---

Inside the living room. The loud sounds of a wrestling program could be heard coming from the box looking television. That television directly across from the clearly out-dated and poor taste in design looking couch. A young eight year old Guy was starting to stand up on the arm of the couch. In his left hand he was holding an old beat up pillow. His squeaky voice heard shouting over the commentary taking place on the television.

[ L I T T LE . G UY ] -- By Gawd! He’s climbing the cage!

With his feet steady on the arm of the couch. He gripped the pillow and proceeded to place it across his shoulders. Holding his arms over the top of very tightly and looking down at the couch cushions just below where he stood.

[ L I T T LE . G UY ] -- Say goodnight Pillow Man!

No hesitation or fear in the child. The eight year old leaped from the arm of the couch and flipped himself upside down. Slamming the pillow into the top of the pillow cushions while landing on his own head and neck. The impact of his tiny body landing on the couch was just enough to jolt the cough against the coffee table next to the arm that he leaped from. Hearing the lamp that set on that table rocking. The child turned around and tried to grab it.

[ L I T T LE . G UY ] -- No! No! No!

His tiny hands just missed the lamp as it rocked off the edge of the table and hit the hardwood floor of the living room. Instantly the loud sound of shattering glass seemingly echoed throughout the entire trailer. His child expression went as white as a ghost. Looking down at the broken lamp with fear and disappointment. All of the sudden the loud almost hateful like screaming could be heard from down the hall.


Before he could even attempt to answer the voice that called from the back of the trailer. The angry footsteps could be heard stomping towards the living room. Right then he tried to scoop up the broken pieces of the lamp. Not that it was going to do anything. As he picked them up and went to stand up with them in hand. He was cut off short by the imposing figure of his mother. She took one look at him, the broken lamp, and what was on the television. Her blood boiling. Redness consuming her face.

[ M O T H E R ] -- How many times. How many times have I told you about this stupid shit?!

[ L I T T LE . G UY ] -- Mom. I’m...

[ M O T H E R ] -- Answer me boy!

[ L I T T LE . G UY ] -- Yes ma’am. You’ve told me too many. Too many times.

[ M O T H E R ] -- Too many goddamn times is right!

She stomped just a couple inches over to the television. The wrestling program was still playing as she flipped the knob to the TV and shut it off. Turning her angry gaze back to the child. In that moment the child felt bad for the lamp breaking, but was it really warranting this type of anger? Her voice got louder when she spoke up. Letting that frustration truly boil over.

[ M O T H E R ] -- No matter how many times I tell you. No matter how many times I repeat myself. You are too stupid to listen to what you are told!

[ L I T T LE . G UY ] -- Mom. I am really sor...

[ M O T H E R ] -- Enough of the back talk you little shit!

Before he even had a chance to react to her words. That open hand of hers met his face with a firm SLAP to the side of his jaw. Jolting his head to the side. Instantly the child was consumed by emotion. Pain from the lap. Fear from her tone of voice. Sadness from how angry she was. Regret for breaking the lap. A lot for him to process all at once. To the point tears started to roll down his cheek. Seemingly only angering his mother.

[ M O T H E R ] -- Knock it off before I truly give you something to cry about!

The child sniffled trying to hold back the tears. As the last thing he wanted to do was make the situation worse for himself.

[ M O T H E R ] -- You remind me of your father more and more each day. Emotional and useless. When are you going to get your act together?! Are you going to grow up to be a nobody just like him?! Jobless?! Unable to provide for your family?!

There were clearly some unresolved issues between his mother and his father. All of which she was projecting onto him. By no means was it fair or something that he had to deal with. Yet, right now as a child. This was normal. This was something he had to put up with. Trying to hold those tears back. He looked back at her. Shaking his head trembling.

[ L I T T LE . G UY ] -- No ma’am! I’m going to grow up to be a wrestler. The best one and make lots of money!

[ M O T H E R ] -- Ha! Delusional just like him. Having unrealistic dreams just like him!

[ L I T T LE . G UY ] -- No mom. I’m really going to be a wrestler.

[ M O T H E R ] -- You are a spitting image of him. It disgusts me!

She turned her face away from the child for a moment. That true look of disgust and disappointment covering her entire expression. It didn’t exactly make the child feel any better. His mother was meant to be supportive. Meant to believe in him and his dreams. Yet that was something she couldn’t seem to stomach. Finally she turned back to him.

[ M O T H E R ] -- I don’t want to see any more of that wrestling nonsense in this house. No more watching it. No more playing it. No more even mentioning it.

[ L I T T LE . G UY ] -- Please don’t! Please don’t Mom!

[ M O T H E R ] -- You heard what I said!

[ L I T T LE . G UY ] -- Why?! Why?! It makes me happy!

[ M O T H E R ] -- I will not repeat myself!

He felt like his heart was being shattered into hundreds of pieces. Just like that broken lamp. The one true thing that made him happy as an eight year old boy was being ripped away from him. The tears were back. Rolling down his cheek. This was the worst thing that could happen to him. Or at least the worst thing that his little mind would allow him to think what could happen to him anyway. His mother still looked at him with disgust.

[ M O T H E R ] -- Now clean all of this up! Then take your ass to bed. Do you understand me?!

The child looked up at his mother. Trying to hold back those tears and keep his emotions in check. Not something that was easy. Something that he wouldn’t learn to master for years to come. He just nodded his head very slowly and spoke with a shaky voice.

[ L I T T LE . G UY ] -- Yes ma’am.

Still holding onto some of those broken pieces to the lap. He dropped down to his knees in order to clean up the rest of it. His mother took one disappointing look at his child before turning her back to him. Stomping out of the living room and back down the hall of the trailer to where her bedroom was. With the child all alone again. He finally let his emotions all the way out. Weeping as he picked up those pieces. Thinking to himself over and over again. How could she do something like this to him? How could she take the only thing that made him happy away?

How could she tell him his dream was unrealistic? How could she be so heartless and cruel to him? Little did Guy know at that time. That was flesh and blood that was willing to do that to him. It wouldn’t get better with others in the world. That included random people he would come across and even others that he would consider family and friends. His wants, his desires, and his dreams were never taken seriously by anyone other than himself. And sometimes, just sometimes all you need is yourself.

---

Everyone was seated around the dinner table. Most of which was finished up at this point. Guy gets the privilege on this night to join the Harris-Reynolds family for dinner. Sliding his empty plate towards the middle of the table where Alessandra was gathering everyone else’s. With Oliver’s plate out of his way. He was leaning across the table with excitement. Doing his best to get Guy’s attention. Something that was second nature anytime Guy was around. It just puts the child on another level.

[ O L L I E ] -- Hey Guy! Hey Guy!

[ G U Y ] --  Ollie! My dude! What can Guy do for you?!

[ O L L I E ] -- Come paint with me! I got so many new things to show you!

[ G U Y ] --  Ooh! Guy wishes he could, but we’ll have to rain check it for another time.

[ O L L I E ] -- But why?

[ A L E S S A N D R A ] -- Oliver. Guy said not this time. That’s a good enough reason. He’s an adult.

[ V A N E L L O P E ] -- Questionable.

[ A L E S S A N D R A ] -- Don’t even start little lady.

[ G U Y ] --  Pfft! Everyone, it's fine! It’s fine!

Waving his hands about as if it was going to ease the little bit of tension going on. Oliver was sitting back down in his chair. Arms folded across his chest and sulking. About that time Guy turned his attention back to the child.

[ G U Y ] --  Guy is just in the middle of a very intense training camp right now. He’s got a tournament to win. Winner gets a handicap match with the Road Warriors. Guy wants to take down the greatest tag team in history! But to get there I gotta get past the Popstar Kiddo.

Oliver still pouted. Not exactly pleased with not getting his way, but being the age that he was. That was kind of expected. About that time Calvin found himself reaching across the table to grab the remaining dishes from dinner and looked at Guy with a puzzled look on his face.

[ C A L V I N ] --  Uh. Hate to burst your odd bubble here, pal. But the winner of the tournament isn’t getting a handicap match with the Road Warriors.

[ G U Y ] --  Nonsense! It’s called Blast From The Past for a reason, Cal! Guy knows what he signed himself up for. He’s taking them down!

[ C A L V I N ] --  No. You don’t know what you signed up for. It’s called Blast From The Past to honor wrestlers before us. You’re not facing the Road Warriors as a winning prize. Especially considering they’re not even on planet earth anymore.

[ G U Y ] --  They didn’t become Astronauts and go to space, Calvin. Don’t be silly now!

[ C A L V I N ] --  They’re dead, Guy! That’s what I mean by they don’t exist on Planet Earth anymore.

For a moment there was silence that kind of consumed the dining room. Everyone is looking at Calvin for being so brutally honest. Guy seemed confused by the comment a bit. Only for him to lean in towards Alessandra and make a side remark.

