Blog: Almighty Fire
semana del 31 de agosto al 7 de septiembre de 2025

There’s a strange sort of calm before nights like the one that’s coming. People expect chaos, they expect bedlam, they expect noise, but the loudest thing in my world before the bell rings is silence. Because when I walk in, I already know what’s going to happen. The others? They’re still trying to convince themselves they do.

I’m not scrambling for validation. I’m not losing sleep over who believes in me and who doesn’t. When you’ve walked into more storms than anyone else and walked out with everything intact, you stop measuring yourself against who’s shouting the loudest. You measure yourself against who’s still standing when the shouting stops. That’s where I separate myself. Lilith Locke wants to swing between brilliance and breakdown like she’s living inside some fairytale written for her own amusement. Diamond Steele? She lives to hear herself talk, even if every time she opens her mouth she empties the room of respect. Both of them kick, claw, and scream about how much they deserve this Bombshell Internet Championship, how much they need it. And there’s me—still here, todavía campeona, still watching them glare at me for having something they can’t keep.

This match doesn’t cage us in the ropes. It’s not about holding yourself up on a ten count, or finding a corner to breathe. Falls Count Anywhere strips wrestling down to what it should be: who can take the fight anyplace and still win. No escape routes. No excuses. That’s bad news for two women who spend their time pretending to be larger than life when, truthfully, they’ve barely figured out how to keep their feet underneath them when the ground shifts.

Take Lilith, for example. She’s unpredictable, right? She’ll laugh, she’ll scream, she’ll try to drag you into her little theater of madness. People like to pretend she’s dangerous because she doesn’t color inside the lines. The truth? She’s just messy. Desordenada. There’s no control behind her chaos, and when there’s no control, there’s no discipline. And when there’s no discipline, there’s no consistency. That’s why every time she’s given the ball to run with, she drops it. It isn’t because she lacks ability—it’s because she can’t stay tethered to the reality that wrestling isn’t about moments, it’s about endurance. She can give you a highlight, pero no puede ganar la guerra. Highlights fade. Yo colecciono victorias. Y ella colecciona excusas.

Then there’s Diamond Steele. Now, Diamond will happily tell you she’s the most hated woman in this business. She’ll smile about it, brag about it, let that arrogance seep through every word like it’s perfume. But when the lights come down and the cameras stop rolling, being hated doesn’t cash the check. Being hated doesn’t pin shoulders to the mat. What it does is make her a lightning rod for her own downfall. Every time she cuts a corner, every time she puts herself above the work, she leaves a crack in the armor. And the cracks keep growing wider. People don’t hate her just for arrogance. They hate her porque es perezosa. Loud, yes. Pero nunca cumple. She says she’s hated. Nadie la respeta. Because she thrives on attention but starves when it comes time to deliver. And in this kind of fight, where there are no rules to wriggle out from under, being her own worst enemy is going to devour her faster than anything I could do to her.

The truth neither of them can say out loud is simple: they orbit me. They take every chance they get to talk about how much they don’t care, how much they’ve moved on, how much they don’t need me in their sightlines. But look at where we are. Look at whose name is printed first on the card. Look at whose championship is fueling the entire storm. Their obsession is my advantage. I don’t need to obsess over them. I don’t need to waste energy picking them apart day after day. They’re already doing the job for me, ripping at each other, trying to prove who the bigger threat really is. Y mientras ellas se destruyen, I'll be standing right here, pulling strength from the fact that none of this is new to me.

I’ve been in arenas where the walls shook. I’ve had matches where I walked out with bruises that didn’t fade for weeks. I’ve heard the noise, the boos, the cheers, the people begging for me to fail, and the people secretly relieved when I didn’t. And each time I didn’t fail, I added another brick to this fortress around me. So when the stakes rise and the rules vanish, I don’t panic. I adapt. That’s why the old saying goes: pressure makes diamonds. And maybe that’s cute for Steele if she thought about herself as more than a running joke, but diamonds can crack under sustained force. La presión me fortalece. Bajo el calor me forjo. Y yo nunca me rompo. Diamonds break. I don’t.

The Bombshell Internet Championship is mine because I understood from the beginning that this was never about a moment to brag with or a prop to validate my existence. It’s about outlasting. It’s about standing tall after everyone else gives out. Lilith fought for it once, and she crumbled. Diamond scratched at it, bled for it, whined when it wasn’t handed to her, and still walked away empty. And they’re supposed to survive Falls Count Anywhere when they couldn’t survive the simplest obstacles before? Por favor.

