[Christian Underwood]

Please post all roleplays here! Have fun and good luck!

[Frankie Holliday]

Here we are.

Actually, here I am.

I will tell you, I don’t belong here. I’m not supposed to be here.

The blast from the past tournament was not meant for someone like me to win is it?

Think about it. I’m having my third match in my life in two weeks. In my first match, I had to win a triple threat match, the only one of this tournament. Then I had to beat a former world champion.

And I did both of those things. You may not like how I did it. You may think it was cheap and taking the shortcut. And you’d be correct. But there’s never been a person who didn’t take a shortcut or cut a corner or two. This is results based. It doesn’t matter “how” you get there, just that you do. And I have.

And now, the deck is now stacked against me like never before. Two “legends” seek to take what they believe is already theirs anyway. They both have done it all in wrestling multiple times over and I have… a couple of wins to my name. They are multi-time champions, hall of farmers. I’m just getting started. They are greats! I… am just… here.

No man, I don’t belong here at all.

But my goal is to shake things up. It’s too static around here. Too familiar. I have to change things.

Winning this when no one truly believes that I can? That’s a good spark. And it all takes one spark.

And then it all burns.

You will believe.

Trust me.

Middle school might just be the worst of all three phases.

Hormones take over and they mess with our brains. The standards of everything changes. All of a sudden you are tasked with being responsible, while also having to deal with your peers who now judge you even harsher than usual.

And let’s face it, pre-teens, and teens in general, are assholes. I was, you were, everyone is an asshole when they’re 12-14. We do things that are just out of nowhere random, and cruel. We fight over dumb shit. We decide that we need to pull the fire alarm for no good reason when it’s cold as fuck outside. Just because we can. We start judging the fuck out of others for what they wear, because if you don’t have the latest fashions, you’re obviously a poor. And man, the fashions of the 2010’s were weird as fuck.

Everyone had those stupid skinny jeans. Everyone was wearing button up shirts with suspenders and bowties? And the goddamn handlebar mustache came back for no discernible reason?

But, I digress.

And to top it all off, you then have to learn a bunch of boring, uninteresting shit, and then you can be scolded and told by your teachers that the shit is actually useful. Do you spend your days dealing with converting decimals into fractions or mixed numbers? No. No you don’t.  Unless you’re an engineer I suppose. But, if you’re an engineer and you’re watching this… well… right on. But I’m sure you don’t enjoy converting decimals into mixed numbers.

The point is, most of middle school is spent with the students being given an oddly large amount of responsibility. There is no more hand-holding for the most part. All the while, you’re experiencing the changes in your mind and body and you have to just deal with that shit. It’s a confusing time, and it causes people to lash out in anger because we’re all fucking lost.

And it doesn’t get any better from here.

1:36am

*Bangbangbangbangbangbang*

I could hear it, and it stirred me from sleep. What the hell is making that noise? I rubbed the sleep from my eyes as it came again.

*Bangbangbangbangbangbang*

I sat up. It was coming from downstairs. I looked over at the clock and I saw it’s 1:36am. I was now awake as I was unsure of what in the world was happening. Once again it happened.

*Bangbangbangbangbangbang*

I was now fully aware of what’s going on, and it was someone knocking on the door. Who the hell is knocking in the door at this hour? Why hadn’t my mom or Charlie answered it? What is going on?

I got up out of bed and staggered my way downstairs. Once again, before I get there.

*Bangbangbangbangbangbang*

“Who is it?” I call out. Obviously, you don’t open the door for strangers. But as I round the bend to see the door, through the curtains I can see a police officer. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere than here. Which wasn’t great. I cautiously opened the door.

“Hello sweetheart, my name is Officer Pappas. Is your dad home?” He said, his tone was polite but firm.

“Yeah.”  I answered.

“Could you get him for me?”

“What’s going on?” I asked, since it was odd that the cops would be at the door this early in the morning.

He sighed and pointed behind him, where there were more cops and they had my mother in handcuffs, sitting on the ground.”

“Is that your mom?” He asked.

“Yeah.” I answered.

“Your mom was driving under the influence.” He explained. “We need to talk to your dad.”

“Okay.” I said with a shrug and marched away. I went up the stairs to my parents bedroom where Charlie was still sound asleep. Another day where he drank himself to this point.

I walked into the room and tugged at his arm.

“Dad. The cops are here.”

No response. He was laying on his back, and after seeing his stomach go up and down, I knew he was alive. I tugged and pulled a little harder to try and stir him as gently as possible.

“Dad. Wake up.”

Still nothing.

Finally, I walked into the bathroom and got a small cup and filled it with water. It was my only recourse. I went back into their room and flung the light switch and lit up the room, before splashing the water on him. His eyes flung open and he groaned, taking a minute to collect himself and obviously he was pissed about being woken up.

