tell her.”

Artie looks up, finally making eye contact. “You’re right. It won’t.” He says with more venom than before. And he made sure she knew it, too. “And I doubt I will tell Bobbie any of this. She has enough on her plate right now.”

Artie’s mother nods. “I completely understand. Going through a miscarriage is devastating.” She sounds as if she really does care. Give how she treated Bobbie the last times she saw or spoke to her, that is hard for anyone to believe, especially Artie.

“Why are you acting like you even care?” Artie bites back, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. “You made it pretty clear the last couple of times what you think about Bobbie.”

She nods and lets out a sigh. She lowers her head for a moment, looking to be holding back tears. “I said some awful things to her. I know that. And I am not about to sit here and make excuses for my actions, either.” She pauses, trying to choose her next words carefully. If she had any chance of repairing her relationship with Artie, she had to choose every word carefully. “I’ve been in therapy the last couple of months, and it’s helped me realize..”

“How awful you are?” Artie says as if finishing her sentence for her.

She doesn’t say anything for a long while, but slowly nods her head. Artie leans forward and takes a sip of his coffee, wanting nothing more than to leave. He stares at his mother, waiting for her to continue saying whatever she has to say so he can leave.

“I don’t think I ever told you this, Artie, but before we had you, I…had a miscarriage.” She says the words slowly and almost painfully. Artie’s eyes widen as she reveals this information to him and he tries to find something to say, but he’s left speechless. “I know what Bobbie is going through, Artie. Because I went through the same thing.”

Artie shakes his head. “W-why? Why didn’t you say anything?”

The tears are now streaming down her face. “Because once we had you, there was no reason to. You were our special little boy, Artie. Hell, even now that you’re all grown up you still are. And always will be.”

He shakes his head. “I mean when you knew that Bobbie and I were having trouble having a baby? Why did you choose to say the things you said, instead of actually empathizing with her?”

“Because I wanted to save you from experiencing the same pain that your father and I went through. I thought if I told Bobbie to let you go that–”

“Wait, what?” Artie interrupts her. “You…told Bobbie to let me go? When?!”

His mother’s jaw drops open and she stares at him. She thought he knew, but clearly he did not. “She…she didn’t tell you? It was a few months ago. Look, I know I shouldn’t have said it, but I just thought you deserved to be a father. Before I found out I was pregnant with you, I was considering letting your father go!”

Artie shakes his head and pushes himself away from the table. “I’ve heard enough. This was a mistake. I have a match that I need to prepare for and if I listen to anything else you have to say it’s only going to be a distraction that I don’t need.” He stands up from his seat and turns around, ready to leave.

“Artie, please.” His mother pleads with him. She stands up and reaches for his arm. “I’m so…so sorry.”

He pulls his arm away from her, turns and walks away without another word. As he is walking away, he is processing everything his mother just told him over and over in his mind. It all made sense the more he thought about it, but could he really see himself forgiving…

No. He couldn’t focus on this now. He had to focus on his match on Sunday. The Clusterf**k Fatal Fourway. How fitting, he thought, because his own personal life was turning more into a clusterf**k everyday.

---

Hello, hello, hello everyone. Artie here. You’ll have to forgive any awkwardness or weirdness during this, because I’m still getting used to this whole promo thing. Funny how it’s never been Bobbie’s strong suit, either, but I’m working on it. And I’m trying to find ways to improve on it every week. But it’s not easy, ya know?! Then again, I guess it’s not supposed to be. Or is it? I don’t know!

What I do know is that I’m getting closer and closer to stepping into the ring with three other guys in the main event, and that is something I did not see happening so soon after being eliminated in the very first round of the Blast From The Past memorial. I thought I’d have to go to the end of the line and work my butt off to get anywhere, but I guess the bosses saw it just a bit differently. But that’s fine by me! I’m not about to pass up this chance, because when it’s all said and done? I just might be the one with my hand held high and being announced as the number one contender to the Internet Championship.

But talk about walking into a challenge, right?! This isn’t a one on one match, or even a triple threat. No. This is a Fatal Four Way and not just any Fatal Fourway. Something the bosses have named the Clusteryouknowwhat Fatal Fourway. Sorry, I don’t really like to swear, even in cases like this so I’m going to avoid dropping any F bombs because I can. If you don’t like it, that’s your problem I guess. I like to pride myself on being a good guy and part of that is not having to use foul language just because I can.

So apparently there are no disqualifications and no count outs in this match. Literally anything goes and I can’t help but feel like I’ll be the first one that at least two of my opponents will be looking to get out of the picture first. And not because I am the biggest threat. Quite the opposite. They’ll want to get rid of me first because to them and to everyone else, I am the easiest target. I’m the least experienced so I should be the easiest to handle first. Well, think again guys. It is because I am looked at as the weak link that I’m going to walk into that ring and try and be the strongest and biggest threat.

