Invasion of Privacy
Dallas, Texas
11/27/23
The night is settled over Alexandra's house, a tranquil suburban haven. Streetlights cast a warm glow on the quiet street. Alexandra, her daughter Ashlynn, her boyfriend John Strader, and John's daughter Mackenzie are inside, the house radiating a sense of comfort. Cut to a mysterious unmarked car, lurking in the shadows down the street. The hum of its engine is barely audible. Tinted windows conceal the watcher within. The watcher was on a phone, they spoke into it.
“I’ll get the information needed. It shouldn’t be that hard. I’ll report back to you shortly.”
Inside the house, Alexandra is in the living room, flipping through a photo album with Ashlynn. Laughter and the occasional sound of pages turning create a soothing melody. John Strader is in the kitchen, preparing a late dinner, and Mackenzie is in the living room, engrossed in a book.
“Something feels off.”
Suddenly, the atmosphere shifts. Ashlynn glances toward the window, sensing something. Alexandra, ever vigilant, follows her daughter's gaze, a flicker of concern crossing her face. The unmarked car remains parked, an eerie stillness accompanying it. The distant sound of footsteps on the pavement echoes. Ashlynn peeks through the blinds, her curiosity overcoming her.
“Mom, there's a strange car outside.”
Alexandra pauses her protective instincts kicking in.
“John, did you invite someone over?”
Her question was simple, she knew his family was close and there was always the chance that he could have asked someone to come over for dinner.
“No, babe. I thought Mackenzie and I were the only ones cooking up surprises tonight.”
John Strader joins Alexandra, Ashlynn, and Mackenzie in the living room. They exchange puzzled glances.
“There's someone in that car. We should find out who.”
The two cautiously move to the front door. Alexandra, a mix of concern and determination in her eyes, opens the door, revealing the night air. The unmarked car remains, an unblinking sentinel. Alexandra calls out, extremely pissed off.
“Can I help you? Who's in the car?”
Silence. Then, the distant whirr of an automatic camera shutter is heard. A flash of light from the unmarked car momentarily blinds Alexandra. John Strader shields his eyes, squinting into the darkness, before covering the kids trying to get them inside.
“What the hell? No. No this isn’t happening.”
As quickly as it started, the flash ceases. The unmarked car, now an ominous silhouette, peels away from the curb and vanishes into the night. The family is left on the doorstep, a sense of violation settling over them.
“Get inside. I'll call the police. We're not letting this slide.”
John looked at Alexandra shaking his head, he had a feeling what was going on.
“No, we can’t involve them.”
Inside the house, a charged energy lingers in the air. John Strader's face contorts from concern to anger as he processes the violation of his family's privacy. He glances at Alexandra, eyes determined.
“This isn't right. I'm not letting them get away with this.”
His fists clench, and he storms towards the door. Alexandra, sensing his fury, rushes after him.
“John, wait! We need to call the police”.
“The police can wait. I'm not letting some creep mess with us. I’m pretty sure I know what this is about.”
The door slams shut behind them, the outside air carrying a hint of tension. The suburban street, once serene, is now a stage for a confrontation. Cut to the driveway. John strides purposefully, eyes fixed on the distant tail lights of the unmarked car disappearing around a corner. Alexandra follows, her concern growing.
“John, be careful. We don't know who we're dealing with.”
She grabbed his hand, trying to get him to stay. He touches it with his other hand for a moment, before pulling away from her grip.
“They're messing with our family, babe. They're gonna regret it. Take care of the girls, I’ll be right back.”
The night air is charged with anticipation as John reaches his Harley. He throws his leg over it and turns the key, the engine roaring to life. Alexandra hesitates, torn between the impulse to protect and the realization that John is a force to be reckoned with. The engine's growl echoes down the street as John peels out of the driveway in pursuit of the mysterious interloper. Inside the house, Ashlynn watches from the living room window, her worry mirroring Alexandra's. Mackenzie steps up to the window, sensing the tension, her own expression mimicking the others.
“What's happening?”
Mackenzie asks, causing Alexandra to turn around. Alexandra looked at her with a grim expression.
“Someone thought it was okay to spy on us. Your dad's not taking it lightly.”
The distant revving of the car engine fades into the night as John Strader gives chase, a lone guardian determined to shield his family from the shadows.