When I walk into this match, I’m not walking in to prove anyone wrong. That’s too easy. I’m walking in to prove myself right and remind them why this championship doesn’t sit on their shoulders, why it looks best where it is. Because when we’re brawling through the stands, cuando alguien golpea contra las cajas tras bastidores, when the asphalt of the parking lot scrapes skin raw, it won’t matter who screams the loudest or who postures the biggest. It will only matter who finishes the fight, whose hand is raised, who’s holding this title high when everything goes quiet again. And they’ve both proven time and time again that when the fight reaches its end, it’s not them left standing.

I don’t play dress-up in delusion pretending I’m invincible. I just don’t give out proof otherwise. You can stack the odds, throw both of them at me, lock me in situations designed for someone else’s downfall, and it still won’t shift me off center. I don’t chase control. Porque yo no busco el control—lo poseo. I own it. That’s the difference. Lilith is busy trying to paint the walls of this match with her brand of madness, Diamond is clinging to what’s left of her relevance by throwing tantrums with words, and I’m walking straight into the middle of the storm already knowing where I’ll be standing when it ends.

If people think that makes me cold, that makes me calculating, then they’ve finally started paying attention. Because this sport doesn’t reward sentiment, it doesn’t reward illusions, and it doesn’t reward the delusional. It rewards the one who can see three steps ahead, who can let the noise swirl without letting it drown her. I cut deeper — corto más profundo, sin necesidad de gritar. That’s me, every time I step out there.

So when the bell rings, the silence will end. Lilith will throw herself into the fire like it’s the only way to be seen. Diamond will try to manipulate the moment to make it about her, like always. And me? I’ll let them dig their holes deeper, let them expose themselves for what they are, and then I’ll finish it. Anywhere. Anytime. Así funciona esta lucha. No hay límites. No hay escondites. No boundaries. No excuses. Just the truth revealed in every strike, every crash, every count of the referee’s hand slamming the ground.

By the time they realize their truths don’t stack up to mine, it’ll already be decided. Lilith’s unpredictability won’t save her. Diamond’s arrogance won’t carry her. And both of them, when they’re sprawled out wondering how I keep doing this, will finally see that I don’t need to scream for attention. I don’t need to beg for credibility. I don’t need to cling to gimmicks, taglines, or hollow words. I just need one more match to prove that none of them are walking out with this championship.

Chaos doesn’t shake me. El caos me moldea.

And when Falls Count Anywhere is over, cuando esta arena quede patas arriba, when bodies are left broken across concrete and steel, I’ll be the one the cameras find holding the fight’s only prize.

Todavía firme. Todavía en control. Todavía tu Bombshell Internet Champion.


INT. PARKING STRUCTURE - NIGHT

[The fluorescent buzz in the parking structure isn’t sound so much as headache — high-pitched, thin, and too steady. Each tube light hums like a bad memory. Mercedes adjusts the championship belt on her shoulder, letting the teeth of gold glass the dull concrete gray, her fingers brushing it like it’s part of her pulse.

Her heels hit each step with precision. No rush, no stagger. Just enough echo to carry ahead of her.

At the far end of the lot, the security guard nearly drops his clipboard when he notices her. He fumbles with it, trying to look official — shuffling papers, flicking the pen as if it’s some kind of weapon.]

GUARD
Uh— yeah, ma’am? Parking’s all clear down here. Didn’t see anybody. Just— y’know, are you, uh… sure you don’t want me to, like… walk you out? Late night and all.

[His words hang shaky, already bracing for dismissal. Mercedes tilts her head, narrowing her eyes, more confused than angry.]

MERCEDES
If somebody was stupid enough to find me here, do you honestly think you would be the one protecting who walks out of this building?

[The guard freezes. One of his papers slides off the clipboard and drifts to the floor face-down, the loud slap of cheap paper against concrete exposing his silence. Mercedes blinks slow, unimpressed. She taps her fingertips once against the cold face of the title belt. Then she brushes past, her stride loosening the air with cool dismissal. Over her shoulder, her voice drapes backward, too calm to be casual.]

MERCEDES
Besides… I don’t get followed. I get chased. Difference is… they never keep up.

[The guard stammers quickly.]

