Tampa, Florida. Tuesday 7th October (Off-Camera)

It's a little farther away for Liam Davis, but at the same time, he was going to end up going to places outside of Orlando/Daytona Beach area because of what was listed in his book of places to discover. Today, he visited another abandoned place, but it wasn't at a regular or a beach home like the other ones he discovered recently were, it was in fact an abandoned tunnel known as Ybor Tunnels. Hadn't been used for years, but he had to look there as one of the places he saw that was one of the videos he had watched which he had to watch the video over and over again with the locations.

This was one of those places and Liam always decided to go alone because he didn't want any police officers he had in his unit to come in case he encountered the criminals he was seeking out for himself. It had been a long amount of months and it was going to take a long certain amount of months to get things rolling in regards to Liam who had taken a load of pictures of evidence of the crimes these two were committing in regards to murder.

Liam had already seen the deaths of young adults and even a dog from the previous weeks and it sent him chills for a few weeks to see a dead dog, wondering why these two criminals would kill an innocent animal. God only knows what else he would see next. Anyway he came to the tunnels that were somehow snapped with a chain, looked like evidence of bolt cutters as he took a picture of the snapped chains, even the padlock was completely on the floor which he took a picture of also.

Liam Davis: “They really wanted to try so hard to go from abandoned homes to beach homes to now tunnels? What are these criminals trying to do with these places to kill people?”

He couldn't stand the smell once again as he had to use the face mask to cover the smell of dead bodies which was unfortunate he couldn't do anything with that, despite how open the tunnel was. He shook his head, still unable to find any reason to want to kill Liam. Although he come across some signs that signified his name, saying kill Liam Davis in blood, looked like with a knife with black marker.

Liam Davis: “First time I came across something that refers to me. So they know immediately, I've investigated these areas of their crimes. I'm still failing to see what their point is. It's not like I got any friends or partners in my life other than working as a police officer as I don't have time to socialise with friends or even with family members.”

He took pictures of the words and then he went to a chair that was very different to the other ones. There was a cage behind it and a wooden chair, ripped to pieces with metal hand holders on the chair. But he saw something new about this one, there was a metal lid to place on people's heads as he stood back, being completely unaware of this activity.

Liam Davis: “Wow, this is fucking scary. Are they what I thin.........”

As Liam says this, he saw what he was looking at, the electricity box with them clearly using plug socket that was located in the tunnel as he really was freaked out on the criminals using electricity on victims. It was clear more what he was smelling as there was a door behind the cage and he saw plenty of dead bodies they were clearly hiding.

Liam Davis: “Good god, they are trying so hard to hide the evidence of them electrocuting their victims. What is the point they are trying to prove I wonder? How come they've not attempted to kill any of the police officers I work with?”

Of course, nothing was being filmed for him to say that and the killers weren't here clearly so he could say what's on his mind without being caught. He hated doing this job at times, especially he wasn't anywhere closer to catching these criminals, especially they knew more now that Liam had investigated the areas they had been to.

Then he stood back even more to unveil a dead cat. Granted, he didn't like cats as he was allergic to them, but he would never go that far to kill them as he took pictures of the dead bodies and the dead cat.

Liam Davis: “How low do they have to stoop to killing animals, what next, killing children for no reason? What is the point of these crimes they are committing? I don't get it.”

Liam shook his head in disgust, not knowing what he could do to catch them in the act as it was going to take a long time to discover the truth of the criminals of these activities they were doing with new inventions happening and seeing everyday, some he had never seen them do, but clearly, the evidence of the electric box was there to torture them to death.

Liam Davis: “I really don't understand killings they are doing. What reason do they have to want to destroy people's lives, including mine that still send death threats with e-mails and letters. Even to the point of phone calls now too. Now I come here and see the torture of using electricity to people?”

Liam shook his head, still struggling to breathe because the bodies of dead humans and the cat were really strong smell that nobody should want to smell. He had to look for any evidence of the names and families the three human bodies have. Of course it led for Liam to call someone who could deal with animals, especially cats. As he couldn't touch cats. He puts gloves on and searches for cards or anything that could unveil the name and then trace it back to the office to contact family members.

Liam Davis: “This is disgusting and I'm still no closer to catching these criminals.”

He discovered all three dead bodies of them having cards and even driving licences which he took so he could look these families up and connect them to family members they have connections with or even their friends.

Liam Davis: “What is their plan with wanting to kill me if they are killing random people and animals? None of these people I even know or even remotely close to whatsoever. I already hate these bastards, ruining these people's and animals lives. Over what, they want to kill me? What reason?”

Liam has scratched his head a lot with this case, discovering new places and new things that these killers were doing to kill people with. He only just noticed that they were dragging their victims, especially there was pieces of brown female hair on the floor which he took pictures of, along with the blood as he did see cuts on their bodies, even to the point that they were really deep.

Liam Davis: “Surely, they must've cut them after they electrocute these people and even the animal as well. What is the point of cutting them with a knife if they are already dead? It's clear they turned the electricity up to the maximum to kill them.”

Liam was almost done with the investigation as there wasn't much else to tackle in the tunnels with it being the shortest investigation he had done so far with collecting details and got people that could deal with animal investigations and even police officers collecting the bodies to place them in a special place where dead bodies go.

He got all the evidence he needed and went back to the office and do everything he could do to match the details of the victims that passed away because of these criminals and he did just that from an online search from many people online with a family database which he did all day and then relaxes for the day, even if the families were crying. Then the animal investigator found a chip on the cat and contacted the cat owner and the vet about the dead cat.

------------------------

A psycho clown and a respectable wrestler that gets shitted on too often video diary. (On-Camera)

“Yeah, I lost, so what? You want me to be like Logan and cry about it? Na, I pass because losses make me a better wrestler. Fair play Aiden, but don't be a child and talk shit about me over social media like a coward ever again. At least I can rely on Justin Smith and Anthrax not doing that because they have lives away from childish ass social media. They are grown men who don't need to resort to that.

I honestly don't get why Justin Smith gets all the shit, just because he loses more than he wins, he's more dedicated to wrestling than some of the others here who take wrestling seriously, win titles and then leave Sin City Wrestling. Justin Smith makes all of us better in the ring and be thankful we're getting wins from him. I don't get the hate and you do brilliant work making people have confidence in winning matches again.