The Tale of the tape
WrestlingWorld.Com
Dallas Texas
11/27/23
In the unforgiving world of Sin City Wrestling, two titans, Alexandra Calaway and Tempest, loom large, each casting a distinctive shadow over the squared circle. The contrasts between these bombshell behemoths are as stark as the sunlit beaches of Honolulu compared to the fiery depths of the Texas desert.
Physical Prowess:
Alexandra: At 5'6" and 125 pounds, Alexandra is a dynamo compacted with explosive power. Her aesthetic embraces a balance of beauty and brutality, morphing seamlessly from alluring enigma to a fearsome force in the ring.
Tempest: Standing at an imposing 6'3" and weighing a formidable 218 pounds, Tempest's physicality is her statement. She doesn't beckon with charm; instead, she commands attention with sheer size and an aura of untamed power.
Fighting Style:
Alexandra: Her in-ring repertoire is a kaleidoscope of technical wizardry, brawling brutality, and daredevil aerial assaults. Alexandra is a chameleon in the ring, adapting her style to the demands of the moment.
Tempest: Unapologetically, Tempest is a powerhouse. A brawler through and through, her moveset is a symphony of devastating slams, bone-crushing suplexes, and an array of impactful strikes. She doesn't dance around; she marches forward, leaving destruction in her wake.
Entrance and Presence:
Alexandra: The ominous yet captivating strains of "Mine" by Halestorm herald her arrival. Alexandra's entrance is a visual spectacle, bathed in crimson lights and fog. Her charismatic strut to the ring is a psychological warfare, engaging the audience and unsettling her opponents.
Tempest: Tempest enters with the dominating anthem of "You Call Me a Bitch Like It's a Bad Thing" by Halestorm. Her march to the ring is a no-nonsense power walk, focused and unyielding. She neither acknowledges nor dismisses the crowd, a stoic enigma.
Gimmick and Background:
Alexandra: Concealed behind a pretty facade lies a dark soul. Alexandra's gimmick is a dichotomy, a femme fatale who can turn into a remorseless warrior when the bell tolls. Her journey through personal tragedy, marriage, and motherhood paints a multifaceted portrait of resilience.
Tempest: The Monster Heel from Honolulu, Tempest's gimmick is raw power. Her life's narrative, marred by childhood bullying and personal tragedy, has forged her into a formidable force. A bounty hunter turned wrestler, her journey is one of conquering adversity and channeling anger into might.
Achievements:
Alexandra: The accolades on Alexandra's resume read like a dynasty. From Hardcore Championships to Women's Championships, she's left an indelible mark in every promotion she's graced. She's a multiple-time Wrestler of the Year, a testament to her enduring excellence.
Tempest: As of now, Tempest's ledger is unmarked by championship victories. Her journey into professional wrestling is marked by overcoming societal scorn, embracing her size as an advantage, and now seeking to carve a legacy in SCW.
In Summary:
Alexandra, the Dark Angel of Texas, and Tempest, the unyielding force from the Hawaiian shores, stand as polar opposites yet united in their pursuit of dominance. Alexandra's versatility meets Tempest's unbridled power in a clash that promises a collision of styles, stories, and destinies in the unforgiving world of Sin City Wrestling.
The Hero Returns
Dallas, Texas
11/27/23
The night air is tense as John Strader, Alexandra's boyfriend, storms back into their home, a tempest of fury and frustration. Alexandra, her concern evident, rushes towards him as he enters, blood staining his lip, a tangible symbol of the clash that just unfolded in the shadows. She was clearly worried about him, the situation and the safety of her family.
“John, what happened? Who was in that car?”
John, his jaw set in a rigid line, glances at Alexandra, the fire in his eyes speaking of a confrontation that was more than just a chance encounter. She knew what his life was and she never feared that. She was curious about why they would be there for her.
“I don't know who they were, but they won't be watching us anymore.”
He tosses a mangled camera onto the table, its lens shattered, evidence of the struggle that took place. She worried about what they were trying to do, the kids were in danger when this kind of thing happened, she couldn’t allow that to continue. Clearly John wouldn’t either.
“What's this? What were they doing?”
Alexandra sounded confused and John wrapped his arms around her before pulling back. John takes a moment to catch his breath, wiping the blood from his lip. His gaze is intense, a mix of anger and protectiveness.