[ G U Y ] --  Pshtt! Sounds like someone is jellin’ Guy might get to face the Road Warriors and he doesn’t get to do the same thing.

[ V A N E L L O P E ] -- Well he is old and falling apart.

[ G U Y ] --  Huzzah! What a zinger! Suck a big on Calvin!

[ C A L V I N ] --  I’m old and falling apart. Meanwhile you’re grounded and spending this weekend in your room.

As soon as those words came out of her father’s mouth. It was the spiteful nature of the pre-teen to just mock her father’s statement with facial expressions. Calvin turning his attention back to Guy.

[ C A L V I N ] --  Believe whatever the heck you want, but honestly. It’s not going to hurt you to paint with Oliver for like an hour. That training camp isn’t going to do you any good.

[ G U Y ] --  Huh? What do you mean it’s not going to do Guy any good?!

[ C A L V I N ] --  You’re facing J2H. No training camp is going to be able to help you in that situation. It’s just going to be one round and you're done type of situation in this tournament.

[ G U Y ] --  Are you saying you don’t think Guy can beat Popstar Kiddo?!

[ C A L V I N ] --  I mean come on Guy. I know you’re a little delusional at times, bud. But even deep down you know you’re not defeating J2H.

[ A L E S S A N D R A ] -- Wow Calvin. A little harsh don’t you think?

[ C A L V I N ] --  Not at all! He knows. You know. I know. Everyone at this table knows. He’s not going to beat J2H. Yes, it sucks that’s how things played out. First round and that’s who he has to get in the ring with. That’s the nature of the beast with this tournament. I couldn’t even beat J2H. Granted I had a shitty tag partner weighing me down, but look at who we’re talking about. It’s Guy. Fun loving goofy Guy. That just doesn’t cut in the big leagues.

Silence consumed Guy. He just sat there at the table looking over at a man that he considered one of his best friends. A man that was now telling his entire family that he didn’t believe that Guy had it in him to win a match. Not against the so-called great J2H. Guy pushed his hands against the edge of the table and pushed his chair back. The legs of the chair scraping against the floor made a squeaky sound for a brief moment. With Guy slowly standing up.

[ G U Y ] --  Thank you for dinner Alessandra! Guy is very appreciative, but it’s time for him to go.

[ A L E S S A N D R A ] -- You sure you don’t want to stick around for dessert? I made something with banana in it. Just for you.

[ G U Y ] --  Ah yiiis! Very kind of you, but Guy really does have to go.

[ C A L V I N ] --  Guy. Sit down. You love Banana too much to skip out on this.

[ G U Y ] --  You know Cal... Guy expected more from you. He really expected you to be in his corner. That’s what best friends are supposed to do.

[ C A L V I N ] --  Hey now. There’s no point in making this personal. I’m just being honest with you. Make sure the blow isn’t as devastating with things do go sour.

[ G U Y ] --  Only thing that’s gone all Sour Patch Kids is our friendship. Thanks for letting Guy know who you truly are.

That was seemingly all the man in the cape had to say. He made his exit out of the kitchen and eventually to the front door. Everyone in the kitchen was glaring at Calvin, as they all heard the door shut a moment later. Alessandra narrowed her eyes in the direction of her husband. Calvin with a genuine look of shock on his face.

[ C A L V I N ] --  Babe...

[ A L E S S A N D R A ] -- I don’t even want to hear it. You better find a way to fix this and fix it fast. That man has been nothing but supportive of you. You should have done the same!

[ V A N E L L O P E ] -- Imagine being a massive tool, Dad.

[ O L L I E ] -- You hurt Guy’s feelings! I don’t like you any more!

[ C A L V I N ] --  Come on you guys! I’m trying to make sure he isn’t disappointed when this is all said and done! That’s all.

[ A L E S S A N D R A ] -- And like I said... Fix it!

His wife’s eyes narrowed in his direction. Both of his children pushed themselves up from the kitchen table and walked away. The realization setting in on Calvin. That maybe just maybe he hadn’t done the right thing after all. But then again everyone had to see his point. Guy had never been considered a serious threat. Guy had never been considered championship material. Guy had never been considered a Main Event player. He was just the comedic relief for all of Sin City Wrestling. How was he suddenly going to be able to shake that image and overcome the greatest man that had ever been in SCW? It just didn’t seem realistic.

---

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Dr. Halliwell’s Office
20 February 2025
10:32pm
OFF-Camera

E.G. Halliwell was smiling as she came to the door of her office. It had been a great morning. She woke up refreshed. Traffic hadn’t been terrible on her way through the city. The weather outside was perfect, and had put everyone she had come across in a much better mood. There were days where she dreaded the trip into work, especially on days where her list of clients was particularly challenging. Today was supposed to be one of those days, but so far it hadn’t wiped the smile off of her face. She was taking that as a win. She took her keys out of her pocket and slid them into the deadbolt, only for the door to push open at the slightest pressure. She sighs; the smile long gone from her face.

E.G.: You aren’t even scheduled for another hour and a half…

The first time this happened she panicked. It was almost something that she could laugh about these days though. Sometimes she thought about what her life would be like if she had done the rational thing and thrown Kris out of her office eight years ago. It certainly would have saved her a ton of headaches.

Kris: The earlier you schedule me, the earlier I have to be here to beat you through the door….

E.G. rolls her eyes and comes through the door. She locks it behind her, and flicks on the lights in the office before throwing her bag down on a chair in the corner of the room. She makes her way to her desk, but doesn’t take the bait to start an argument. They had been over this exact thing so many times that she knew she was wasting her breath. If she wasn’t willing to throw him out over it, she had to let it go. Kris was sitting in one of the chairs across from her desk, with his shoes propped up on the corner, scrolling through something on his phone.

E.G.: I would ask how you were doing, but I think I know. You might be a pain in the ass, but you aren’t breaking into my office for nothing. I’d like to just skip the pre-game if you don’t mind.

He puts his phone down in his lap, and looks up at her with a forced smile.

Kris: You know I can’t make any big decisions without your help. It’s been too long. You’re the only one that will tell me that I am stupid.

Everleigh shakes her head. If this was where he was trying to start, he would have needed to show up hours ago to finally get to the point. She knew better than to even let him start weaving his false narrative.

E.G.: Kris, everyone in your life is willing to tell you that you are stupid. You are selfish. You are impulsive. You are typically self-destructive. You know it. I know it. Let’s not waste a whole bunch of time trying to break through those layers. You want to talk, I am here to listen. You have to dig a little deeper than that though, or I am going to start answering emails while I am waiting on you to figure out what you want to say.

She couldn’t have used this approach with any of her other clients. It had taken years to be able to get to a point with Kris where they could get through all of the superficial layers he put between himself and the rest of society. It took even longer to find the right way to get around having to do that for each of his sporadic appearances in her office. Her solution may have been blunt, but oddly, it was the only thing that had ever worked.

Kris: Well that is just the list of all of the things that I need you for, isn’t it? I can’t listen to the world. That’s not how paranoia works. I definitely can’t trust any friend or family, because they are always just selfishly worried, right?

She rolls her eyes again, not even attempting to hide her frustration at having to listen to this speech for what felt like the one thousandth time.

E.G.: I think people call that caring, Kris.

He puts a hand up to stop her from interrupting his thought by answering his rhetorical question.

Kris: The point is, you are the only one that truly doesn’t care. Plus, it is kind of your job to tell me when I am being unreasonable, and you have all of those degrees so I am forced to accept that you are qualified to have an opinion.

He wasn’t wrong. The problem was that he wasn’t getting any closer to actually talking about whatever had brought him in the door.

E.G.: You’re always unreasonable.

He takes his shoes off of the desk, and sits up in his chair. Her lack of enthusiasm for his game had wiped the smile off of his face, and he had finally gotten serious.

Kris: I am thinking about going back to work.

She shouldn’t have been surprised. They had gone back and forth in sessions about this decision last year, and he eventually chose to ignore all of her advice. Of course he was back in her office to rehash all of it now that it was the time of year for his tournament to start again. Fortunately, she didn’t have to tell him directly that it was a terrible idea.

E.G.: Have the nightmares gone away?

He sits back in his seat and averts his eyes, trying rapidly to find a way not to answer the question. However, he knew that his body language had definitely already given him away.

Kris: They aren’t so bad.

He couldn’t even bring himself to look at her while the lie was coming out of his mouth. To be honest, she would have been surprised if they had improved. She had told him dozens of times that the only way that was going to happen is if he actually wanted to unpack the reasons they were happening in the first place. That wasn’t something he had been interested in doing during any of their sessions.

E.G.: …and I am still the only person you have talked to about them?

He shrugs, still diverting his attention out the window to avoid the judgement in her eyes.

Kris: Like I said, you’re the only one qualified enough to have an opinion. I don’t need anyone else in my head poking around and trying to tell me how I feel.