GUARD:
Y-Yeah, no, totally. I chase people sometimes too. Like for exercise.

[Mercedes stops walking. The silence that falls afterward is painful in its precision. She turns her head just enough, cutting a sideways glance. Not rage. Pity disguised as disdain.]

MERCEDES
Do you hear yourself?

[The guard stands stranded in her wake, clipboard clutched like a child’s shield. The belt’s glint lingers longer in memory than in light.

She doesn’t wait for him to try another reply. Stepping into the driver’s seat of a sleek dark sedan, she sets her title onto the passenger seat like royalty resting its crown, then slides behind the wheel. A pause, the hum of lights above trying and failing to compete with the roar of her ignition.

From the far end of the lot, the guard raises the clipboard lamely in farewell. But by then, she’s already gone, vanishing into the night.]


INT. HOTEL ROOM – NIGHT
INTERCUT WITH – CRYSTAL CALDWELL'S APARTMENT – NIGHT

[The city outside the hotel window doesn’t sleep; it just changes rhythms. Neon reflections smear across the glass, headlights streak against the pale curtain fabric. Inside isn’t silence, not really — the hotel’s AC rattles like it could quit any minute, the TV glows, the world outside keeps humming its pulse.

Mercedes sits hunched in an armchair, belt propped across her knees, laptop perched on the low table. The screen glows with Crystal Caldwell’s face, framed by the buzz of her own messy apartment lighting. A half-drunk can of Sprite sits at Crystal’s elbow, condensation streaking into her notes.]

CRYSTAL
You looked like you were gonna strangle that poor security guard in the garage.

MERCEDES
Strangle? Please. That man nearly fainted when I raised an eyebrow. I wouldn’t waste the energy. He almost took himself out.

[Crystal laughs, shaking her head.]

CRYSTAL
C’mon, he was just doing his job. You could’ve at least said thank you.

MERCEDES
Thank you for what? Offering to escort me? If I need an escort, I’ll call a car service and request one that doesn’t trip over a clipboard every five seconds.

[Mercedes taps the belt plate with her nail. The sound clangs into the mic, sharp enough Crystal lifts her eyebrows.]

CRYSTAL
And here I thought winning meant you’d get less bitter. Silly me.

MERCEDES
Winning doesn’t make you less bitter. It just means you’re right about being bitter. Validation with sequins.

[Crystal leans back in her chair, smirking.]

CRYSTAL
Speaking of validation, you, Lilith, and Diamond Steele. You ready to juggle that circus?

[Mercedes’ eyes don’t even flinch. Her voice comes low, matter-of-fact.]

MERCEDES
One who calls herself unpredictable. Another who calls herself a rockstar. Neither one knows what it actually takes to outlast me, but sure. Let’s call it a circus. I’ll even play ringmaster when it’s done.

Crystal (grinning):
You’re not giving Diamond much credit, huh?

MERCEDES
She’s written more songs about winning than she’s actually done it. And Lilith? She’s one botched spell away from disappearing mid-match. Neither qualifies as a threat.

CRYSTAL
Lilith’s gotta be confident after that triple threat with you and Bella at Summer XXXTreme.

MERCEDES
Confident? Like a kid duct-taping socks and calling it cosplay.

[Crystal snorts, trying not to laugh.]

CRYSTAL
You’re cruel.

MERCEDES
I’m efficient. She talks about unpredictability like it’s a strategy. It’s not. That’s just code for being so inconsistent nobody can plan for you, including yourself.

[Crystal tilts her head, eyes narrowing in mock sincerity.]

CRYSTAL
You do realize you’re facing both Lilith and Diamond at once, right? Triple threat means—

Mercedes (cutting in):
Triple opportunity. That’s how I read it. Two women chasing me at the same time. It’ll just be twice the proof when they can’t keep up.”

[Crystal raises an eyebrow.]

CRYSTAL
Lilith sounds motivated. You don’t think she’s a threat?

[Mercedes looks directly into the camera, piercing, sardonic.]

MERCEDES
She’s lost more times than I care to watch, yet still clings to her ‘aura.’ Dangerous, unpredictable, wild… pick one adjective and stick to it. Then maybe win something.

[Crystal laughs outright this time, covering her mouth.]

CRYSTAL
God, you’re savage. Do you ever turn it off?

[Mercedes shrugs, voice flat, humor in its plainness.]