“They were watching us, Alex. For hours. I don't know what they wanted, but I couldn't let them keep doing it.”
He moves towards the destroyed camera, picking it up, then with a clenched fist, smashes it again. The expression on his face was anger.
“They won't be seeing anything through this again.”
Alexandra, her mind racing with concern, steps closer. Her hand rested softly on his chest.
“You're hurt. We need to get you cleaned up.”
John, a mixture of exhaustion and determination etched on his face, nods.
“After what I just did, a little blood doesn't matter.”
She leads him to the kitchen, fetching a first aid kit.
“You can't just go out and fight whoever without—”
He interrupts her, his voice a low growl.
“They were spying on us, Alex. I won't let anyone threaten you, Ashlynn, or Mackenzie. I won’t let this happen again. I will keep you all safe.”
As she tends to his wounds, the gravity of the situation settles over them. Alexandra’s voice was soft as she spoke, not wanting to wake the kids.
“We need to figure out who they were and why they were watching us.”
John, now calmer but still seething, nods in agreement.
“We will. I won't let anyone endanger this family, our family. Let me handle this.”
Their eyes lock, a silent pact forged in the crucible of unexpected danger. Her expression is a determined one.
“We’ve faced threats in the ring, but this... this is different. This wasn’t in the ring John.”
John, his hand gently cupping her cheek, nods. He looked at her with an expression that says all she needs to see.
“It’s not that different from what I normally deal with. Hey, we'll face it together, just like everything else. I think it’s time we move you all to Houston with my family, for good.”
Alexandra looks at him with a nod, her hand resting on his chest as they spoke about his idea.
“Honestly, I think the girls will be safer there. It will take some time to pack this place up and get rid of some of the stuff. Plus, I’m sure there’s going to need to be a place there for us. I didn’t see a house for us there.”
“Give it a few weeks and a new place could be there for us.”
Alexandra looked at John with concern on her face. Something had been going on and she wasn’t going to push. If he wanted to tell her he would, she knew better than to push about it.
“Are you sure this is what you want? What about the club?”
She didn’t want him to give up everything about his life over something that could just be her opponent digging up dirt to use.
“That’s not what you need to worry about right now. Right now, I need you and the kids safe. I have bigger things to worry about right now. You and the girls are the most important thing, the only thing I have to worry about right now.”
The night unfolds with questions unanswered, shadows lingering in the corners of their lives. But in the quiet unity of that moment, Alexandra and John find strength—the kind that goes beyond the squared circle, beyond the cheers of the audience, a strength forged in the crucible of their unwavering bond.
A sweet goodbye turns into we are going too
Dallas, Texas
11/29/23
The dim glow of the morning sun painted soft streaks across the spacious living room of Alexandra Calaway's home in Dallas, Texas. Alexandra, adorned in a sleek black leather jacket and faded blue jeans, moved with purpose, gathering her belongings for an impending trip to Phoenix. She had a championship to defend, and the familiar hum of anticipation buzzed in the air.
"Mom!" called a youthful voice from the direction of the kitchen. Ashlynn, Alexandra's teenage daughter, appeared with a wide smile. "Need any help packing, or are you summoning the strength of the dark arts to do it all yourself?"
Alexandra chuckled, a sound that resonated with both warmth and an underlying edge. "You know me too well, Ash. But today, I might accept some assistance. After all, even dark sorceresses can use an extra pair of hands."
In the midst of their banter, John Strader, Alexandra's ruggedly handsome boyfriend, sauntered into the room. His broad shoulders filled the doorframe as he grinned at the duo.
"Good morning, ladies," he greeted, wrapping an arm around Alexandra's waist and planting a kiss on her forehead. "Ready for another trip to the ring, Babe?"
Alexandra nodded, her gaze meeting John's with a shared understanding that transcended words. "Always. But this time, it's not just about me. It's about proving a point and keeping what's rightfully mine."
As the trio exchanged glances, Mackenzie, John's daughter, emerged with a backpack slung over her shoulder. At fourteen, she exuded a quiet confidence, a trait likely inherited from her father.
"Hey, Ash. Hey, Miss Calaway," Mackenzie greeted with a polite smile. "Need any help with stuff?"