She wasn’t even sure that Kris really knew how he felt. His entire life had been spent splitting himself into smaller and smaller pieces to micro-manage different pieces of his life. He was one person in front of a crowd. He was another person at home. Those two were more than enough to cause him a whole mess of problems, but then he started stretching himself in even more directions. Could he be a successful father? Could he effectively run a gym and teach students? Could he still give fans the ‘Kris’ they knew and loved? Each one of these was another piece of himself that he snapped off from the original. Getting gunned down in his own gym a few years ago tossed all of those little pieces into the air, and Kris had never been able to put them all back together again. Some days were better than others, but all of the nights were bad. It was the reason that he stopped sleeping. It was the reason he volunteered to be at his daughter Ridley’s service all hours of the night. Yet, it wasn’t something that he could open his mouth and put into words.

E.G.: You won’t talk to anyone about it. You won’t do any work on it. And now you want to run head first into a situation that you know is only going to make it worse. I don’t know exactly what you want me to tell you.

The smug smirk came back to his face, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Kris: I want you to tell me that it’s not a terrible idea.

Everleigh shook her head, not willing to tell him what he wanted to hear.

E.G.: You know I won’t do that.

He looked away from her, and back to the window, a grimace coming across his face. He bit down on his tongue a few times, debating on exactly how he wanted to phrase his next words.

Kris: What if I need it?

Unlike Kris, she answered immediately, and confidently.

E.G.: You don’t.

He looked back at her, but the smugness that was previously on his face was gone. He finally dropped the act, and for the first time she could see how he actually felt all over his face. Things were significantly worse than she expected. He was desperate.

Kris: You don’t know that…



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>SCW Fan Event
18 April 2025
Oslo Spektrum
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>
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The feed starts with a wide shot looking down at the Oslo Spektrum. We zoom in as part of the card for Climax Control flashes across the various different marquee screens. Once we drop to street level, the camera moves to the left to mount the curb to allow a car to pass on their right. It comes to a stop, and the driver runs around the vehicle to open the door for whomever rides in the back. From behind, we see them step out, and look up at the sign before having a laugh.

”It seems like every time that I come back, the show gets further and further away from home…”

The Sin City faithful know the voice without having to see his face. He takes a few steps away from the car, and the camera moves with him first down the sidewalk, and then up the steps leading to the front doors of the building.

”There was a time that I wouldn’t have made trips like these. I would have said that it wasn’t worth the flight time. I would have said that I had too many obligations back home. There was one contract that I signed with Sin City where Mark and Christian couldn’t force me to leave the continental United States for an entire calendar year. But…..”

When he pulls open the center door of a set of three, and steps across the threshold and into the building. From the moment the door opens, the cheers of the screaming fans inside are startling. The Sin City Hall of Famer shrugs off his jacket, and hands it to one of his handlers revealing that he is wearing the new Blast from the Past: Reckless Elite shirt.

”I WASN’T GOING TO MISS MY CHANCE TO TEAR IT UP IN FRONT OF THE SIN CITY WRESTLING FANS IN OSLO, NORWAY!!!!!”

The already cheering fans roar even louder as Kris makes his way through the crowd, giving out high-fives and even going as far as to sign one of the posters presented to him. He talks over his shoulder to the camera, only barely able to be heard over the raucous crowd.

”I was a bit of a passenger princess for the first stop of the tour. I was trying to keep a low profile so as to not step on the wife’s toes, you know? It was her big night. Her big return. Her big win. I spent the duration of the show handling our little crew of offspring, and I was content to let her have her moment. Not this week though. This is my moment. This is my tournament. Let’s go!”

He turns away from the camera as he gets to the front of the crowd, and goes up a few stairs onto a platform. The camera stays on the floor in front of him, but moves behind a makeshift railing made to keep the fans a few feet back from the stage. Behind Kris is a black backdrop covered in miniature versions of the Sin City Wrestling logo, but the whole setup seems awfully well-designed, albeit temporary. There is a podium at the center of the platform with a microphone for him to use, but Kris nonchalantly picks it up and drops it off the side of the stage. He raises his voice slightly, but forces the fans to quell their cheers to be able to hear him instead of talking over them through the PA system.

”I’m not going to lie, I appreciate all of the enthusiasm, but I only know what half of those signs out there even say. Hopefully I didn’t sign anything awful on my way up here.”

He gets a chuckle from the crowd, but continues before they can turn against him for not knowing anything about the language before showing up.

”...but there was no way that I was missing this tour for Sin City. There was no way that I was going to sit on the sidelines for another Blast from the Past tournament. See, I have been very vocal about pointing out the few milestones that are left for me to achieve here, and winning Blast from the Past is one of them. Somehow, someway, this one has always eluded me. I have had past students from my gym win it. My wife has won it. I have never had the luck required to go the distance though.”

A hush falls over the crowd as they all lock-in on what the Hall of Famer is saying. A smirk crosses Kris’ lips as he realizes that he has them all in the palm of his hand.

”That’s not going to be a problem this year though. Mark and Christian went and axed the worst part of this tournament. And I don’t mean any disrespect to the Mixed Tag Team Division. We all know that I was responsible for building it, and dominating it before anyone thought that was a cool thing to do. The blind tournament vibe was just never really my thing though. The few times that I tried it, my partner ended up costing us matches early on. This year there are no partners though.”

He pauses as the fans burst into more cheers. Kris seems at least slightly surprised at being so well received, despite the relatively short time away. The pause allows him to go back and slightly correct himself though.

”...I mean this tournament was always basically two singles matches happening at the same time, in the same ring. The rewards were always for two individuals, not one team. At the end of the day, everyone is in this tournament for the reward, not the long-lasting friendships that we make along the way. Then I saw that the bosses were scrapping the inconvenient part of the tournament. I finally saw my opportunity to actually go the distance.”

The fans, or at least those that cared enough to attend his part of the event, don’t seem opposed to the idea of seeing Kris make a deep run during Blast from the Past.

”...and then a couple of weeks ago my wife sweetened the pot by letting me in on the secret that she was going to be joining the tournament as well. Now we don’t have to wait on some random pairing to put us together. We don’t have to cross our fingers and hope that our partners don’t suck. We put our names on the list for Blast from the Past, and our ability to run the table and win this thing is totally in our own hands. If anyone wants to stop us, they’ll have to do it between the ropes by putting our shoulders to the mat for a three count. No distractions. No shitty partners. Reckless Elite is here to take Blast from the Past 2025 for ourselves.”

The fans pop again, but Kris cuts them off quickly.

”My wife took her first step in this tournament last week. She didn’t let me down, so I have to hold up my end of the deal. That brings me to our first obstacle on this comeback tour, Logan Hunter.”

The crowd boo the rookie from the GO Gym, and Kris holds his hand up behind his ear as if he can’t hear them to evoke more of a reaction. The negativity brings a smug smile to his face that he couldn’t have hidden if he’d wanted to.

”...yeah, I haven’t been all that impressed either. I’ve tried to give the kid the benefit of the doubt. He got off to a little bit of a hot start before fizzling out lately. I would like to be able to speak a little more harshly about that, but it kind of sounds like the story of my 2024, so I am going to have to give the kid a little bit of a pass...”

The crowd boos that idea, and immediately Kris reverses course to get back on their good side.

”You’re right! What was I thinking? I was losing matches for the World Heavyweight Championship last year. I failed to recapture the Internet Championship last year. I was busy beating people on my way to winning major opportunities. I was competing in high profile matches. I was in the main events. I was one of the few people last year to pin Finn’s shoulders to the mat for a three count. The matches that I was losing, while heartbreaking, were against some of the best that Sin City had to offer. I wasn’t opening the show and having some hack mop the floor with me. I wasn’t pissing away matches to nobodies. I wasn’t failing to rise off of the bottom of the roster, despite being the hot new thing in the locker room.”

The fans are now whole-heartedly back on Kris’ side.

”If people can’t spot the difference between me, a Grand Slam Champion and Hall of Famer and a kid that will never be either of those two things, then they need to make sure they are watching Climax Control in just a couple of days because I have something to show them real quick. This kid is not ready for the beating that I am about to uncork and unleash on him. I have been out of the ring for months waiting for this tournament to start. I announced back in February that this was going to be my sole focus. I am putting the shitty end to last year behind me. He couldn’t last ten seconds with Fenris, and I have taken that big bastard on for hours at a time. Logan isn’t on my level today, and I don’t think the day exists that he ever will be.”

”...so this kid has got to go, and he will. He’ll be flat on the mat, in the center of the ring, wondering why he ever bothered to sign up for this tournament. He will be the warning shot that I send to anyone else that makes it out of the first round. I am not here to make friends. I am not here to have a good time. I am here to win this tournament, and have my name etched into history alongside my wife’s once again. After that, who knows? Who cares?”