That's the kind of guy along with the tough man attitude that I would be happy to get in the ring with anytime of the day and night. As I said, I would love for you to step up when it comes to title matches so you can eventually win a title after all the hard work you've put in to make wrestlers be better at their jobs. But unfortunately, one of us three has to be the winner here. Also you shouldn't give a fuck what people say in regards of them not respect you because you earned mine big time. That's all I say about you and move on from there.

As for this Anthrax, dude. As if I'm not pissed off on people who are going around killing people, you're the sort of guy I want to punch in the fucking face. Because you dressed up like you're a killer on the loose. You tried hard against Ryan Keys, but you are a threat out of the two of you because I fucking hate your guts already and I don't even know you.

Because you dress like a criminal that could murder people and I will fuck you up worse than what I'll do to Justin Smith and I know you've not done anything wrong, but you dress like a criminal that could break the law and there were such things as killer clowns a few years ago. Where people dress up as clowns and kill people.

I had to tackle a lot of people like you in my criminal life and took them down to police cell and end up in jail before moving them to prison for their crimes. I know you're all about chaos and thriving on them. But saying that, I'm going to break you because I just simply can, especially you remind me of a criminal case to tackle punks like you.

It's why I lose my mind on unleashing violence onto you because you deserve every single pain and suffering I'll do to you because you got it coming and I won't hold back. I'm Liam Davis, a police officer serving in Orlando, Florida that can do a lot of damage on wrestlers and people in general. I don't fear you, I don't find you a clown wrestler because I know calling you a joke and a clown won't help me or even you.

But I just want to hurt you because you make me sick with everything I despise in life and I hate clowns. I don't fear them, but hate them with every fibre of my entire body and I'll do everything possible to bust you open and destroy you because again, I want to win this match, more than even against Aiden to be honest with the opportunity there was on the line. Because I generally respected Aiden, but while I do to some extent, even if I want to vomit on it, respect you, but I don't respect that you're the reason I want to destroy you.

I want to make you suffer and I will do everything to make sure you'll be the one to get pinned because Justin Smith, sure he's involved in the match, but what the crowd really want to see is Liam Davis and Anthrax beating the hell out of each other. Sure Justin Smith and Liam would be a good match. We proved that when I debuted against him, but Liam and Anthrax match has never been done or seen and I'll destroy you and pin you for the three count to win. That's all I'll say.”

“Cross Examination”

The morning light slanted through the high windows of the Boyd School of Law, warm against the polished floors and echoing hallways. The scent of old coffee and legal pads hung in the air, the unmistakable perfume of ambition.

LJ Kasey sat three rows from the front in a lecture room filled with murmuring voices and clicking pens. His notebook was open, pages neat but lived-in, margins lined with scrawled reminders and half-finished case notes. The brace on his hand was gone, though the faint bruise around his knuckles remained, a fading testament to the last few weeks.

The professor was already pacing at the front, gesturing toward the whiteboard where “EVIDENCE – EXCEPTIONS TO HEARSAY” was written in tidy block letters. LJ’s pen tapped absently against his paper, his gaze unfocused for a moment before settling on the lecture.

“Now, intent matters,” Professor Roth was saying, "It’s not what someone says, but why they said it. Context defines credibility.”

LJ’s mouth tugged slightly at that. Context defines credibility. He thought of every promo he’d cut in the past month, every ounce of rage he’d translated into clarity, every fan or peer who thought the law student couldn’t hang with the chaos. Context mattered.

He jotted down a note, the words landing almost subconsciously: Everything is evidence if you know how to read it.

His phone buzzed beside his notebook, one quick vibration. He glanced down. A text from Miles:
“You up for training after classes? You got Aiden this week and you better not be caught slacking.”

He stared at the message for a moment before locking the phone again and sliding it face-down. His heart was steady, though. No jolt, no panic, just a quiet acknowledgment. The war with Logan wasn’t done but for now it was settled. Maybe it never would be but he has has to stay looking ahead because Logan was now in the rear view and ahead was his brother’s friend...former friend? ...that will have to be something he needs to ask Miles later.

“Mr. Kasey,” Professor Roth’s voice snapped him back to reality, "You’re up. Walk us through the difference between direct evidence and circumstantial.”

LJ straightened, collecting himself, "Direct evidence is when the proof speaks for itself, like an eyewitness or a confession,” he said smoothly, "Circumstantial is when you infer what happened based on the situation, like blood on a shirt, or...,” he hesitated, a faint smirk pulling at his lips, “or a pattern of behavior that tells you someone’s about to snap.”

A few students laughed quietly. Roth didn’t. He only arched an eyebrow, "Colorful example, Mr. Kasey. I’ll assume that’s from your... extracurricular experience.”

LJ just smiled faintly and nodded, "Something like that.”

The rest of the lecture went by in focused silence. When it ended, LJ gathered his books into his bag with practiced efficiency. As he made his way through the hall, a few classmates passed him by, nods of acknowledgement, the quiet respect given to someone juggling two impossible lives.

Outside, the Las Vegas sun was already beating down on the pavement. He paused by the courtyard fountain, the hum of conversation and water blending together, and exhaled slowly.

Law school gave him order. The ring gave him chaos. Somewhere in between, he was learning to breathe.

Later Back at the Apartment

The sound of laughter met him before the door even opened.

Inside, Ally was sitting cross-legged on the couch, phone in hand, a takeout box beside her. Ashlynn sat across from her at the coffee table, books spread out, a mix of her advanced class notes and a laptop filled with playlists.

“You’re late,” Ally said without looking up, a teasing lilt in her voice, "I was about to send Ashlynn to go drag you out of a courtroom.”

“Evidence lecture,” LJ replied, dropping his bag by the door, "Professor Roth was on a warpath today. I think he enjoys watching first-years sweat.”

Ashlynn grinned, looking up, "You sure it’s not because you always sound like you’re cross-examining him every time you answer a question?”

He shot her a look, "Maybe. But at least I’m polite about it.”

“You’re a Kasey,” Ally chimed in, smirking, "Polite’s not exactly the family brand.”