Ashlynn grinned at her friend and future sister. "Sure, Kenzie. The more, the merrier. Plus, we've got to make sure Mom doesn't forget her lucky charm or whatever she uses to win matches."
Alexandra joined the laughter, her fingers ruffling Ashlynn's hair affectionately. "I don't need luck, just skill and a touch of chaos. But hey, a lucky charm won't hurt. Maybe I should bring that old pendant your dad gave me."
John leaned against the doorframe, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. "The pendant from our first official date? That's a good idea. I think it's in the top drawer of the dresser."
While the girls continued to organize clothes and essentials, John strolled toward the bedroom. The door creaked open, and he reappeared, holding a delicate silver pendant with a small, glistening sapphire. The pendant held sentimental value, a token of the time when their relationship was budding.
"Here you go, Babe," John said, putting the necklace around her neck. "May it bring you luck and remind you of the chaos we've weathered together."
Alexandra's eyes softened as she clutched the pendant. "Thank you, John. For everything."
As the preparations continued, Ashlynn couldn't resist a teasing comment. "See, Mom, even you have a soft side."
Alexandra shot her daughter a mock glare. "Don't get used to it. Softness is overrated. Now, where's my leather jacket?"
In the midst of their spirited packing, the house felt alive with a sense of camaraderie. The bond between Alexandra, John, and their daughters formed an unspoken pact of support, understanding, and shared laughter.
While the trio of women organized essentials, John lingered, watching with a mix of pride and affection. Alexandra, with the pendant now hanging from her neck, moved with a quiet determination that bordered on elegance. Each item packed was a silent affirmation, a step toward the squared circle where she'd face the challenges awaiting in Phoenix.
Eventually, the bags were packed, and Alexandra stood at the threshold of her home, her kingdom of shadows and secrets. John, Ashlynn, and Mackenzie flanked her, a makeshift court ready to send their queen into battle.
"Phoenix awaits," Alexandra declared, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of determination and something deeper—an acknowledgment of the familial bonds that fueled her strength.
John wrapped his arm around her shoulders, a silent promise echoing in the embrace. Ashlynn and Mackenzie stood on either side, forming a tableau of unity.
"Go show them what a real queen looks like," Ashlynn said, her voice carrying a pride that transcended the casual banter.
With a final glance at her makeshift court, Alexandra stepped into the awaiting car, the engine roaring to life. The door closed with a definitive thud, sealing the departure.
“Hey girls, I got a plan.”
John smiled at them, as the car rolled away from the curb, the trio standing in the driveway watched, the unspoken bond of family and love intertwining with the echoes of the rumbling engine—a symphony of support propelling Alexandra into the awaiting chaos of the wrestling world.
“Let’s surprise your mother at the show, we still have time to fly out and see her in person. What do you guys say?”
He looked at them both and they smiled with a nod, before disappearing into the house to follow after her on another flight. This surprise would be great.
A Champions Speech
Phoenix, Arizona
11/30/23
The scene opens with Alexandra standing in the center of a dimly lit room, the Bombshell Roulette Championship gleaming over her shoulder. Her eyes pierce through the camera, a storm of determination swirling within. The idea of another chance at Tempest was fresh in her mind, even with everything going on with her family. She decides to address her opponent, the fans, and everyone backstage.
“In the world of Bombshell Roulette, uncertainty is the only certainty. The Wheel of Fate, unpredictable and capricious, is our guide tonight. You might wonder, does it faze me? Not in the slightest. Because, my friends, adaptability is the cornerstone of my legacy. I’ve lasted this long in this industry, because of my ability to adapt to whatever is thrown my way. No matter who is in that ring with me.”
She gestures toward the vibrant wheel, each segment a potential game-changer.
“You see, some may fret about the unknown—the precarious nature of what stipulation this wheel might decree. But I thrive in the unknown. It doesn't matter if it's a Tables Match, a Submission Only bout, or a Last Woman Standing. The canvas may change, but the artistry remains mine and mine alone.”
Her words resonate with a quiet determination, a warrior's assurance.
“Every match is a canvas, and I am the artist. New, fresh and ready to be turned into a masterpiece of my own creation. Whether it's scaling heights in a Ladder Match or delving into the brutality of a Steel Cage, I am prepared. I am adaptable. This wheel is but a reminder that, in the chaos of Bombshell Roulette, I am the calm in the storm.”