Kris waves to the camera and acts like he is going to step down from the stage, only to be met with a chorus of boos. When he looks up, all of the hands in the crowd go up in front of him, and he gets the message immediately. Instead of descending and exiting the way that he came, he runs the stage, and leaps off into the crowd like he had done during the Jet City shows in San Diego. After a few moments of him floating around in the arms of the crowd, the camera cuts away.

Just Outside New York City – The Madison Home
A Saturday Afternoon, A few weeks ago

The low hum of a dragon’s wings filled the living room, followed by a heroic trumpet blast that signaled the movie’s climactic battle. Six-year-old Aaron Madison was on his knees in front of the couch, sword-shaped plushie in hand, narrating the scene with absolute conviction.

“And then the knight jumps off the cliff and rides the dragon into the fire—but he’s fine because he has anti-flame armor that his grandma made!”

Laura “Phoenix” Madison chuckled as her son’s arms flailed dramatically.

Nick Madison raised an eyebrow. “Is this the deluxe edition of the movie, or is this an Aaron Original?”

“I’m enhancing the plot, Dad.”

“Of course you are,” Nick muttered, passing the popcorn bowl between them.

They were just settling back into the couch when the sound of the front door opening broke through the surround sound—not abrupt, just familiar. Quiet footsteps padded across the hardwood floor until a soft voice called out from the entryway:

“Um... forgive the intrusion, but the door was... unlatched. I took that as an invitation, though if I’ve misread the situation—”

“You’re fine, Spinelli,” Laura called back warmly, already smiling. “You know this home is always open to you.”

Damian Spinelli stepped into the living room a moment later, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag as he took in the cozy domestic scene. Dressed simply—dark hoodie, jeans, and worn-in sneakers—his hair was slightly tousled from the wind.

“I... hope I’m not interrupting,” he said, though he clearly knew he was. “I brought the weekly schedule printouts and, uh… bagels. There was a sale.”

Nick stood up to give him a quick pat on the back. “Always prepared.”

Spinelli gave a sheepish smile before his gaze drifted to Laura. “Is it true?”

Laura tilted her head. “That I’m entering Blast from the Past?” A small nod. “Yeah. It’s true.”

Spinelli exhaled sharply, adjusting his glasses. “I… must admit, I did not anticipate that turn of events. After all, your previous exit from in-ring activity was decisive, and frankly, logical given the demands of your schedule. Not to mention, you—pardon me—have responsibilities that most active competitors do not.”

“I’m aware,” Laura said gently. “But this isn't a mid-life crisis or some vanity comeback, Spinelli. I’ve been around long enough to know when something feels bigger than the surface. SCW’s shifting. Something’s coming, and I want to be ready for it—not just from a desk or headset.”

Spinelli adjusted his posture, his brow furrowed with concern. “Bella is... well, concerned. As is your husband. They both have informed me as such. You retired for a reason. To focus on family, on leadership, on shaping the future. Is this not a deviation from that trajectory?”

“It is about shaping the future,” Laura said firmly. “Not just mine. Not just Bella’s. All of it. The next generation. The locker room. The company.”

Aaron turned around mid-scene, sword still in hand. “Are you gonna fight dragons too, Mom?”

Laura grinned and ruffled his blonde hair. “Something like that.”

Spinelli let out a breath and slowly nodded. “Then… I will recalibrate my concerns. Though I reserve the right to worry.”

“You always worry,” Nick said, half-teasing.

“Because she’s my best friend,” Spinelli said simply. “And I’ve seen her come back from worse. But I’ve also seen what she gave up to stay whole.”

Laura smiled softly, touched by the honesty. “That’s why I’ll be careful. But I can’t sit back this time, Spin. Not when I still have something to prove—and something to offer.”

Spinelli gave a short nod. “Then I suppose... we begin again.”

------

Madison Home – Later That Night
The fireplace in Laura Madison’s home office crackled softly, casting flickering amber light across the room. The walls were a shrine to a career that had defied odds and rewritten expectations—title belts encased in glass, black-and-white photos of matches frozen in midair glory, and candid shots of locker room laughter with friends who had become family.

Laura sat on the edge of a cushioned bench beneath a window, the glow from the flames bouncing off the silver strands woven into her hair. Her hands moved on instinct, wrapping white athletic tape around her wrists with a precision that only came from years of repetition. She wasn’t heading to the ring just yet, but some habits clung to the soul like second skin.

The door creaked open behind her.

“I swear, you make this house feel like the setup to a documentary sometimes,” Bella’s voice broke the silence, dry with that trademark edge she’d inherited from both parents.

Laura didn’t turn. “You’ve got a flair for drama too, kid.”

Bella stepped inside, arms folded across her chest like a fortress. “Spinelli texted me. Said ‘Operation Denial has failed.’ I take it that means he lost the battle.”

Laura smirked faintly. “Means he finally remembered what team he’s on.”

“He’s worried. We all are.” Bella leaned against the doorway. “And not for nothing, but I’m kind of leading the charge on that front.”

“I know.”

Bella stepped further in, her expression softening just a touch. “Why now, Mom? Why Blast from the Past? You retired. You actually retired. Not like those guys who say it and show up two months later wearing elbow pads again. You did the work. You became the voice behind the curtain. The heartbeat behind the camera. You walked away in one piece. Most of us don’t get that.”

Laura stopped taping and glanced at her daughter. “That was then.”

“And this is now?” Bella challenged, arching a brow. “You do know the women who signed up aren’t gonna go easy on you. This isn’t a nostalgia act. Half of them are looking to make names off yours. The other half just want blood. You think they’ll care you’re a Hall of Famer? They’re gonna try to take your head off to get that next title shot.”

“That’s what they’re supposed to do.” Laura’s voice didn’t waver. “And I’m not asking for special treatment. I’m not asking for a spotlight. I’m stepping back in because it matters. Because something in the air is shifting, and I need to feel it from the canvas up, not just through a headset.”

Bella studied her mother. Her posture, always composed. Her eyes, still fierce beneath time-earned wisdom. “Is this about proving something?”

Laura hesitated, then nodded. “To myself.”

A beat of silence stretched between them. The only sound was the occasional pop of wood in the fireplace.

“I’ve spent the last few years making sure everyone else shines,” Laura continued quietly. “Helping Bella Phoenix become the star she was born to be. Helping rebuild divisions. Training rookies. Advising champions. And I don’t regret a second of it. But for once, I want to walk into that ring because I choose to—not because I’m forced back by crisis or by nostalgia. Because I’ve still got something in the tank. And because I want Aaron to see what it means to never walk away from who you are.”

Bella let out a long breath, finally lowering herself into the armchair across from her. Her expression was no longer confrontational—just conflicted. “So this is about legacy. Again.”

“No,” Laura corrected gently. “It’s about an example.”

Bella looked away for a second, her gaze sweeping over a framed photo on the wall: her mother standing on the top rope, flames etched behind her on the screen, arms wide as if daring the world to challenge her.

“I hate how much that makes sense,” Bella muttered.

Laura smiled faintly, returning to her tape.

“At least I know dad won’t do this to me. Just don’t waste it.”

Laura laughed—full and real. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

----

Madison Home – Aaron’s Room
The Night Before Departure

The sound of rustling LEGO bricks filled the small room, the kind of quiet chaos that signaled a six-year-old in deep imaginative construction mode. Aaron Madison was crouched by his window, working intently on what appeared to be a hybrid fortress-slash-launch-pad-slash-dinosaur sanctuary. His tongue poked out slightly in concentration, the tip of it curled as he carefully clipped a blue wing onto the side of a red brick tower.

Laura stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him with a soft smile. The glow of the desk lamp cast golden light across the blonde tufts of his hair. Her suitcase was already packed by the door downstairs. She’d double-checked everything twice, from her boots to her entrance gear. But this—this moment—was the part she hadn’t prepared for.

“You gonna come in, or just stand there being sneaky?” Aaron asked without looking up.

Laura chuckled. “You caught me.”

She stepped inside, easing down onto the beanbag chair beside him, careful not to topple one of the plastic towers already leaning like Pisa on a sugar rush.

“This one’s new,” she said, nodding toward the latest creation.

“It’s the Sky Kingdom of Flame Shield,” Aaron said proudly. “You can only get to it with a dragon... or a portal key. Or if you’re my mom, who apparently can fly now.”

Laura smirked. “I’ll have to borrow that portal key. TSA’s probably not gonna love a dragon in my carry-on.”

Aaron giggled, then finally looked up at her. His face was still round with youth, but his eyes were all Madison—smart, aware, and just a little too observant for his age.

“You’re leaving tomorrow,” he said quietly. “To go wrestle.”

“I am,” Laura nodded, smoothing her hand over his hair. “Oslo, Norway. For the tournament.”

Aaron fidgeted with a LEGO piece for a beat. “I wanted to go.”