He chuckled, moving to the kitchen counter, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, "Fair point.”

Ashlynn turned in her seat, studying him for a moment, "So, how’s the hand?”

He flexed it, faint bruises, but the swelling was gone, "Better. Still stiff, but nothing I can’t handle.”

There was a beat, the kind of moment that carried unspoken weight. They all knew what “handle” meant in his world.

Ally finally put down her phone, her tone softening, "You saw the card?”

“Yeah,” LJ said, "Miles texted me.”

“And?”

He leaned back against the counter, taking a sip of water before answering, "He wants to go training tonight but I messaged him that it can wait til the morning. I got Aiden in the Semi’s”

“Feels dangerous,” she countered quietly.

He didn’t argue. Instead, he met her eyes, calm but unflinching, "Everything worth doing usually is.”

Ashlynn gave a half-smile, "That’s one way to look at it. I saw what you said in your promo, though. ‘Done waiting.’ People online are eating that up.”

“Good,” he said, tone sharpening just slightly, "It’s the truth.”

He crossed to the couch, setting his water down beside Ally. The air between them softened as he sat, still carrying that quiet energy that never left him after a fight.

“Aiden is damn good,” LJ said, voice lower now, "He went toe to toe with Carter and came damn close to winning that title. But it’s time, it’s not about respect. It’s not about revenge. I wanna show a lot of people that I’m more than the lil Kasey brother and potentially World Championship material.”

Ally reached out, resting her hand over his, "Then do it. But promise me you’ll come back in one piece.”

He smiled, small, genuine, a flash of the kid she’d fallen for under all the scars, "I’ll do you one better,” he said, "I’ll come back better than I left.”

Ashlynn rolled her eyes playfully, "You two are disgustingly cute. I’m going to my room before this turns into a rom-com.”

“Then go study, ya brat” LJ called after her, laughing.

When the door clicked shut, Ally leaned in and pressed her forehead against his, "You’re doing great, you know that, right?”

He didn’t answer right away. He just closed his eyes for a moment, letting the calm settle.

“Trying,” he said finally, "One case at a time. One match at a time. One breath at a time.”

Later That Night

The apartment had gone quiet hours ago. The glow of the TV cast faint blue light across the room, the credits of some half-watched show rolling in the background. Ally had fallen asleep curled up at the far end of the couch, one hand resting where his knee had been. Her breathing was even, peaceful, the kind of calm LJ never quite found for himself.

He sat at the small desk across from her, law book open but unread. His pen hovered over a margin already filled with legal citations, and between them he’d scribbled something that had nothing to do with evidence or precedent:

Aiden Reynolds - momentum, experience, ring control. Counter with pressure. Stay patient. Don’t chase. Make him come to you.

His world was split in two columns: law and war. Order and chaos.

He leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face. Every match now carried more weight. Every step forward in the tournament felt like validation, not just for him, but for the people who’d bet on him, the ones who’d stood beside him when he was just “Miles’ little brother.”

“Potentially world championship material.” He’d said it half-joking earlier, but he meant it. He could feel it.

He glanced at Ally again, her hair spilling over the pillow, and something inside him steadied.

One case at a time. One match at a time. One breath at a time.

He reached over and turned off the lamp. The city lights filtered through the blinds in thin gold lines, striping across the walls like silent reminders that Las Vegas never slept, but tonight, he would try.

Because come the weekend, there’d be no rest.

Only the fight.

-----

“Brother’s Briefing”

The afternoon sun had dipped low enough to paint the Vegas skyline in burnt orange and gold, and the Wolfslair training facility was half-empty for once, the low thud of gloves on pads echoing faintly in the background. LJ Kasey leaned against the ring apron, towel draped around his shoulders, his water bottle already half-empty. Across from him, his brother Miles was unwrapping his own wrist tape, still sharp even in downtime.

LJ broke the silence first, "You ever notice how every time I’m in one of these big tournament things, they start talkin’ like I’m just here for the vibes?” he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, "‘Heart,’ ‘charisma,’ ‘potential’ like I’m a God damn commercial break between the real matches.”

Miles chuckled under his breath, "Yeah, that’s the kind of talk you get before you win something big. After that, they call it ‘tenacity’ and ‘championship mindset.’” He tossed the tape aside, "You just haven’t given them their headline yet.”

LJ nodded, but the expression in his eyes was more storm than confidence, "This one’s different, though. Aiden’s not some loudmouth or rookie who thinks Twitter’s a personality. He’s good, real good. He’s got that balance...skill, timing, instinct. I’ve seen what he did with Carter. Man pushed him to the brink. So yeah, I want the headline. But I’m not gonna fake that it’s not a mountain.”

Miles leaned against the ropes, crossing his arms, "Then start by remembering who taught the guy who taught you how to climb.”

LJ looked up, a brow raised, "You?”

“Damn right.” Miles grinned, "And you don’t beat Aiden Reynolds by trying to outdo him. You beat him by making him uncomfortable. Aiden’s all about rhythm, once he finds it, he flows. You have to disrupt that. You can’t let him think, can’t let him breathe. You throw him off tempo, he starts questioning his reads, and that’s when you take over.”

LJ frowned slightly, thoughtful, "Disrupt the rhythm. Okay. But easier said than done when he’s got that ring IQ. I’ve watched the tapes, he adjusts fast.”

“Yeah,” Miles replied, nodding, “But he adjusts reactively. You, on the other hand, you’ve got that unpredictability, that instinct to flip a switch mid-match. You just don’t trust it yet.” He tilted his head slightly, studying his brother, "You still play it too safe sometimes. Like you’re afraid if you go too far, you’ll lose control.”

LJ met his gaze, "You mean like last time, when losing control got my girlfriend put on a bounty list?”

Miles’ smirk faltered, "Yeah,” he said quietly, “that was bad. But I’m not talking about recklessness. I’m talking about deliberate chaos. You got this thing, LJ, that spark that can flip a match upside down when you let it. Aiden? He’s order and precision. You? You’re jazz. Unpredictable, raw, and loud when it counts.”

LJ laughed, "Jazz? Seriously?”

Miles shrugged, unbothered, "Hey, it’s Vegas. Fits the vibe.”