The crowd listens in rapt attention, a sea of faces captivated by the confidence exuding from the Bombshell Roulette Champion.
“Some might ask, "What if the wheel lands on a stipulation you've never faced?" To them, I say, there's a first time for everything. Every challenge is an opportunity. I've faced the uncharted before, and each time, I've emerged victorious.”
She paces the ring, the spotlight capturing her every move.
“So, let the wheel spin. Let Lady fate reveal her hand. Whatever stipulation it lands on, know this—I am ready. Ready for the calculated brutality of a Steel Cage, the high-stakes drama of a Last Woman Standing, or the strategic precision of a Submission Only. This wheel may decide the battlefield, but victory... that's a foregone conclusion. Humble in victory, humble in defeat right?”
She paused for a moment, thinking about her opponent.
“Tempest, the towering force from Honolulu, Hawaii, carries an air of unpredictability that sets her apart in the Bombshell division. Unlike others who stand steadfast, she seems to ebb and flow, appearing when the wind of opportunity blows in her favor. There's a transient quality to her presence, a sense that she's not tethered to the relentless grind of the wrestling world. While others might be fixtures in the locker room, tirelessly honing their craft, Tempest operates on her terms, a lone wanderer in the landscape of competition.”
Alexandra paused before continuing.
“In the arena of Sin City Wrestling, where dedication and resilience often define a career, Tempest's sporadic appearances have raised eyebrows. Her approach is more enigmatic, choosing when to unleash her colossal presence. Some might see it as a strategic advantage, a way to conserve energy for the decisive moments. Others, however, might question the commitment to the everyday battles that define the true essence of a wrestler's journey. Tempest, it seems, is a tempest indeed—arriving with fury and vanishing just as swiftly, leaving the echoes of her dominance in her wake.”
She compared her opponent to the very thing her name comes from. A Tempest.
“People have asked me what it’s like to be facing someone who stole my chances to rule during the Queen for a day tournament. Tempest, the "Monster Heel" from the tropical haven of Honolulu, Hawaii. Quite the tale you've got there, Tempest, from paradise to the squared circle. But you see, your story doesn't intimidate me; it intrigues me. We're cut from different cloths, you and I. But in that ring, we both are powerhouses.”
She leans against a table backstage, the Bombshell Roulette Championship gleaming beside her.
“You're a powerhouse, a brawler, a living force of nature. Your favorite moves read like a list of catastrophic events, each one capable of tearing through opponents. Bear hug, Exploder suplex, Air Raid Siren — formidable, no doubt. But, Tempest, your physicality is not what sets you apart; it's your mindset. I won’t discount what you’ve done in the business or in your life. However I won’t just lay down for you.”
She pauses, the weight of experience evident in her eyes.
“You've faced scorn, battled bullies, and your journey led you from the Peace Corps to being a bounty hunter. Now, you stand here, a monster in the world of professional wrestling. But, Tempest, while you thrive on the "fight or flight" instinct, I have a different philosophy. While I’ve faced my fair share of enemies, bullies and otherwise, I’ve accomplished things that most people only dream of.”
The Bombshell Roulette Championship represents more than gold for Alexandra; it symbolizes resilience.
“Ninety-five days, Tempest. Ninety-five days of proving that size, power, and a relentless fighting style aren't the only keys to success. It's about resilience, adaptability, and the fire within. You might have the size advantage, the powerhouse moves, but in this ring, it's about more than raw strength. It’s about cunning and mindgames as well. All the strength in the world doesn't compare to technical abilities. You know, going back to that Queen for a Day tournament, you remember, the one win you have over me, the one that lit that fire, for that, you have my respect. But you should know that even my respect for you won't stop me from showing you the very fire you ignited.”
She holds up the Bombshell Roulette Championship.
“This, Tempest, is a testament to the fights I've faced, the giants I've toppled, and the monsters I've conquered. You might be a monster heel, but I am the embodiment of Bombshell resilience. You got one over on me the first time around. I will give you that. I will give credit where credit is more than due. But if you feel that coming into this match will have the same outcome as last time, I’m not that same person you described before.”
The camera zooms in as Alexandra's eyes flash with determination.