“I know, baby,” she said gently. “But you’ve got school, and it’s a long trip. Time zones, jet lag, math class—trust me, you’re doing the harder job.”

He didn’t smile at that like he normally would. Instead, he looked down. “What if I’m not there when you win?”

Laura’s heart tugged. She reached out and gently tilted his chin so he’d look at her. “Then I’ll know that the win still counts... because you helped get me there.”

Aaron frowned. “How?”

“You believe in me,” she said simply. “That matters more than any crowd. When I’m out there, I’m thinking about you. About your stories and your dragons and how brave you are. You remind me to be brave too.”

He studied her for a long moment. “Even if the other wrestlers are mean?”

Laura nodded. “Even then.”

Aaron picked up a gold-colored LEGO and handed it to her. “This is the Portal Key. Just in case.”

Laura took it with a reverence it didn’t quite deserve, but in that moment, it felt like a treasure. “I’ll guard it with my life.”

“I’m gonna build you an arena next,” Aaron announced. “With secret trap doors and lasers.”

“You know what? I think SCW could use that.”

He smiled then—really smiled—and Laura leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“I’ll be gone for just a few days,” she promised. “But when I get back, you and me? Saturday movie night. Pizza, popcorn, the works.”

Aaron raised his pinky. “Promise?”

She looped hers with his. “Promise.”

As she stood up to go, Aaron added softly, “You’re my favorite wrestler. Even more than Bella.”

Laura paused, her smile widening with pride and a little moisture stinging her eyes. “Don’t tell her that. She’ll challenge me to a rematch in the kitchen.”

Aaron giggled, then went back to his Sky Kingdom, already narrating a new storyline involving flame-resistant mechs and heroic parents.

Laura lingered in the doorway for just a second longer, watching her son live inside the kind of world she’d once dreamed up for herself. Then, with the golden Portal Key tucked into her palm, she turned and walked back downstairs.

----

--Oslo, Norway – The Night Before the Storm--

The hotel room was quiet, save for the rhythmic ticking of the old analog clock mounted on the wall. Laura Madison sat cross-legged on the edge of her bed, hands taped as if by habit, not necessity. The warm-up had ended hours ago, but her body refused to fully power down. Her duffel was already packed, gear laid out in the colors that once stood for fire and rebirth—now, they carried something older. Something earned.

She stared out the window, the city lights of Oslo flickering like distant stars. Northern Europe had its own kind of chill—brisk, sharp, but clean. It cut through the haze in her thoughts.

Kat Jones.

Of course it had to be Kat. There was a strange poetry to it.

A woman who had fought battles in every era of this division. A woman who walked into a room and didn’t have to demand respect because it was already waiting for her. They were cut from similar cloth—both had worn the crown, both had taken the hits that left invisible scars, and both had never asked for anyone to take it easy on them. Not once.

And that’s what Laura respected most.

She knew exactly what tomorrow would bring. It wouldn’t be a grudge match. It wouldn’t be personal. But it would be a war.

No room for rust. No leaning on reputation. Just precision, experience, and instinct. Just Laura. Just Kat.

She thought of the whispers backstage. Not malicious—just wary. Some young bombshells had doubts. Not about Kat. About her. Laura Phoenix, back in the game, long after she’d supposedly closed the book.

That’s fine, Laura thought, stretching out her fingers, letting her shoulders roll with ease.

She wasn’t here to coast on legacy. She was here to remind people why she ever had one in the first place.

A knock on the hotel door broke the quiet, followed by a low, familiar voice from the other side.

“Room service. Or is that code for ‘mind games’ these days?” came Nick’s voice, amusement softening his words.

She chuckled and stood. “Depends. Did you bring coffee or a steel chair?”

“Both. Thought I’d let you pick.”

----

Oslo in spring had a quiet magic to it. The last clinging remnants of winter had melted away, leaving behind cobblestone streets slick with the rain of early April. Tulips, just starting to bloom in public planters, offered pops of color against the muted palette of the city. The scent of wet earth, rain-soaked bark, and blooming green lingered in the breeze.

Laura Phoenixwalked along the banks of the Akerselva River, where mossy stone and iron bridges crossed above rushing water. She wore a light olive-green jacket and jeans, her long blonde hair pulled back beneath the hood of her sweatshirt. Her boots padded along the path, damp with fresh drizzle. The sky was bruised with dusk, just that kind of pale indigo that held on for longer now as the days stretched into springtime.

She stopped beneath a quiet street lamp at the edge of a narrow footbridge. Her phone was propped up on a small railing overlooking the river, the camera light blinking to life.

“Oslo. Funny how a place you’ve never been can feel oddly familiar before a fight.”

Laura’s voice was calm, grounded. She glanced toward the river before looking straight into the lens.

“Tomorrow, I step back into an SCW ring. And not just any match—Blast from the Past. This time, singles. This time, my own name is on the bracket. And across from me… is Kat Jones.”

She exhaled through her nose, not with apprehension—but recognition.

“You and I, Kat, we’re cut from similar cloth. We know what it’s like to be the ones people come to for wisdom, for perspective—sometimes even just for quiet presence in a chaotic locker room. We’re the ones who stuck around. Who kept finding ways to matter, even when people thought we should’ve stepped aside.”

“And that’s the funny thing about longevity. People admire it until it threatens their place in line.”

She leaned casually against the railing, the sounds of the city fading behind her, replaced by the soft rush of water below.

“Let me say this, plain and clear: I didn’t come to Oslo to prove I still can—I came because I never stopped believing that I should. I know I retired. I know I stepped back. But I never stopped training. Never stopped caring. And when this tournament opened up, when the door cracked open even a little… I knew I was walking through it.”

She tilted her head slightly, a flicker of a wry smile playing on her lips.

“Not out of pride. Not to chase ghosts. But because sometimes, if you want to set an example, you don’t do it from the sidelines. You do it in the trenches. With your fists. With your fire. With every damn ounce of who you are, laid bare in that ring.”

Laura took a step closer to the phone now, the intimacy of her voice sharpening.

“Kat, I respect the hell out of you. Always have. And maybe in another round, we’d be allies instead of opponents. But tomorrow night, we’re not just two veterans going through the motions. We’re setting the tone. For the whole damn tournament.”

“So come with everything. Come sharp, come dangerous, come ready. Because I didn’t travel across the Atlantic to warm a seat. I came to fight.”

Her hands curled at her sides—her knuckles white, her eyes unwavering.

“Let them say what they want about the past. Let them romanticize it. Let them doubt what’s left in us. Because come Climax Control, when the bell rings… you’ll see that what’s left in me? Still burns like fire.”

A pause. A beat. Then a soft but confident smirk.

“SCW, we’re just getting started.”

The screen faded out—not into darkness, but into the soft bloom of the city lights rising over the water.

Working through the thoughts
Hotel Room
Oslo, Norway

The hotel room is a soft nest of quiet and warmth, lit by the gentle glow of a bedside lamp. Outside the wide window, Oslo is slick with recent rain. The streetlights below stretch in long golden reflections across cobblestone, and the city, cool and damp in this Scandinavian spring, settles into night. Inside, the air is still but full of a quiet tension. Alexandra lies on her back on the king-sized bed, one arm tucked beneath her head, the other draped across her stomach. Her long dark hair fans out across the white pillow. She wears an oversized tee and sleep shorts, but sleep is the last thing on her mind. LJ, propped on one elbow beside her, watches her in the low light.

“You’re chewing on something.” LJ spoke softly. “You are rarely this quiet Love. It’s actually got me a little bit worried.”

Alexandra doesn’t answer at first. Her gaze stays locked on the ceiling, her jaw tight. “It’s Candy. This match. I know that Candy isn’t a joke. I’ve seen her bust her ass and win matches. But recently she’s not really been doing it.”

LJ glances at the clock on the table beside the bed. “Match isn’t for a few more nights, Angel. You should try and rest up before everything gets started.”

“It’s not the match. Not really. It’s what she represents.” She took a deep breath. LJ stays quiet, listening. “She’s the fan favorite really. Her return to Sin City Wrestling is still fresh. Still the crowd’s favorite flavor. They eat up every glitter-soaked entrance she makes. She could go out there and pop a confetti cannon and the whole arena would go nuclear. I’m not calling her new by any means, but they love her. And me.. I’m old news. According to at least half the roster. I’m nothing.”

LJ nodded, paying attention to her. “Hence the nickname.”

Alexandra nodded in agreement. “Yeah. Glitterbomb. Fits her. She lights up a room. Lights up a match. And she means well. That’s the kicker. She’s not some arrogant rookie. She’s kind. She’s genuine. And she respects the hell out of me and I respect her.” Alexandra pauses. A small, conflicted smile touches her lips, but doesn’t last. “Which somehow makes this harder. Because I don’t want to go out there looking to destroy her.. I just..”