For a moment, both brothers just stood there in silence, the hum of the gym filling the space. Then LJ said quietly, “You think I can do it?”

Miles didn’t answer right away. He walked over, grabbed LJ’s towel off his shoulders, and tossed it back at him, "I know you can. But that’s not what matters.” His tone softened, that rare Miles Kasey brand of sincerity slipping through, "What matters is you knowing it. You can’t come in there thinking ‘maybe.’ You walk into that ring like it’s already your final, because the second you hesitate, he’ll sense it, and you’re done.”

LJ nodded slowly, letting the words settle, "So... disrupt the rhythm. Stay unpredictable. Believe I belong there.”

Miles cracked a grin, "Exactly. And if that fails, just punch him in the face harder than he expects.”

LJ snorted, shaking his head, "Classic Miles strategy.”

“Hey, never said I was subtle.” Miles smirked, "You’re the lawyer. I’m just the brawler with good looks and bad timing.”

LJ chuckled, then his tone shifted just slightly, quieter now, "You ever think about what’s next for you, though? Like... you’ve been where I’m trying to get. You ever miss it? The grind, the chase?”

Miles hesitated for a beat before answering, "At the moment? No, because I’m the SCW Internet Champion with a potential opponent on the horizon, whoever that may be that finds his balls and steps up. But I got my run at that shot, LJ. You’re on yours now. And I’m not gonna let you waste it worrying about me or Carter or what anyone else thinks you can’t do. You go out there and own that ring, little brother. Make them talk about you for the right reasons.”

LJ took a breath, nodded once, "Alright. No hesitation.”

Miles clapped him on the shoulder, "Good. Now go get some rest before you start quoting legal precedent at your opponent.”

LJ smirked, already turning for the exit, "Can’t make promises. Hearsay might actually make a good finisher name.”

Miles called after him, laughing, “You’re an idiot!”

LJ shot back without missing a beat, “Yeah, but I’m your idiot!”

The door swung shut behind him, the sound of Miles’ laughter echoing faintly through the gym.

For the first time in weeks, LJ didn’t feel like the underdog. He felt ready to win.

----

“Disrupt the Rhythm”

The only sound in the apartment was the low hum of the city outside... the heartbeat of Las Vegas bleeding through the open window. The glow from a desk lamp painted long shadows across stacks of law books, loose pages, and the silver reflection of the SCW logo glinting from a duffel bag tossed haphazardly on the floor.

LJ sat at his desk, elbows resting on the edge, hands clasped loosely. The faint bruising around his jaw was still visible under the warm light, but his expression was calm, measured. The kind of calm that usually came before a storm.

The red light on the camera blinked.

“You ever notice how people love to talk about momentum when it’s not theirs?”

His voice was low, smooth... not the performative energy of a promo stage, but the steady conviction of a man making his case.

“They’ll hype you up, call you the next big thing… right until someone like me walks into frame. Then suddenly, it’s not about momentum... it’s about contrast. Charisma versus focus. Heart versus precision. Chaos versus control.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes.

“And for weeks, I’ve heard them say it... that Aiden Reynolds is the storm that’s going to test me. But the truth is, I’ve been living in storms my whole damn life.”

He leaned back, shoulders relaxing, that calm certainty never slipping. Behind him, one of his textbooks lay open... a half-written note in the margin that read ‘context defines credibility.’ It felt fitting.

“They call me charismatic. Hungry. The kid with potential. But what they never call me is dangerous.”

The word dangerous rolled off his tongue like a verdict.

“See, you’ve got your accolades, Aiden. You went to war with Carter. You came close. You earned your flowers. But somewhere along the line, people started thinking that because I smile, because I talk, because I bring something different... I can’t bring pain. They think charisma can’t cut.”

He shook his head, almost laughing under his breath.

“Chaos isn’t the absence of control. It’s the ability to weaponize it.”

LJ shifted forward again, resting his forearms on the desk, his tone tightening with quiet fire.

“You’re order, Aiden. You’re clean. You’re measured. You’ve got that Wolfslair polish. That’s your edge... until it isn’t. Because order has rules and I don’t really play by them.”

The lamp flickered once, faintly, as if the words themselves carried a pulse.

“When that bell rings at Climax Control, I’m not walking in there to match your rhythm. I’m walking in there to break it. You adapt on a dime? Fine. You counter? Good. But I’ll keep coming until there’s nothing left for you to adapt to. Until you’re drowning in the same chaos you thought you could control.”

He let that hang in the air, the faint city hum filling the silence. His eyes flicked to the side for a moment... a brief glance at a photo on the wall: him and Miles, grinning after a match months ago. He inhaled through his nose, grounding himself.

“I’ve watched people skip the line, take opportunities I earned. I’ve been told to wait my turn more times than I can count. But patience? It’s not a weakness. It’s a weapon. And I’ve had enough waiting to make it deadly.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly before continuing.

“You’ve already had your shot, Aiden. You’ve danced with the champion. You’ve had your ‘almost.’ Me? I’m done with almost. I’m done watching from the sidelines while the safe picks get the spotlight. I’m not the brother trying to catch up. I’m not the rookie anymore. I’m the one rewriting the rules.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up again... that familiar grin, dangerous now.

“I’m a law student by day, sure. But in that ring? I'm the judge, jury, and the one rewriting the verdict.”

He pushed up from the chair, walking toward the camera until his face filled the frame... not angry, not loud, just absolute.

“So bring your precision, Aiden. Bring your composure. Bring every ounce of Wolfslair pride you’ve got. Because I’m bringing chaos, charisma, and conviction. And when it’s over... when you’re staring up at those lights wondering what the hell just happened... you’ll finally understand something.”

A pause. A breath.

“You don’t control chaos. You survive it.”

The grin returned, sharper this time, cutting through the intensity like a blade.

“And me? I don’t just survive. I win.”

He reached forward and switched off the camera.

The room fell into silence again... just the hum of Vegas and the soft scratch of pen against paper as LJ turned back to his notebook, writing a single line before the scene faded out:

“Every fight tells a story. This one’s mine.”

~*~Big Girl Dreams~*~
O’Connell Home

The sound of an electric drill whirred through the baby monitor long before it should have.