But I have to be realistic at the same time. I have three other opponents that want to be the number one contender just as much as I do, and they’ll do everything they can to make it happen. And with the exception of Felix, two of them have already held gold in SCW so they will certainly be wanting more. Speaking of Felix…do people really think that he stands more of a chance than I do at winning this match? I’m not trying to sound arrogant, but Felix is just…weird.

I mean look at who he associates himself with. The Barnhardts. If that’s not weird enough, he has this thing for spewing out statistics for all of his matches. As if that is really going to help him or give him the leg up winning anything. From what I have seen, it hasn’t and it’s definitely not going to help him this week against me. He needs to find a new schtick if he wants to be taken seriously, but what do I know right? I’m just the underdog here. Heh…the underdog going against the Cat. Well this dog’s bite will be far worse than the Cat’s claws!

Sorry…I can’t. I…I have to laugh for a moment because why would anyone, especially a thirty-five year old guy give himself the nickname of The Cat? And thirty-five? Is he serious?! I think someone is lying about their age because that guy looks about twenty years older than he says he is. But hey, if it helps him sleep at night who am I to judge him, right?

Anyway, enough about him. There’s nothing much else I can say about him anyway, so better to move on to the other two. Now, I plan to save Miles for last, for obvious reasons, so let’s get to Connor Murphy. The Irish Bad Boy as my wife likes to call him. Ooh man, if Bobbie were here right now, I’m sure she’d have a lot to say about me having to face Connor Murphy. She’s had this odd attraction to him in the past because of his whole bad boy look and attitude. Most people would be like, well Artie, how can you deal with your wife flirting and going crazy over other guys? The answer is simple.

She’s never acted on anything. It’s all harmless fun and the fact that she had a thing for Connor in the past is all the more reason and motivation for me to beat him and walk away the winner. Bobbie is rooting for me anyway, so I’m not at all worried about going up against Connor. He may be a former champion in SCW, but he hasn’t really done much of anything in a long time and he only recently returned, too. If you ask me, Connor is still a big Nobody. Ooh…see what I did there?

I’m well aware that Connor was a member of that weak group that called themselves The Nobodies. I’d ask why they would do that, just like I asked why Felix would call himself The Cat, but being a member of The Nobodies is more obvious than anything. He knew what he was doing, and if you ask me, that nickname and association will stick with him for the rest of his life. Maybe for Connor though he will find a way to do better for himself now that he is back. No doubt he’s going to try in this match on Sunday.

But just like Connor is a fighting Irishman, I can be quite the scrapper and fighter myself. I’m actually looking forward to throwing him around the ring a few times, or maybe I will find a Shillelagh and bash him upside his stupid head a couple times. Maybe that will knock some sense into him, because he definitely needs some. I hope he doesn’t underestimate what I’m going to bring to this match, but if he does? Well, that is his mistake. He’ll learn just like the others.

And that brings me to my final opponent and someone I have a great deal of respect for. Someone Bobbie and I have called a friend for some time, and possibly the only one I am not looking forward to going up against. Miles Kasey. Dang it. Why do I have to go up against Miles?! He’s definitely the biggest threat in this match and not just because he’s the most built and athletic out of all of us. He’s also a former Internet Champion and i know he is going to do everything in his power to make sure he gets to go up against Kevin Carter.

If I weren’t in this match, I would be rooting for him. I really would. But Miles has to understand that I want this opportunity more than he does. He’s already been the Internet Champion. I haven’t. I haven’t even held any championship, but I want to. I want to prove to everyone that I can be a champion and that I’m not Bobbie’s scrawny husband. Do I like that I might have to pin or submit Miles in order to prove that? No, of course not. But I know when all is said and done that if that happens, Miles would gladly raise my hand in victory. He’d show me the same good sportsmanship I would show him if the roles were reversed.

Here’s what I want to happen, though. I know it’s every man for himself in this match and only one of us can win, but I hope that at least in the beginning, Miles and I can work together and take out Felix and Connor, and then maybe…just maybe…we can put on a bit of a one on one match for the ages and show why putting us in the main event was a good idea. I don’t plan to hurt him or make him bleed or do anything that in any other match would be considered a disqualification, but I’m going to fight tooth and nail to be the one that moves on to face Kevin Carter.

One match. Four Men. No DQ’s and No Count Outs. Anything goes and only one man can win. And gentlemen? As long as I have anything to say about it, that one man will be me!

ARTIE MILLER…YOUR FUTURE SCW INTERNET CHAMPION!!!