“WHAT THE FUCK!”  He shouted.

“Dad. The cops are here.”

Charlie looked down for a moment, internalizing what I said to him.

“Why?” He finally asked. “Did you do something?”

“No. It’s mom.”

He sighed, leaning over and putting his feet on the floor, before rubbing his face and eyes.

“Fuck.” He mumbled to himself before getting up, and stomping down the stairs to the door. I followed him and kept a safe distance.

“This better be good, assholes.” He said, still very angry.

“Sir, my name is officer Pappas and I’m with the Milwaukee police department. Is that your wife?” The officer again pointed at my mom, handcuffed and sitting on the ground.

“Yes.” Charlie replied, now sobering up.

“We found her on route 18 a few blocks from here, she was driving and swerving all over the road. We pulled her over and she was slurring her words and passed out in the car before we finished questioning her. ”

“Shit.” was Charlie’s only response.

“Do you know if your wife drinks?”

“No. It must be the pills.” Charlie replied.

“Pills?”

“She took a pill for sleeping. It’s.. shit…"

“It’s Ambien, dad.” I helped answer.

“Yeah, that’s it. Ambien.”

“Okay, well, just so you know, she’s going to be placed under arrest for DUI and she’s gonna spend the night in jail. She’ll be at the district 2 station. We’ve gone ahead and called for a tow of the car, and it’s going to be impounded. Is it in your name, sir?”

“Yeah.. Fuck.”

“Okay, So, once we get all the particulars and everything, she’ll be free to go, and we’ll give you a call to come get her, and the car, and we’ll go from there.”

“Fine.”

Charlie and officer Pappas exchanged information, and just like that, my mother was taken to jail. Once they drove off, Charlie was more annoyed than anything. He didn’t say anything to my mom, he just sat at the dinner table, and began going through papers which had the car’s information. He laid it out, and then turned to me.

“You can go back to bed.” He just coldly stated without any hint of feeling. There was no comfort in his voice.

I went back to bed shortly thereafter.

Luckily this was the summertime, so I didn’t have school.

Following this, my mother’s license was suspended and she could no longer drive me to school. Charlie wasn’t happy about that at all. His resentment towards my mother only grew. I don’t know if he ever cared at all that she could have died that day. Or that she needed serious help.

My mom ended up filing the paperwork so that I could then catch the bus to school instead.

It was 6th grade. Sheila was gone, and Mark wasn’t really even talking to me anymore. My life was a mess.

I was alone. The only things I had were music and the internet.

I remember that first bus ride and seeing all the kids and feeling…dirty. There was something just less accommodating about riding the bus like this. This is middle school, but there’s still small children on the bus, since MAS is one big school. It’s just separated into different parts. But the bus was awful. I could smell the people going through puberty. I remember kids trying to mask their funk with anything. One kid I had to sit next to smelled like peppermint so much I wanted to gag. I didn’t want this. At all. This was just the beginning of my middle school journey too. Ugh.

I had a lot of advantages in school, and one was the fact that I was a year older than most in my grades, because the cutoff for registration is September 1st. So therefore, because I was born on the 11th, I had to wait a whole other year. So I had a year of extra preparation. That came in handy. I was already learning so much, so for me, most of school from a difficulty standpoint was non-existent.

The real problem for me was that everything was boring. Everything but science, that was at least somewhat interesting. I did everything else, but a great deal of the time I was off somewhere else. I’d daydream a lot. I was just so far ahead that I really just stopped caring. I didn’t really need to apply myself at this point. It took a minimal amount of effort for me to ace most tests, quizzes and exams. I just wasn’t interested in anything other than science. Because it was practical.

Sure, I could talk about plural pronouns or ancient civilizations like Mesopotamia, but it’s really not that serious.

My new classes were filled with the kids from the other classes I would see in the hallway from time to time, but I didn’t know any of them, nor did I care to. I was still pretty upset that Sheila was gone. I just tried to move through this section of school as quickly and painlessly as possible. Just get it over with.

But pain is inevitable in middle school.

I started to get stares as I walked through the hallway. Boys were checking me out. Girls would mutter under their breath. Because I didn’t feel the need to talk to anyone, nor did I have a boyfriend, or girlfriend… Again, at the age of 12, I was an outcast. I was weird. I was a loser. But, I just did my work. The one person I could stand being around, was gone. I didn’t want to deal with any of it. It was all pain.