Bella stood in the doorway of her daughter’s room, one hand on her hip, the other clutching a small Allen wrench, "You know, someone could’ve waited for me to finish reading the instructions before starting.”

Mal glanced up from where he was crouched on the floor, half of the new toddler bed assembled, a smug grin tugging at his lips, "Instructions are just suggestions, love. Between libraries, your crazy Ninja Warrior set up, out in the barn. I've built whole sets backstage faster than this.”

Bella arched her brow, "And how many of those fell apart halfway through the show?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again with a sheepish shrug, "Ok so I didn’t work alone on those but the point still stands.”

The room around them was in that perfect kind of chaos that came from trying to grow up too fast, paint swatches taped on the wall, a new “big girl” comforter waiting to be unwrapped, and Máire’s stuffed animals piled like a mountain in the corner. Luka had claimed the pile as her throne for now, curled up on top of a headless unicorn plush, her one brown and one blue eyes lazily tracking her humans.

Bella knelt beside her, running a hand through the husky’s thick fur, "You’d better get used to this, Luka. She’s not gonna stay in one place anymore.”

As if on cue, a loud thud echoed down the hall, followed by the unmistakable patter of bare feet.

Mal groaned, "And that would be the escape artist herself. She must of decided to wake up from her nap.”

Bella turned just in time to see Máire peek around the corner, her dirty blonde curls wild, clutching her favorite stuffed dinosaur that was given to her by her Auntie Si and Uncle Lach, by the neck. Her wide eyes lit up when she saw what her parents were doing.

“Bed!” she squealed, barreling into the room, "My bed?”

“Yes my pretty girl, that’s your new bed,” Bella confirmed, scooping her up, "Since someone learned how to climb out of her crib in the middle of the night.”

Máire giggled, tucking her face against Bella’s shoulder, "I big girl now.”

Mal set the drill aside and grinned, "That you are, peanut. Big enough for your own bed, big enough to give your old man a heart attack every time you sneak down the hall.”

“She doesn’t sneak,” Bella said dryly, "She stomps like a baby elephant.”

“Elephaaaant!” Máire repeated gleefully as she squirmed out of her momma’s arms and reenacted the stomps. Luka barked once, tail thumping, as if joining in on the chaos.

For a moment, the room was filled with laughter and movement, Bella helping Mal line up the last slats, Máire “supervising” from her new mattress, Luka refusing to move from her plush pile.

Once the bed was done, Bella stood back, brushing a smear of sawdust off her jeans. The sight of it, small but sturdy, with soft pink sheets and a crescent moon nightlight on the wall, made her chest tighten.

She remembered when the crib first arrived. Mal had assembled it while she sat, eight months pregnant, arguing that the mattress was too firm. Now, here they were again, same couple, same laughter, same stubborn arguments, just with a toddler who could open doors and climb out of cribs like it was an Olympic sport. Thankfully they managed to install the gates at the bottom and top of the steps after the first time she snuck down a couple of weeks ago. That was enough of a heart attack to last them both a lifetime.

Mal slipped an arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple, "Hey,” he murmured, voice softer now, "She’s growing up, huh?”

Bella nodded, eyes lingering on their daughter as Máire arranged her stuffed animals on the bed in meticulous chaos, "Too fast,” she whispered, "Feels like I blinked and suddenly we’re here.”

Mal chuckled quietly, "That’s parenthood for you. Blink, and she’s already running the place.”

Bella exhaled a laugh, but her eyes stayed warm, a quiet ache settling in behind them.

Máire climbed up onto her bed, proudly bouncing once before flopping backward, hair fanned across the pillow, "I sleep here!” she announced.

Bella smiled through the lump in her throat, "Yeah, baby. You sleep there.”

Luka hopped off the pile of toys and padded over, circling once before curling up at the foot of the bed, her chin resting on her paws.

“See?” Mal said softly, "She’s already got security covered.”

Bella smirked, "That dog’s gonna hog the covers before bedtime even starts.”

But as she watched her little girl stroke Luka’s fur, eyelids already drooping with contentment, Bella knew this was the kind of night she’d remember. The kind that didn’t need bright lights or roaring crowds, just sawdust on the floor, laughter echoing down the hall, and the tiny heartbeat of a new chapter starting in their home.

It was supposed to be a simple night.

Dinner, bath, bedtime.

Three steps. Easy.

At least, that’s what Bella told herself....and maybe the universe heard her because it immediately decided to make a liar out of her.

“Máire, no, not the dog’s water bowl again!”

The toddler turned with that trademark grin, the one that made her look exactly like her father, as her chubby hand hovered over Luka’s dish, "Luka thirsty!”

Bella groaned, scooping her up before she could dump it, "Luka’s always thirsty, baby, but that doesn’t mean we take a bath in her water.”

From the hallway, Mal’s laugh echoed, low and amused, "To be fair, she did try to give Luka a drink.”

Bella shot him a look over Máire’s curls, "You’re not helping.”

He held up his hands in surrender, "Just saying...she’s resourceful.”

“She’s trouble,” Bella muttered, setting Máire down and guiding her toward the freshly assembled toddler bed, "Come on, big girl. Bedtime.”

“Big girl bed!” Máire squealed, climbing up with a little hop. Luka immediately followed, leaping onto the mattress with a thud that made the whole bed bounce.

Bella pinched the bridge of her nose, "And now it’s a party.”

Mal chuckled from the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms folded, "She’s gotta break it in.”

“Not if she breaks herself first,” Bella shot back, moving to shoo Luka down, "Off, girl. Bed’s for babies, not fluffy chaos gremlin machines.” Luka gave her a dramatic sigh before hopping off and curling up on the rug instead, though not without giving Bella one last wounded look over her shoulder.

When Máire was finally settled, surrounded by her plush army of animals, a sippy cup of water within reach, and her nightlight glowing soft amber, Bella sat at the edge of the bed. She brushed her daughter’s hair back, watching those heavy lids blink slower and slower.

“Mommy?” came the small, sleepy voice.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“You stay?”

Bella smiled, "For a bit.”

Mal came in quietly then, crouching beside the bed, "You get some sleep, peanut. Luka’s right outside if you need her.”