LJ looks at her, running his finger tips down her jawline. “Because you don’t want to fight her?”

Alexandra laughs a little, shaking her head. “No. I want to. That’s the problem babe.” She sits up, leaning forward, her hands clasped together. Her voice is low, steady, and heavy with history. “I’ve been doing this longer than she’s been doing it too. I broke in before hashtags and TikTok spots and curated entrance gear. Back when we still had to duct tape our boots in the back of some rec center in Texas and hope someone noticed we could work.” She shakes her head, smiling faintly at the memory. “And I love this business. Still. After all the road miles, the bad bookings, the injuries, the moments where I almost walked away—I still love it. But sometimes... sometimes I wonder if the crowd remembers what I’ve done.”

LJ shifts beside her. “You think they forgot?”

“No. Not really. But I think they’ve moved on. Or maybe they just see me differently now. Like a veteran. A constant. The one you respect but don’t root for. You know?” She looks down at her hands, before up at him. “I’ve had titles. Main events. Blood feuds. Classics. But this match? With Candy? It feels like I’m being asked to prove I still belong. Like my legacy isn’t enough unless I shine next to her sparkle.”

LJ reaches over, places a hand over hers. “You don’t need glitter. You’re the gold standard.”

Alexandra smirks. “Okay, that was a little corny.”

LJ cups her face in one hand, kissing her softly. “I stand by it love.”

She exhales slowly, leaning into his hand with a gaze that says it all. “It’s not jealousy. I want her to succeed. I like her. She reminds me of what it felt like when I still had something to chase. But when I stand across from her in just a couple of nights.... it’s not about beating her. It’s about reminding people who I am. Who I’ve always been.”

LJ nods, thoughtful. “And who’s that?”

“A fighter. A storyteller. Someone who didn’t wait for permission to be great. I carved my space. And I want her to know that when we lock up. Not because I need her approval, but because I want her to understand the ground she’s walking on. It was paved by women like me.” She rubs at her face, then lets her hands drop, her voice softer now. “People call me a trailblazer. Say they grew up watching me. I hear that a lot these days. And it’s an honor, but also—I’m not done. I don’t want to be remembered. I want to be seen. Still. Now.”

LJ slides closer, kisses her shoulder. “Then take that ring with you Angel, and own it. Let her shine. Let the fans scream for her. But when that bell rings? Remind everyone that you’re not fading into history. You’re standing right there. Present. Powerful.”

“Not a memory. Or an afterthought.”

LJ smirked, nodding his head. “Exactly.”

They sit in silence for a moment. Rain picks up again outside, tapping gently on the windowpane. The city is hushed, waiting. Just like her. “Promise me something?”

LJ smiles at her. “Always.”

“If I walk out there at Climax Control and the crowd cheers louder for her... if the signs say "Team Glitterbomb" and not my name…” She hesitates. “Remind me afterward that I still matter. Even if they don’t shout it.”

LJ meets her eyes. “You matter before the entrance. Before the bell. Before the pop. You matter in every quiet moment you gave this business your heart when no one was watching.” He brushes a strand of hair from her face. “But I think they’ll remember. At Climax Control, now, and forever. They’ll see you. Maybe more clearly than ever.” He chuckled and pulled her in tightly. “I can think of a way to show you how important you are.”

“Oh? How’s that?” She smirked.

LJ pulled her into a heated kiss. The tension in her chest softens, something so simple caused it to fade from her body as if it was nothing. Outside, Oslo breathes in twilight. The rain fades to a whisper. The street below is empty now, lit by pools of golden light. A city in slow rebirth. At Climax Control, the bell will ring. And Candy will explode into the ring like joy wrapped in stardust. The fans will erupt. They always do. But Alexandra will be there too—steadfast, grounded, burning with the fire of everything she’s survived. And when the glitter settles, she will still be standing. She always has been.

---

No more Smoke. No more Sparkle.
Vigeland Sculpture Park
Oslo, Norway

The wind howls through Vigeland Sculpture Park, biting at the exposed skin like an unwelcome guest. It cuts through Alexandra's coat, making her feel smaller than she really is, a tiny figure moving against the vast, unforgiving landscape of stone. Her boots crunch against the gravel, each step echoing with a force that seems at odds with the silence that surrounds her. The statues stand still, frozen in time, their stone faces watching her as she passes, silently judging, silently knowing.

This place is sacred. Every inch of ground beneath her feet has been walked by souls who have faced the brutal reality of existence, whose pain and suffering have been immortalized in cold stone. Here, there are no distractions. No glitter. No noise. No sparkle. Only the truth. And it’s this truth that Alexandra has come to confront today. She stops in front of a statue of a mother and child, their forms twisted in a frozen scream. The mother’s arms are wrapped protectively around her child, but their struggle is so painfully obvious in the curvature of their bodies, in the anguish captured forever in stone. Alexandra stands there for a long time, her fingers brushing against the cool, rough surface, feeling the weight of their grief.

“You think you know pain, don’t you, Candy?” she murmurs, her voice barely audible. “You think you can hide behind your theatrics, your glitter bombs, your smoke and mirrors. But pain—real pain—isn’t something you can mask with sparkles. It’s not something you can dance around with a gimmick. It’s something you endure. Something that changes you. Something that leaves a scar, permanent and unyielding.” She took a deep breath. “Etched in stone.. forever.”

Her breath comes in slow, measured inhales as she stares into the face of the statue. “This mother... She's protecting her child, yes. But in that protection, she’s giving everything of herself. She’s sacrificing herself in ways we both definitely understand, Candy. You hide from your sacrifices. You hide from the pain that comes with it. You hide from the truth. But here, in this place, truth is all there is. And truth... truth never lies.”

She takes a step back from the statue, her eyes narrowing. There’s a deep, gnawing ache in her chest that she can’t ignore. For years, she’s lived with this pain. The pain of loss. The pain of rejection. The pain of betrayal. She carried it inside her like a wound that never healed, covered it with layers of armor and steel. But the truth is—pain doesn’t disappear just because you ignore it. It lingers. It festers. And Candy? Candy never had to face her own pain. She’s spent her whole career running from it. Hiding behind the mask of glitter and flair, of chaos and noise. But Alexandra knows better. She’s seen it all. And she won’t let herself be distracted by it any longer.

“Pain is what we dabble in—but for some of us, it’s more than that. It’s what we live in, breathe in, bleed in. In this business, greatness isn’t handed out for style points. It’s earned by taking that pain—every bruise, every crack in the armor—and wielding it like a blade. We don’t hide behind glitter bombs and staged cuteness, hoping to blind or distract our opponents. That might’ve worked for you so far, Candy. It might’ve fooled the crowd, fooled your past opponents into mistaking chaos for skill. But our match? That will be different. You won’t turn me into another highlight reel casualty. I won’t be your sparkle-stained victim. I won’t let what you’ve done to others ever happen to me.”

With a sharp breath, she turns, her coat swirling around her as she moves toward another statue—a figure of a man, frozen mid-motion, his body wracked with suffering, his hands outstretched as though reaching for something, anything. His body is contorted, his face etched with the marks of struggle and pain. Alexandra stares into his eyes, feeling the intensity of the emotion etched into the stone. The despair. The hopelessness. The raw humanity that is so often buried under layers of bravado and distraction.

“This is a struggle, Candy,” she says, her voice a little louder now, as though she’s finally allowing herself to speak the words she’s held in for so long. “This is what it looks like when you fight for something real. When you fight against the world that tries to break you. This man, here, he’s not pretending. He’s not putting on a show. He’s not hiding behind fake smiles and glitter. He’s fighting.”

Her fists clench at her sides, the tension building inside her. The fury. The rage. The realization that Candy, for all her bravado, for all her tricks, has never had to truly fight someone like Alexandra in a very long time. Her last two showings weren’t so top notch, like Alexandra had seen out of her before. Not the way Alexandra has. Not with the kind of desperation, the kind of raw determination that comes from facing down a life that has nothing but pain to offer. Candy hides behind her gimmicks, her distractions. She turns everything into a performance, a spectacle. But what happens when the show ends? When the crowd isn’t there to cheer her on? When the lights go out and the world is left with only the truth of who she really is?

“You’re a fighter, Candy, that I know.” Alexandra spits, her voice thick with contempt. “But you’re also a distraction. A joke. You paint over your fear with glitter, with glitter bombs and fireworks. But that’s all it is. A distraction. You’ve never faced someone like me, violence and beauty in a fiery package, Candy. You’ve never been tested, pushed to your very breaking point. And I’ve been watching. Watching and waiting for the moment when you run out of tricks. When you’re finally left with nothing but the cold, hard truth.”