MERCEDES
Never.

[Crystal leans her chin into her hand, smirking.]

CRYSTAL
Well, at least your match is straightforward. Meanwhile, I’m stuck pretending a mud pit fight with my wife isn’t deranged marital counseling.

[Mercedes arches an eyebrow, voice flat and deadpan.]

MERCEDES
Or a bad reality show. Same difference.

CRYSTAL
You must love watching me suffer.

MERCEDES
Your words, not mine.

[Mercedes taps the belt plate absentmindedly, metal ringing clear.]

CRYSTAL
Come on, don’t pretend this isn’t the most embarrassing thing on the card.

MERCEDES
Are you billing the referee as your therapist, or just splitting it fifty-fifty with Seleana after?

[Crystal snorts, covering a laugh with her hand.]

CRYSTAL
God, don’t even. Every time I picture it, all I see is Thanksgiving dinner afterward, both sides of the family pretending we didn’t try to drown each other in sludge. If Seleana pins me face-first in a pit of sludge, I’m never hearing the end of it.

MERCEDES
At least you won’t hear it clean—mud muffles the shame. It’s better than being buried in sand, or pretending it never happened. Besides, you’ll win the match and the argument. That’s efficiency.

[Crystal takes a long pull from her drink, eyeing Mercedes with mock severity.]

CRYSTAL
Yeah, until I get mud in places we’re not even supposed to mention on the company website. Real glamorous life we live.

MERCEDES (dryly):
Glamour is just suffering with better lighting.

CRYSTAL
You should put that on a shirt. I’d buy it before Violent Conduct.

MERCEDES
Merch isn’t my job. My job’s making sure nobody else ever gets to wear this.

[Crystal grabs her can, takes a long sip just to stall, eyes narrowing at Mercedes with mock offense.]

CRYSTAL
You’re dead serious right now.

MERCEDES
Always.

[Crystal sighs through a laugh, sets the can back down.]

CRYSTAL
Fine. You bully Lilith and Diamond at the top of the card. I’ll roll around with my wife in a puddle shaped like a lawsuit waiting to happen. That way Violent Conduct has both the prestige and the spectacle.

[The joke lands, but the silence after feels heavier than the humor.]

CRYSTAL
God help them if they actually let us be the marketing department.

MERCEDES (deadpan):
No. God help everyone else.

[The call lingers on both of them smirking at their screens, the glow of absurdity and inevitability mixing across their faces. The AC rattles again in the background, adding just enough comedy to match the madness waiting at Violent Conduct.]


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

[REC•]

[Late afternoon sun hits the rainbow stairs in Silver Lake. Mercedes Vargas sits casually, championship resting on her shoulder like a badge of honor. The camera pulls in close, catching every inflection in her voice and the knowing smirk on her face.]

"I’ve been around long enough to know the difference between hype and reality. I’ve seen people talk a big game, and I’ve watched most of them crumble when it actually matters. Kate’s got the heart, Lilith’s got the edge, but heart and attitude don’t win matches. Execution does. Consistency does. And neither of them have proven that to me yet."

[She taps the faceplate of the title on her shoulder.]

"But you know what? Forget all the noise, forget the hype, because here’s the real truth. At Violent Conduct, both Kate Steele and Lilith Locke get their chance to prove me wrong. Falls Count Anywhere means anything can happen, and it will. On the stage, in the stands, hell, in the street if it comes to that. But when that dust settles, when it’s all said and done, we’re going to see who’s built for it… and who was just pretending. Spoiler: that doubt isn’t on me.”

[Mercedes leans forward slightly, narrowing her eyes into the lens.]

"You know who I am. You know what I stand for. I’ve been through this business and seen it all. When I speak, it’s not just words — it’s truth forged through years of proving everybody else wrong.

"Now Kate... Katherine... 'Diamond'... whatever identity crisis it is this week. Three weeks ago in Mykonos, you walked out in the ring, opened your mouth, and wasted everybody’s time. A whole lot of noise… just to say nothing. Honestly? Silence would’ve done you a bigger favor."

[She tilts her head mockingly, smirk sharpening.]

"But you’re the ‘Diamond in the Rough’, right? Sweetheart, cubic zirconias shine too. But nobody’s ever fooled into thinking they’re worth anything. You can call yourself a gem, you can call yourself beautiful… but if you have to keep reminding people you’re a star? Then you probably aren’t one. That’s facts."