“’Kay,” Máire mumbled, already half-dreaming.

Bella and Mal waited there for a long moment, just listening, the hum of the nightlight, Luka’s quiet breathing, the rhythmic suck of a toddler thumb.

When they finally tiptoed out, closing the door almost all the way, Bella leaned back against it and exhaled, "That went better than I thought.”

Mal grinned, "You say that now.”

It took precisely thirty-eight minutes.

Thirty-eight minutes before the pitter-patter of bare feet echoed down the hall, followed by the tiny creak of their bedroom door.

Bella lifted her head from the pillow, blinking in the dim light, "...Mal?”

“Not me,” he murmured sleepily, "We’ve been infiltrated.”

Sure enough, a shadowy figure stood in the doorway clutching a blanket and a stuffed unicorn.

“Mommy,” came the small voice, "Luka snore too loud.”

Mal snorted into his pillow. Bella bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“Come here, baby,” she said softly, lifting the blanket. Máire scrambled up between them, snuggling into her mother’s chest with a content sigh. Luka padded in seconds later, tail wagging, and flopped down at the foot of the bed as if reclaiming her post.

Mal rolled onto his side, one arm draped over both of them, "Told you she’d break it in,” he whispered.

Bella smirked against his shoulder, "Yeah, well, maybe she just needed a trial run.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, voice low and warm, "You did good, Bells. You both did.”

Bella’s eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion tugging at the edges of her thoughts, "Yeah...she’s growing too fast, Mal.”

He nodded against her hair, "That’s how you know you’re doing it right.”

In the silence that followed, Bella could feel her daughter’s tiny hand clutching her shirt, the gentle brush of Luka’s fur against her feet, and Mal’s steady heartbeat under her palm.

This, this was what she fought for every time she stepped into that ring. The bruises, the pain, the chaos, they all led back to moments like this.

Her family. Her world.

The Hardcore Queen of SCW and the softest heart in the room.

~*~Iron and Fire~*~
O’Connell Barn Gym - Late Afternoon

Rain whispered against the roof of the barn, soft but steady, the kind of gray drizzle that made the world outside feel small and quiet. Inside, though, there was nothing quiet about the rhythm of Bella Madison’s training.

Thud.
Thud-thud.

Each hit landed heavier than the last. The heavy bag swayed with each impact, a steady, violent metronome to the thoughts crashing through her mind.

Her hair clung to her face, sweat tracing lines down her neck. The skin across her knuckles burned beneath her wraps, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not yet.

It wasn’t just a workout, it was a war being fought one punch at a time.

Because in less than a week, she’d be standing across the ring from Victoria Lyons, the so-called Queen of SCW, the woman who had dominated the Bombshells Roulette division for over a year.

Victoria wasn’t a stepping stone. She was an Everest.

And if Bella wanted that shot at Frankie Holliday, that one shot at the SCW Bombshell World Championship, she’d have to climb her and then keep on climbing.

“Push harder,” she muttered under her breath, the words rough between clenched teeth, "Come on, Madison. Don’t you dare slow down now.”

Her body screamed for a break. Her mind told her to ignore it.

When the barn door creaked open, Bella didn’t even look up, "I’m not done.”

“I can see that,” came the voice, calm, measured, and unmistakably her mother’s. Laura Phoenix stood framed in the doorway, rain jacket still half-zipped, a thermos in her hand. She looked around the barn, taking in the scene: the sweat, the bags, the faint tremor in Bella’s arms from fatigue.

Then she sighed, "Jesus, Bells. Are you trying to train yourself into the hospital?”

Bella grabbed the swinging bag, breathing hard as she wiped sweat from her brow, "No. Just trying to make sure I don’t walk into the tournament unprepared. You should recognize it, I learned it from you and dad.”

“Unprepared?” Laura raised a brow, stepping inside, "You’ve been in here three hours. I should know, I tried to catch you before you started training and Mal told me you were already out here. The only thing you’re unprepared for is a nap.”

Bella didn’t smile. She turned back to the bag, hitting it again, just once, hard enough to make the chains rattle, "Victoria Lyons isn’t some rookie, Mom. She’s a monster, a monster that is attempting redemption but a monster. You know it. Everyone knows it. She’s been running over the Bombshells roster for a year, and nobody had been able to stop her until just recently. You really think I can just half-ass my way into that match?”

Laura watched her for a moment, expression unreadable. Then she set the thermos down on the bench, "No. But there’s a difference between being ready and burning yourself out.”

Bella rolled her shoulders, jaw tight, "You sound like Mal.”

“I sound like your mother,” Laura corrected, "Who’s been in this business long enough to know what happens when you let obsession drive the car.”

That made Bella pause....just long enough for Laura to step closer.

“I get it, Bells. I really do. You’ve got the fire back. You want to win this whole damn tournament and finally get the match you’ve been chasing. But you don’t have to kill yourself to prove you’re good enough.”

Bella turned then, eyes flashing, "Don’t I? Because every fucking time I’ve been this close, something happens. I get in my own way, or somebody else does. And you know what everyone whispers when I lose, Mom? That I’m just your kid. Or Mal’s wife. That I’m always almost there, but never the one who finishes the job.”

Laura’s expression softened, but her voice stayed steady, "You think I haven’t heard worse? You think I didn’t spend years being somebody’s daughter, somebody’s tag partner, somebody’s afterthought? You fight long enough, Bella, and you learn something....people will always talk. Some of them will never ever shut the fuck up. But what matters is what’s left when the lights go down and the crowd goes home.”

Bella exhaled, her breath shaky, "And what if what’s left isn’t enough?”

Laura stepped in, putting a hand on her shoulder, "Then you go back to work...you work smart, not desperate. You’ve already proven you can take a hit and keep fighting. You don’t need to prove it to anyone again.”

Bella looked down at her taped hands, "Victoria’s not just anyone.”

“I know,” Laura said quietly, "That’s why you fight her with your head as much as your heart. She’s not unbeatable, Bella. Nobody is. But you can’t beat her if you go into that match running on fumes.”

Bella swallowed, throat tight, "I don’t know how to stop.”

“I know,” Laura said softly, "That’s what scares me.”

The silence that followed was heavy, only the rain tapping against the roof and the low creak of the bag’s chain filling the space.