She feels the truth of her own words settle deep inside her, like a weight she’s been carrying for years. This battle—this fight with Candy—isn’t just about proving herself to the world. It’s about proving to herself that she can face the truth. That she can look into the darkness and not flinch. That she can stand in the cold, silent embrace of the statues around her and know who she is, without the distractions, without the glitter. She walks past another statue—this one of a man lifting a child, his face straining with effort, his body bent with the weight of the world. Alexandra’s eyes follow the curve of his body, the strain in his muscles, the quiet desperation in his expression. She can’t help but feel a pang of recognition. This statue, in its raw emotion, in its pure struggle, is something she’s familiar with. It’s something she’s felt in her own soul, in her own bones.

“I know what it’s like to carry that weight,” she whispers, her voice almost breaking. “I know what it’s like to feel like you’re carrying the whole world on your shoulders, to feel like every step is a struggle, every breath a battle. And you, Candy? You think you can outrun it. You think you can dance through it. But you can’t. You’ll never be able to outrun the truth. And when the show’s over, when the glitter fades, you’ll be left with nothing.”

Her hands shake now, her chest tightening as the weight of her own words sinks in. She’s standing at the foot of the Monolith now, its jagged, towering form looming over her. The Monolith—a symbol of life and death, of struggle and transcendence. It rises from the ground like a monument to everything Alexandra has ever fought for, everything she’s ever believed in. And it’s here, at this moment, that she realizes the true significance of her battle with Candy. This isn’t just about winning. This is about surviving.

"You ever really stop and look at this thing?" she says, nodding up toward the Monolith, its tangle of bodies clawing skyward. "It’s not graceful. It’s not clean. It’s desperate. Every one of them is fighting, pushing, climbing just to be seen—just to survive. That’s what this match is, Candy. That’s what it really is. Not a show. Not a stage for sparkles and stunts. It’s the struggle. It’s everything I’ve bled for. I’ve fought my way up from the bottom, with nothing but pain and grit holding me together. You? You danced your way into the spotlight. You lit up arenas, made people laugh, made 'em feel good. But when we meet in that ring—when it’s just you and me—none of that’s gonna save you. You can’t glitterbomb your way past this kind of storm. This match, it’s not about tricks. It’s about who wants it more. Who’s willing to crawl, to scratch, to suffer to stay standing. And I promise you—I’m not here to make art. I’m here to carve my truth into the stone, and it starts with breaking you."

She presses her palm against the cold stone of the Monolith, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She feels its texture under her fingertips—rough, uneven, as though it has been shaped by the very forces of nature itself. She closes her eyes for a moment, letting the sensation fill her senses, grounding her in the present. This is the truth. This is where she belongs. This is where she stands, unshaken, unbroken.

“You think you’re a storm, Candy,” she says, her voice low but fierce. “You think you can ride the chaos, that you can hide behind the noise. But storms pass. Glitter fades. What am I? I stain. I stay. I make people realize I’m not going anywhere. And when I’m done with you, when I’ve exposed you for what you really are, you’ll be nothing more than a footnote. A footnote in the story of who I am. The woman who endured. The woman who faced down the truth and stood tall.”

She takes one last look at the Monolith, its towering form casting a long shadow over her. And then, with a final glance at the statues surrounding her, she turns and walks away, her steps measured, her heart steady. The statues watch in silence, their faces frozen in time, but Alexandra knows—knows that this is the moment she’s been waiting for. This is the moment when everything changes.

“See you Sunday Glitterbomb..”

The wind howls again, but this time, it feels different. It feels like something is stirring, something is awakening. And when Alexandra walks away, the sound of her boots crunching against the gravel is the only thing that matters. The truth is here. The battle is here. And she won’t be distracted anymore. Each step pressing her truth deeper into the gravel, leaving behind not just echoes, but scars.

Indeed, we've been here before. But up until now, our tales here have centered around Devona, graduate of the famed GO Gym and former Internet Champion of the SCW's Bombshell division. But what some might not be aware of is that there was an entire other side to the story of Devona, one that centered around her "brothers from another mother", two young men we have seen in her company. Namely the brothers, Beauty and the Beast. Like Devona, the brothers were graduates of the GO Gym, but unlike her, they had yet to have their in-ring debuts, both having cited family commitments back home in New Orleans. But the truth was, that by the time they had graduated, Devona's own SCW career was wrapping up and without their "little sister," they didn't have as much desire to sign any contracts and work without her.

So, the brothers returned to their family home in Louisiana to resume both life and career. Beast, working as a mechanic while 'moonlighting' as a competitive power lifter and arm wrestler. And Beauty? His main income was as a male go-go dancer in a gay nightclub called the Mine Shaft.

And before anyone asks, no. Beauty is not actually a member of the LGBTQ community - despite what his brother says/thinks. Beast got him this job as a prank on his brother and to date, Beauty has yet to put the pieces together. He has been left wondering where all the women are in the place and the belief that men are great tippers. (Although he could do without the guys tucking their cash so deep in his thong pouch!) The kicker? Despite the joke got turned around on Beast when Beauty started bringing home more in tips in one weekend than Beast believed possible!

But that was then, and here we are once again. In the now. Beauty had been announced as one of the twelve men participating in the 2025 Blast From the Past Memorial, but all was not as expected. Which is where we pick up our story...

Picture a stately white Victorian house, nestled behind an ornate wrought-iron gate and framed by tall, whispering oaks. Its exterior is painted a soft, pearly white. A turret rises elegantly on one corner, crowned with a conical roof like something from a storybook. The tall, narrow windows are framed in dark wood, and still hold original stained glass that glimmers in ruby, emerald, and sapphire hues. The interior was no less opulent, possessing an atmosphere of old world sophistication. The furniture was of dark wood and timeless elegance, featuring carved walnut cabinets, side tables, and armoires. Upholstered chairs and sofas with rich, emerald fabric. The lighting was soft and warm, with chandeliers crafted of brass and hung delicately from the ceiling. The walls were often adorned with wallpaper in elaborate damask prints, complemented by dark wood paneling. The overall atmosphere was one of luxury, history, and romanticism.

The family that resided here was not one of extreme wealth like many claimed in the world of professional wrestling. Beauty and Beast's mother was both a widow as well as a divorcee. And while she inherited well from their father, she instilled in both boys a respectable work ethic so they would grow up confident men, not entitled.

"Oh for God's sake!" Beast's voice echoes in a deep, baritone bellow as he follows his pouting brother Beauty along the ornate hallway that led toward the home's kitchen where their mother was making for herself a cup of tea. Contrary to the rest of the house, the kitchen was much more subdued with its soft, painted walls in a pale yellow and the windows covered with lace curtains and dried herbs hanging along the walls and from the ceiling.

"It was just a joke!" Beast called after Beauty who walked around the island counter that was the dominant feature of the kitchen and he leaned heavily against it, his toned forearms rested on the edge of the white marble.

"Some joke!" Beauty all but whined, Beast stopping in the frame that was just about wide enough for his gargantuan form to fit through. He rested those giant paws of his on his hips and shook his head in disbelief at how his brother was handling this bit of news, all the while their mother - known affectionately as Mama by just about all who set foot inside of this home, watched from the stove. She was all-too used to the bickering between these two sons of her's, but something about this little argument was different.

'Mama' was a stately woman that carried time like a crown, not a burden. Her beauty was not loud, but deeply rooted, the kind that turned heads not because it shouted out to the world surrounding it, but because it radiated. Her hands, though marked by years of work and care, moved with a grace that spoke of strength earned, not inherited. She had the type of beauty that only time could build—the kind that lingered long after she had left the room.

As the old fashioned tea kettle whistled, it's 'scream' sounding across the spacious kitchen, she sighed, picking it up and pouring the scalding water into her tea cup. "What is it this time?" She asked in her husky, Creole accent that seemed one part gravel, three parts honey.

Beast, however, seemed to be coming up short in answering her because deep down, perhaps he had an inkling that the answer was not one that she would like. He tried to play it off, shaking his head and saying, "It's nothing, Mama. I just played a little joke on him. That's all."

"Really." Mama said, turning her back to the counter and resting against it, her tea cup almost eye level as she watched her eldest carefully. "What sort of 'joke'?"

Beast sighed, knowing he had inadvertently backed himself into a corner in what seemed like a good idea at the time. "Well, you know how Butthead and I went to the SCW show in Tucson with Didi?" Beast's affectionate nickname for Devona.

Mama nodded solemnly, to which Beast followed through with, "Well, we went backstage and I might have... kind of ... tricked Beauty into signing what he 'thought' was an autograph for someone."

"And what was it that he signed, exactly?" Mama asked, joined now at her side by her youngest, the aforementioned Beauty.

"It was... a contract." Beast admitted, causing Mama to lower her tea before she could blow on it to cool it to the taste.

"A contract?" She repeated. "What kind of contract?"

Beast finally yielded, knowing out of love and respect he couldn't lie to the woman who had raised both he and his brother. "It was a contract for a wrestling match. For this event called Blast From the Past."