The body grows and changes. I, like any other adolescent, experienced these changes. All of a sudden, I had to get bras and hair was growing in strange places. I had zits and sometimes they were massive and stuck out like a sore thumb. My voice would crack  I also developed this strange sensation. I don’t know why, but I began to just automatically dislike other girls. Like, seething, burning hatred for no reason. I have heard and read that this is something women do. And I know it’s true because I ended up really disliking this one girl.

Melissa Paur.

Even saying her name now makes me annoyed.

Melissa didn’t really ever do anything to me. She was just in my class for the four main subjects and gym. I got away from her in home economics, which was nice, and art. But for some reason, I didn’t like her. She rubbed me the wrong way. I wasn’t jealous or envious of her. I just… didn’t like her. She was normal looking I guess. But she was overly cheery, and she was popular.

And I hated her guts.

Every day I saw her, I hated her more. It drove me crazy. I was in this weird competition with her and she didn’t even know it. I wanted to beat her at everything. I was smarter than her, prettier than her, I was better than her. Melissa was always nice to me as well. Even though I was the “quiet girl” in the classes. She would see me getting my stuff and just say “Hi Franchesca” to me.

And I hated it.

“Shut up!”
“Don’t talk to me, you don’t know me!”
“Who the hell do you think you are!”
“You are not the future, I am! I will be the president! I will be an astronaut! Not you!”
“You’re not even smart! Or pretty!”


These were things I shouted to her in my head.

I needed to do something about her. And I didn’t even know why.

Yeah… middle school started just so terribly from a social standpoint.

My parents had their own issues, and I had no one to help me understand these changes, and curb the angst.

Until I did, oddly enough in 7th grade art class.

And then I messed that up too…


Let’s get started, shall we? Let’s spark a little fire.

Laura Phoenix.

What in the world is going on with these old folks trying to reclaim their old glory?

Laura, what are you doing?
Laura, it’s not worth it.
Laura, you had your time. It has passed.
Laura, stop trying to steal the spotlight from your own family.
Laura, your daughter is literally a champion in Sin City Wrestling. Why aren’t you supporting her?
Laura, why are you doing this to your daughter?

You do realize that even participating in this just overshadows your daughter, because she could never reach the heights you set? Why would you do that? You set this bar for your daughter, and now, you’re just trying to make it more and more difficult for her to clear it. Why hurt your daughter in such a way?

Look at the card for Into the Void, Laura, you, you are higher on the card than your own daughter. Why steal her shine like that?

Greed? Envy? Jealousy?

Or, maybe you just didn’t think about it. Maybe you’re just selfish. Or, perhaps you are an addict. Yes. that’s it. You have all the telltale signs.

You crave the spotlight, just like Mikah does. You want so bad to hear your name called just one more time. One more run. One last dance with the big time. And you let it get into your head. That’s why you entered, isn’t it? That’s why you did this to poor Bella. Because you lack the willpower and self-control to stop yourself. You’re probably not even aware you are doing it until now, huh? You are hurting your daughter and you don’t even realize it.

It’s how addicts work. They can’t see past the next fix.

You beat Sam Marlowe and the first thing you do is pat yourself on the back. You want it from everyone else don’t you? So, here, let me say, congratulations. Keep up the good work. Keep pushing your daughter’s career aside for your own moment. I for one, am all for it. I just wonder how she feels about it? I’m sure on the outside, she’s happy for you and wanting you to have one last day in the sun. But you?  You just made her an afterthought and you don’t even care.

“She’s doing her own thing” you’ll say in defense. But… she’s still always trying to live up to your standards, you are her mother, after all. And I think the best irony of the whole thing is, you won on Mother’s day. Just a little extra knife twist into her back there. I love it. That’s a really great touch I didn’t see coming, but hey, life is full of surprises isn’t it?

Bella can do her own thing, but it’s not the level you achieved, is it? You’re a multi-time champion, a hall of famer, and now, out to prove you still got it. The fact is, Bella will always be compared to you, and every time you step between the ropes, you do her more harm than good, and you magnify just how far behind you she is. I mean, that’s a cruel thing to do to somebody. Especially your own daughter.

But you know, I kind of dig it. I didn’t think you had that kind of thing in you, Laura!
You’ve got full “fuck them kids” with this and I’m here for it. 

But, again, you can’t help it. You need this. Retirement can and should be permanent. Just sit back, relax and enjoy life. Live vicariously through your daughter. But no, you selfishly parade yourself out here, yet again, when it is completely unnecessary. Because you need a fix, Laura. You’re a junkie, hooked on the rush of adrenaline. You need it hooked into your veins. You crave the spotlight, you would cast anyone and everyone aside to get it.

And the sad truth is, most addicts don’t know what they’re doing, because they are only focused on what they need. It isn’t until they are told, and given an intervention that they can finally come to terms with it. Consider this our intervention, Laura.