Then, almost as if on cue, Luka barked outside the barn, a sharp, cheerful sound that cut through the tension. Bella looked toward the open door, and for a second, she smiled.

“She’s probably wondering what’s taking me so long,” Bella said quietly.

Laura smirked, "Smart dog. Knows when to rest.”

Bella’s smile lingered, small but real, "Yeah....maybe I’ll try that. After another round.”

Laura gave her a look, one of those mom looks that said everything without a word, "Jesus you are worse than Nick at times. Okay, one more. Then you come inside, clean up, and eat something before you pass out. Deal?”

Bella nodded reluctantly, "Deal.”

As Laura turned to leave, she paused in the doorway, "And, Bella?”

“Yeah?”

Her mother smiled, proud, fierce, and maybe just a little misty-eyed.

“Victoria Lyons doesn’t know what she’s walking into and if she thinks she does, she’s a fool. You’re not the same woman she fought before. You’re stronger now, not because of the grind, but because you’ve got something she doesn’t.”

Bella tilted her head, "What’s that?”

Laura’s smirk turned knowing, "A reason.”

The words hung there long after she was gone.

Bella turned back to the bag, her reflection catching in the mirror opposite.

Her breath steadied. Her stance set.

And as she threw another punch, sharp, explosive, echoing through the barn, she whispered to herself,
“Let’s make her remember who I am.”

~*~Hardcore Queen~*~

Later that night

The rain hadn’t stopped. It came down in steady sheets, the sound echoing softly against the barn’s tin roof. The heavy bag still swayed from earlier, but now the space was dim, just the soft glow of a single work light overhead, the camera set up in front of it.

Bella Madison stood in front of that lens, hoodie zipped halfway, hair still damp from the shower, tape still clinging to her wrists like battle scars she hadn’t earned the right to remove yet.

She stared into the camera for a long moment before speaking, letting the silence stretch, letting the weight of her presence fill the space. Then, finally, she smirked.

“You ever notice how, every time a tournament like this rolls around, it brings out the best and the worst in fucking everyone?”

Her voice was calm, almost conversational, but the edge beneath it was unmistakable.

“People talk about destiny, about legacy, about what it means to be a champion. And then there’s me. I don’t talk about destiny. I don’t talk about legacy. I will talk about survival. Because that’s all I’ve ever done since the day I set foot in SCW...survived.”

She took a step forward, the light catching the fire in her eyes.

“I’ve been knocked down so many times. I’ve been bloody. I’ve been told I wasn’t enough. And every single time, I’ve gotten back up. Because that’s what I do. Because that’s who I am. The Hardcore Queen of SCW. The woman who’s walked through glass, through blood, through doubt and came out the other side still swinging.”

A small, bitter laugh escaped her lips.

“And now here we are. Semi-finals. Victoria Lyons.”

The smirk faded, replaced by something sharper, colder.

“Victoria, I’ll give you this, you’re a freakin’ machine. You ran the Bombshell Roulette Division for over a year. You made people plead for mercy, bleed, you broke spirits, and you didn’t apologize for any of it. You carried that championship like it was forged out of your own spine, and nobody...absolutely nobody... could take it from you until recently. You did more for that damn division than any of us could.”

She paused, letting the acknowledgment sink in before her tone shifted, darker now.

“But I’m not coming into this to admire your record. I’m going to make it extremely interesting. Because while you have finally started to climb that proverbial ladder....for me, this isn’t just another match. This is the line in the sand. The moment where I stop being ‘almost there’ and start being the one nobody can overlook anymore.”

She reached up, tugging at the tape around her wrists, the sound of it tearing sharp in the quiet.

“You have called yourself a Queen for over a year. In fact, you took being named Queen for a Day and you attempted to rule over the entire place like you were the fucking owner. I remember exactly what you attempted to do to Miles and Carter and you better believe I’m still fucking bitter about that. You ruled through pain, intimidation, dominance and now you’re looking across the bracket at someone who’s not afraid of any of that. I’ve fought you before, Victoria. I remember what it felt like to get hit by you, to lose to you. I remember every bruise you left, every scar that reminded me I wasn’t ready then.”

Her voice dropped, low and deliberate.

“But I’m ready now.”

The camera caught the twitch in her jaw, the defiant fire building behind her eyes.

“Because while you’ve been reminding the world who you were, I’ve been rebuilding who I am. Every loss, every bloodied match, every night I came home and had to look my daughter in the eye and tell her mommy’s okay, it’s all led to this. To you. To this moment.”

A flash of the old Bella surfaced, the defiant, sharp-edged one.

“You want to talk about pain? I’ve lived it. You want to talk about pride? I’ve bled for mine. You want to talk about fire, Victoria? I am the goddamn wildfire that doesn’t go out.”

She stepped closer to the camera, too close now, her face filling the frame, her breath fogging the lens.

“And when we walk into that ring at Climax Control, I’m not coming to survive you this time. I’m coming to beat you. To prove that the Hardcore Queen doesn’t just endure, she conquers.”

Her voice softened, but her words hit harder than any scream could have.

“You had your reign. You had your throne. But it’s my turn now. My time. And when it’s all said and done, when they raise my hand and call my name, it won’t be because I got lucky...”

A faint, dangerous smile curved across her lips.

“It’ll be because I finally became everything you warned the rest of the roster about.”

She reached forward, stopping the recording — the screen going black just as her voice whispered, almost like a promise:

“Long live the Queen.”

Scene opens with a wide shot of Santa Clara, California.

The camera pans over the sparkling skyline, past the glowing red of Levi’s Stadium, until it settles on Justin Smith standing at the edge of a quiet park, the faint hum of evening traffic behind him. He’s dressed in a black hoodie with his logo stitched across the back, his face half-covered by the shadow of his hood.

Justin takes a deep breath, pulling out his phone and dialing.

After a few rings, a familiar voice answers — Casey Williams, his old mentor and friend.

Justin: Hey Casey, you catching the show this week? Looks like your boy’s got himself in another war — Anthrax, Liam Davis, and me. Triple threat, baby.

Casey: I saw the card, Justin. You sure know how to pick your battles. Those two aren’t exactly walkovers.