"Well... that's a good thing, right?" She asked, turning to Beauty who put on his best 'put out' face for mass mama effect. She reached up and stroked his hair lovingly, adding, "You boys worked hard in that training and have been wanting to finally get a chance to wrestle. Right?"

"Only, he's not wrestling." Beauty answered before Beast could say anything to soften the blow, his eyes staring into Beast's own. "He signed me up on my own."

Mama turned from Beauty and looked to Beast, an expression on her face that was part apprehension, part disbelief. She said, "On his own? And ... where exactly is this wrestling match taking place?"

Beast cleared his throat before he finally answered, "Olso."

"Oslo." She repeated. "As in... Norway?" To which Beast could only nod, and she went on with an accusatory tone, asking, "You're having your brother sent to Oslo, Norway... on his own?"

"Oh it gets better." Beauty piped in, taking no small amount of satisfaction at watching Beast squirm under the stern watch of their mother. He said, "It's a tournament that takes place through Europe. If I win, I have to stay in Europe and keep wrestling until I lose."

Mama looked from her youngest, back to her eldest and she exhaled sharply through her nose. This went beyond their normal teasing and brother fighting. This? This bit of boyish joking could spell trouble. Beast knew from her eyes alone that his mother was building up a head of steam but before she could let it out, he quickly offered, "Mama, he'll be fine on his own."

But it was if that statement alone was the match that lit the fuse on the stick of dynamite that was their mother. She stepped away from the kitchen counter and her voice rose like melodic steel, "Your brother went to pick you up in Lafayette and ended up in Canada! Exactly how will he be fine!?"

Beast's eyes shifted briefly behind her and toward Beauty who was smiling, pointing a finger at him from out of their mother's vision and silently laughing at his expense. Mama shook her head, exasperated. She had long hoped that these two would grow out of this 'phase' where they lived to nitpick on one another, often arguing and playing jokes on each other - but it seemed that they would never really grow out of these habits.

Men!

Still, she had the satisfaction of knowing that for as antagonistic as they were with each other, if anyone else threatened one or the other, all hell would break loose and their bond as brothers would truly be set loose against the unfortunate target. Mama then set her tea down on the kitchen counter and walked around to slide open a lone drawer, taking out an ornate, wooden box and a lighter. She set the small box down and pressed down on the lid and when it rose, a cigarette popped up.

"Mama..." Beast started to protest, but she held up a hand and said simply, "Shut it." Both he and Beauty had long been trying to get her to quit smoking and for the most part, they had been successful. But it would seem when her nerves were frayed or her temper rising, she fell back into old habits.

She set the cigarette in her lips and with as flick of her thumb, lit it. She drew in a soft breath, exhaling the gentle plume of smoke. After a long, tense moment, she turned to Beast and said, "So let me see if I have assessed this situation correctly."

She walked back around the kitchen counter and approached Beast, and even though he was easily three to four times her size, it was plain for anyone watching who was in control of this situation. Mama said, "You tricked your brother into signing a legal contract to go overseas and wrestle - alone where he does not know a single soul. Is that about right?"

Beast felt like a little boy, not that he ever really was little in a physical sense. He just nodded in answer to her accusation, getting a nod from her in return. She then took another drag from the Parliament cigarette and she shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips. It was that laugh that spoke volumes more so than any raised voice of anger could.

"I don't know." Mama said, shaking her head. "Maybe this isn't your fault. It's certainly not your brother's fault that he's a bit slow and dim witted...."

"Yeah!" Beauty nodded, jetting out his chin toward Beast as if to silently declare, 'So there!' But then Beauty paused and he frowned and turned to his mother, "Hey!"

"It's okay baby." Mama said as she patted his cheek with much affection. "Mama loves you anyway."

She then turned back to Beast. I don't know. Maybe it's my fault. Maybe I should have gained more than ten pounds when I was with him. But after giving birth to you and the way you tore the ass off of me, I wasn't about to risk it!"

She took one final drag before she ground the cigarette out on the surface of a single, porcelain dish on the counter. She then walked right up to Beast, her head barely coming up to his massive chest. "So here's what we're going to do." She stated, her tone one that was a practical command. "Your brother is not going by himself. You..." She twirled her forefinger around and poked it right into her son's chest. "... Are going to go with him!"

From behind her, Beauty resumed his juvenile mocking of Beast, pointing at him and making faces. Beast clenched his jaw but fought against calling him out. He instead shifted his gaze toward his mother and shrugged his shoulders, "Mama... I can't just call in to work...."

"Don't give me that!" Mama's voice rose. "You own that mechanic shop!"

"Yeah, but his boss is a real asshole." Beauty quipped, causing Beast to glare at him and Mama to just glance over her shoulder briefly at the youngest. Beast was more so angry at the fact that the dim-witted brother of his actually got in a credible dig than he was at being insulted overall. But the discussion between them was seemingly over, as mama just stared at the much larger Beast with her arms held out slightly at her side.

"Do we understand one another?" She asked in more of a statement than it was an actual question. Beast simply nodded, "Yes ma'am." Allowing Beauty behind Mama to continue making his laughing faces and pointing at him, that was until Mama shifted her eyes slightly to the side and she said, "I can see your reflection in the window, you know!"

---

"I was actually starting to wonder if this was ever going to happen. My dumbass brother and I went through our training at the GO Gym at the same time as our friend Devona, and even before Daniel Morgan and the rest of London Underground first enrolled. The problem on our end was that while Didi and every other student there went through their training from start to finish with no breaks in between, Beast and I didn't have the same luxury. I guess we had a unique circumcision..."

"Circumstance!" Came the baritone voice of Beast offstage.

"That's what I said! We had a unique... 'that word' ... and we had to take a few breaks between Las Vegas and New Orleans because of some family commitments and work related issues. Gabriel and Odette were pretty understanding, even though no other student went through this, but we made it back each time to pick up where we left off and we finally graduated."

Again that voice barked out, "Yeah I can't believe you actually bought a cap and gown for that!"

"YOU'RE the one who told me I needed it! ... I mean, I did not! But my point is, we graduated but to us, it was too late. Our Didi got burned bad by someone she was working with and all the desire she had to renew her contract went out the window. She let her contract run out and didn't renew it, and came back home to New Orleans. And even though SCW offered us a good contract, we felt like we didn't have a reason to accept. Didi left and they had done away with the men's Tag Team titles, and that was what it was all about for us. Traveling with our Devona and winning the tag team titles. None of that was on the table any more so we just came home."

"Now look at me. It's a few years later and I am finally having my debut match - no thanks to my no good dumbass brother!"

"Hey!" The voice boomed again. "If it wasn't for me you wouldn't be in this tournament!"

"Who's cutting this promo, you or me!?"

"This studio could be completely empty and it would still be a more entertaining promo than what you're doing!"

"Shut up!"

"You shut up!"

"I don't HAVE to shut up! I'm the one cutting the promo so nyah! Anyway, this tournament is all about history. And this may come as a shock to everyone here but I really didn't do that good with history when I was in school..."

"Or English. Or math. Or science. Or lunch and recess..."

"Shut. UP! So that's why I am coming into this whole event, a clean slate one hundred percent!"

"From the neck up!"

"... Buuuut... I am using that to my advantage. Because since this is my debut, the men I'm being put up against have nothing to work with. Nothing to scout, they know absolutely nothing about me. But... everyone else in this tournament is an established Superstar. Some are in SCW, have been in the past, or compete somewhere else. My point is, while they have nothing to learn about me, I have everything to learn about them. Give me the name of the guy that I'm up against and the rest is history."

"Pun intended?"

"What pun?"

"Never mind."

"But now that I know who I'm up against, I eel bad for the guy. Not because he has to go up against yours truly and is going to get humiliated by a rookie in his first match ever while the guy is himself a former champion here in SCW and has competed for years. Well, not JUST because of that. But because of his name! I mean, what the hell kind of name is Oslow for a wrestler, anyway?"

"Huh?"

"You hear the name Oslow and you think of some short, fat guy in Gotham City who's about to turn to a life of crime and make headlines fighting Batman!"

"Um, Beaut?"

"Don't tell me! He's going to come out to the ring carrying an umbrella and a monocle over his eye, and his ring gear is going to be this black and purple tuxedo and a top hat! Oo! And his manager is going to be some cheap Michelle Pfeiffer look-a-like dressed like Catwoman! But in the end he's just going to end up comedy filler who gets embarrassed and beaten thoroughly by the hero of the story. That would be me! Yours truly!"

"BEAUTY!"

"What!?"

"Who the HELL are you talking about!?"

"My opponent, dumbass! Oslow!"

"Oh for God's sake...! Your opponent isn't some guy named Oslow! It's Alexander Raven! You're wrestling in OSLO, Norway!"

"Oh ... that's very different."

"Ya THINK!?"

"Well son of a bit-!"