[She delivers the final two words—“That’s facts”—with a dismissive flick of her hand, like she’s brushing away lint.]

"You beat Frankie Holliday, and now you think that makes you a top star? Cute. But it’s the same old Kate — one win, one rebrand, one comeback — and you convince yourself you’re entitled to more than you’ve earned. That’s your whole résumé: Demands. Spotlight. Attention. Respect. But earning? That part never makes the cut."

[Mercedes leans forward again, her voice cutting sharper. The sunlight catches across the plate of the championship as she gestures slightly with her shoulder.]

"Truth is, mamita, you’ve practically made a career out of falling just short. Very on-brand. That’s who you’ve always been. That’s just what your life is when you’re a Steele."

[Mercedes reclines in her seat again, crossing one leg casually over the other. She gestures expansively now with her free hand, smug and comfortable. The camera pulls back slightly, giving her space as her delivery relaxes.

Mercedes reclines again, relaxed now. She gestures with her free hand as she speaks, almost casual.]

"If you want to talk about history, legacies, dominant stables—we can do that. The difference is, my history and legacy will always be remembered. My place in one of the most dominant groups in this company’s history - the Mean Girls - is etched in stone. Delia, Veronica, Liz, Tessa, Amanda, Holly—we defined an era. Our names are remembered. Our success is remembered."

[Mercedes pauses here, her tone shifting abruptly from casual to cutting. The camera cuts quick to a cold tight close-up, isolating her face.]

"Your legacy? Not so much. Because let’s be honest — when people talk about Jet City, they don’t remember you. They remember Kris Ryans. Not you. Never you. And the worst part, Kate? Deep down... you know it."

[Mercedes glances down at her championship, brushing the plate lightly, then looks back with a sly smile.]

"Now, I could be cute and throw little jabs about your marriages… the weddings, the rings. But you’ve collected more jewelry in your personal life than you’ve ever collected in championships. And that’s not credibility — that’s a hobby. Cute, but meaningless. But see this right here?"

[Mercedes lifts the Bombshell Internet Title high, the sunlight gleaming off it.]

"This isn’t a hobby. This is credibility. And that’s exactly why I’m holding it… and you’re not."

[Her smirk fades into a deadly serious stare.]

"Now, Lilith Locke—don’t go thinking I forgot you. August 3rd, Climax Control 431, remember that night? I do. It was the night your title reign ended, and my legacy added another chapter. So if Kate wants to chase respect she’s never earned, and you want your redemption story—go ahead. Violent Conduct isn’t about fairy tales. It’s about reality. And the reality is this: you don’t get to take back what I’ve already made mine."

[Mercedes chuckles under her breath.]

"So in less than two weeks: Falls Count Anywhere. No boundaries, no restrictions. You really think a stipulation is going to change the ending? Please. The difference between me and the both of you is simple: I don’t just talk about respect—I command it. Match after match, year after year, era after era. That’s why I'm a two-time Hall of Famer. That’s why I’m holding this title right now. And after Violent Conduct?”

[She shrugs with casual arrogance, lifting the belt slightly.]

“I’ll still be here.”

[Mercedes leans in, closing the distance with the camera. Gloves come off tone-wise, her smirk cutting ice.]

"You want respect, Kate? You think people are waiting to finally give it to you? Let me help you here: respect isn’t something you announce on a microphone. Respect is earned. Week in, week out. Every night, every match. And the truth is, you’ve been gone so long, people forgot you even work here. And for the ones who do remember? All they remember is that you used to matter."

[Pauses, narrowing her eyes into the lens.]

"But now you’ve got my attention. Dangerous game, mamita. Be careful what you ask for. Because asking for my attention? That’s not putting yourself on my level—you’re volunteering to embarrass yourself in front of me. And trust me, when I’m standing across from you, those cameras you love so much? They’ll be too busy filming your crash-and-burn — and not with your little third-rate garage band this time. No, this time they’re going to capture every second of you realizing just how badly you don’t belong here."

[Mercedes smirks again, her expression ice-cold finality.]

“And when you ask yourself, ‘Why me?’”

[She adjusts the Internet Title on her shoulder, smile widening.]

“We both already know the answer."

[Pause, smirks to the camera.]

"Because you’re a Steele."

[Fade out on the close-up of Mercedes holding the championship high. The smirk never leaves her face.]