Justin: Yeah, no kidding. Anthrax is unpredictable, and Liam… he’s like a chess player with a god complex. But that’s what makes it fun, right? No safety nets, no easy outs.

Casey: Fun isn’t the word I’d use. Anthrax is the kind of guy who doesn’t care about wins — he just wants to break people. Liam’s got that quiet arrogance; he’ll outsmart you if you blink. It’s not a match, Justin — it’s survival.

Justin (smirking): You know me, Case. I’ve made a career out of surviving. You think I’ve lasted this long in SCW by playing it safe? I’m not here to survive anymore — I’m here to remind everyone that I’m still the most dangerous man in that ring when the lights hit.

Casey: You’ve got the experience, sure. But you’ve also taken more hits than anyone I know. The body doesn’t lie, Justin. How much more can you really give?

Justin: As much as it takes. Until I’m dust. Until the fire burns out for good. But right now, it’s still burning — hotter than ever.

Casey (sighing): Alright. I’ll make a few calls. Dying Breed’s in California right now, and Hitamashii’s finishing up a seminar in San Jose. They’ll meet you tomorrow at Elite Performance Gym. Time to tighten everything up.

Justin: Good. Tell them I’m ready. Because when Santa Clara lights up this weekend, I’m not coming to wrestle — I’m coming to make a damn statement.

Casey: Then make it count, Justin. Because a win here doesn’t just get you back in the title picture — it reminds everyone why they still talk about Justin Smith like a legend, not a has-been.

Justin smirks, ending the call.

He looks toward the distant stadium lights, his expression steely and focused.

Scene fades to black.

The Next Morning – Elite Performance Gym, Santa Clara

The sound of gloves hitting heavy bags echoes through the training hall. Justin walks in wearing a sleeveless hoodie, his wrists taped, ready for battle. Andrew Garcia, Ivan Darrell, and Hitamashii are already there, warming up in the ring.

Andrew: Well, look who decided to show up! The man of the hour, running on California time, huh?

Justin: Yeah, yeah — traffic on the 101. You ever drive through Santa Clara at rush hour? It’s like fighting a tag team of Teslas and tourists.

Ivan: Excuses already? You sure you’re not turning into one of those veterans who blame traffic for their losses?

Justin (grinning): Keep talking, Darrell. I’ll show you traffic — with my boot to your chest.

Andrew: Alright, boys, let’s get to it. You’ve got a triple threat coming up, Justin. That means your awareness has to be on another level. No breaks, no downtime. You’re fighting two men at once — no tagging out, no corners to hide in.

Hitamashii: Remember, Anthrax thrives in chaos. He doesn’t plan — he reacts. Liam’s the opposite — he’ll bait you, wait for a mistake, and then pounce. You’ve got to stay unpredictable, balanced between them.

Justin: Then let’s get started. Show me something I haven’t seen yet.

The group begins an intense training session.

Andrew shouts commands from outside the ring as Justin and Ivan lock up, exchanging holds. Hitamashii jumps in, simulating the interference of a third opponent — forcing Justin to adapt mid-fight.

Justin gets taken down, rolls through, and counters with a lariat that nearly takes Hitamashii’s head off.
He stands, breathing hard but smirking.

Andrew: There it is! That’s the edge we need. You can’t control chaos, but you can outlast it. Anthrax’ll burn himself out trying to break you — make him chase your rhythm.

Hitamashii: And Liam? He’s got that ring IQ, but if you hit him fast, hard, and keep pressure, he won’t get a chance to think. Make him panic. Force him to react.

Justin nods, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Justin: So Anthrax brings the fire, Liam brings the brains — guess that means I bring both. Let’s go again.

They run another sequence — faster, tighter, more brutal. The sounds of strikes and grunts fill the air.

When it’s over, Justin leans on the ropes, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his arms.

Andrew: That’s the Justin Smith I remember. Not just fighting to win — fighting to prove something.

Justin (looking up): Yeah. To prove that the madness never dies.

Scene fades to black.

Later That Night – Birk’s Steakhouse, Santa Clara

Soft jazz plays in the background as Justin sits at a corner booth, a Porterhouse steak steaming in front of him, a cold Coke beside it.

He’s calm — too calm — until he looks directly into the camera, that signature dangerous smirk curling across his face.

Justin: Anthrax. Liam Davis. You two really think I’m the one who’s in danger in this match? You think just because it’s a triple threat, that I’m walking into your world? Nah… you’re walking into mine.

He takes a bite of steak, chews slowly, then sets his fork down.

Justin: Let’s start with you, Anthrax. You call yourself chaos. You thrive on pain, on destruction, on making everyone around you bleed. Cute. But chaos without purpose? That’s just noise. And I’ve spent my entire career learning how to turn noise into silence. You swing wild, you laugh when you get hit, but deep down — you’re scared. Scared of control. Scared of someone who can stare right through your madness and break it piece by piece. You want chaos? I’ll give you calculated carnage.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.

Justin: And Liam Davis — the technician, the golden boy. You’re too smart for your own good. Always thinking three steps ahead. Problem is, I don’t play your game. I don’t follow your rules. You can’t outthink someone who’s already willing to go further than you ever will. You’re precise, but precision doesn’t save you when the hits keep coming. You’re not fighting a man who wants to win — you’re fighting one who refuses to lose.

He pauses, glancing down at his hands, the knuckles bruised from training.

Justin: You both see me as the veteran, the guy who’s been through the wars, maybe the one who’s slowing down. But let me tell you something — the difference between me and both of you is simple: I’ve already been through hell, and I didn’t just survive it… I built a home there.

(He cracks a small grin.)

Justin: Santa Clara’s going to see the best version of Justin Smith they’ve ever seen. Not the nice guy. Not the workhorse. The fighter who’s done being overlooked. The man who’s ready to rip through two opponents just to remind this entire company why I’m still the heartbeat of SCW.

He raises his Coke glass like a toast.

Justin: To Anthrax — may chaos consume you. To Liam — may your cleverness fail you. And to me… may the madness never end.

He drinks, then starts humming “Madness” by Liliac, the haunting melody echoing as the camera slowly pans out to the glowing Santa Clara night.

Scene fades to black.