“Our clash on Climax Control won't just be a battle of moves; it'll be a war of philosophies. The powerhouse against the strategist, the Monster Heel against the Bombshell Roulette Champion. Your Amazon Prime and Implant Buster, they might be devastating, but they won't extinguish this fire.”
She smirks confidently.
“I've faced monsters, Tempest, and I've left each encounter with my head held high. Climax Control will be no different. Your monster aura might intimidate others, but I see through it. You're just another challenge, another mountain to climb. And when the dust settles, the Bombshell Roulette Championship will still be around my waist.”
Alexandra stands in front of the Sin City Wrestling banner, her expression unwavering, determined. The Bombshell Roulette Championship is draped over her shoulder, a symbol of her reign.
“Tempest, let's not dance around the obvious. You're big, powerful, and you bring a storm with you into the ring. But here's the thing about storms; they can be weathered. They might shake the foundations, but they don't last forever. And when the storm clears, what remains standing?”
She looks directly into the camera, her gaze piercing.
“The Bombshell Roulette Championship has weathered storms before. It's been through wars, witnessed giants falling and monsters being tamed. Tempest, your size might be a challenge, but it's one I accept willingly. You see, I don't just step into the ring; I strategize.”
The championship glints as she adjusts it on her shoulder.
“It's not about overpowering you, Tempest; it's about outsmarting you. It's about finding the chinks in the armor, exploiting the weaknesses, and turning the tide in my favor. Amazon Prime and Implant Buster might be devastating finishers, but they're not invincible. If anyone’s been around the industry for any real length of time, they know how to adapt, how to counteract when a move comes their way. And trust me after our last meeting, I’ve been working on that.”
She smirks, a hint of confidence in her demeanor.
“I've watched your matches, studied your moves, and I know where the vulnerabilities lie. It's not about going toe-to-toe in a power struggle; it's about finesse, timing, and precision. Every powerhouse has a blind spot, Tempest, and I'm adept at finding it.”
Her fingers drum against the championship, a rhythmic beat of assurance.
“Climax Control won't just be a test of strength; it'll be a showcase of strategy. You bring the storm; I bring the calm. When the bell tolls, and the clash begins, it won't be about who can hit harder; it'll be about who can think faster. I've faced monsters before, and I've emerged victorious not just because I hit harder but because I think smarter.”
Alexandra took the time to pause, her hand resting on the Bombshell Roulette Championship.
“Tempest, we go way back, don't we? You and I, we've danced this dance before. You managed to pin me once, and credit where it's due, that victory in the Queen for a Day tournament was yours. But let's not get lost in the past; let's talk about the present, the now, the fire you lit in me that's been burning for ninety-five days.”
She runs her fingers over the Bombshell Roulette Championship, a tangible reminder of her reign.
“You see, that loss was a catalyst. It was the spark that ignited something within me, a flame that refuses to be extinguished. You made me question, you made me reevaluate, and most importantly, you made me fight harder than ever. Ninety-five days, Tempest. Ninety-five days of proving that I am not a one-hit-wonder, that I am the constant force in the realm of Bombshells.”
The intensity in her eyes grows as she speaks.
“Climax Control is our battleground once again, and this time, the stakes are higher than ever. Bobbie Dahl awaits, and I won't let anyone stand between me and December 2 Dismember. Tempest, you might have had your moment in the sun, but this is my time, my era. And nothing will stand between me and facing Bobbie Dahl again.”
She steps closer to the camera, the championship casting a shadow on her face.
“The Bombshell Roulette Championship is more than gold and leather; it's a testament to my resilience, my dominance. I've faced challenges, I've overcome, and now, it's your turn to stand in my path. Tempest, you know what I bring to the table, and I know what you're capable of. This won't be a walk in the park. It'll be a war, a clash of two titans, each fighting for their right to rule.”
Her voice drops to a low, almost menacing tone.
“The fire you ignited, Tempest, it's a raging inferno now. You'll feel its heat, its intensity. I won't let anything, anyone, extinguish it. Climax Control will be the canvas where I paint the picture of my triumph, the stepping stone to December 2 Dismember. You beat me once, but this time, there's more at stake, and I won't leave anything to chance.”
The camera slowly zooms out as Alexandra stands tall, the championship on her shoulder, her eyes fixed on an image of her opponent, ready for the impending battle on Climax Control. Tempest had put Alexandra on the mat before, this time, it would be a different outcome.