You are hurting your daughter, Laura.
She doesn’t need you doing this to her, Laura.
It is time to STOP, Laura.

I know you haven’t liked what you have heard. You’re insulted and offended that I said the things I’ve said. Good. That’s the point. Because deep down, as you think about it, you’ll realize I’m correct and you need to make a change.

Because as much as greedy junkie Laura works for me as an observer, it doesn’t work for anyone else. If it was up to me, I’d love for you to move on after I win this match, and you would actually face Bella for her title and then take it from her. I mean, that would just be the ultimate. Show that kid how it’s done! Show your daughter what a real champion looks like!

Oh, that would be a dream.

But, no. I have bigger ambitions other than helping you get some perspective. I have an entire company to change, and well… I don’t have the time to focus on you enough. You’re temporary. Part-time. I don’t need you around and you are not in the long-term plans I have.  So you, along with Mikah, will be brushed aside to make room for those that are required for this to work.

You cannot stand in the way of progress, Ms. Phoenix. The machine will roll on. But, I will in fact do you a huge favor and actually show Bella the respect she deserves and not rob her of her just due like you have done. I will put you on the other side of the barricade where you should have stayed. We all will be must better off when this is accomplished. Obviously, it will benefit Bella the most, since she won’t have to deal with her mother stealing the spotlight from her ever again.

Think of it in terms of quitting cold turkey. You’ll be in the ring one more time at Into the Void, and then… you just won’t be anymore. Just like that. Done. Finished. And you get back to exactly where you should be considering all you have waiting for you.

Of course, you could not heed my warning. You can, and you will, rush headlong, angry at me for days like today. And then, you will find out that it’s a fight you aren’t going to win. And then, when you return home, crushed and a failure, you can look at yourself in the mirror and realize just how right I was.

In the immortal words of Kevin O’Shea:

“You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

And you will.

Trust me.


Now let’s turn up the heat, and really light things up!

The great Mikah.

After all the time spent on this build up, I expected more, and I must say: I find myself unimpressed.

Yes, I don’t think you are that good. At all.

I know, what do I know, right? I’m just some child and you are the great Mikah and you’re all like “Look at me, I’m Mikah, I think everyone else should bend the knee and recognize my greatness…” and  oh my god I’m already bored of this. Yadda yadda yadda, you think you’re good. I nailed that impression by the way.

Again, what is it with “legends” of this company who refuse to get out of the way and let the future take hold like it’s supposed to? Why do people like you always feel the need to come back and try and take the spotlight in this desperate attempt to reclaim former glory? It is maddening to see this. And also very sad. You had your time and that time is now over. You’re not going to bring it back. And really, you shouldn’t want to.

Think about it for a second. When you, the great Mikah, when you were at the height of your abilities, your prime if you will, you still couldn’t and didn’t dominate like you think you did. You had a respectable run and now, it’s all been eclipsed. 3 time champion? Eclipsed. Longest reigning champion? Eclipsed. And let’s just be real, the people you beat for the title? Raynin? Mercedes Vargas? Crystal whatever-her-last-name-is-this-week? Bombshells of a bygone era. And the same Crystal beat you as well. I don’t know about anyone else here, but that doesn’t scream domination. The people you beat during that historic reign? Rayin again, Amanda Cortez? Mercedes and Crystal? Melanie Gabriele? The proverbial “‘member berries”

Come on now, Mikah, you can’t seriously think this is good. Like, you just can’t.

What I found interesting is that you hand-picked Samantha Marlowe and then she ended that historic reign. So, whoops that doesn’t scream domination either. It screams “I was very fortunate, and I’m parlaying that into a legacy of being great. You’re great by default from where I stand. You were a champion when the champions weren’t around.

Luckily for you, Sam didn’t make the finals. That certainly would have been embarrassing to lose to her again. No, it is truly a blessing from above for you that she didn’t make it. Falling on your face again? That would just be the worst, wouldn’t it?

No, wait, it would be the worst, if you lose to me.

I mean, come on, you’re Mikah, you’re not supposed to lose to somebody like me.
“I’m new, I’m beneath you.”
“I don’t belong in the same ring with you.”
“Other typical generic bitchy thing that you would say about anyone else.”

I know, I know, your whole thing is, you come in, you win some stuff, you get bored, and then you leave before you can really be exposed and then you sit on the top of the mountain and claim superiority. You’re the best, when the rest of the competition isn’t really good. When it is, you scurry away and retire. Literally the best you’ve faced for that title is Crystal, and she doesn’t even bother anymore.

This whole thing was a fucking decade ago by the way.  Like… why bother?

When we really look at it, you are less and less impressive. What this signals is that you are still trying to justify your legacy, when it is hollow. It crumbles under scrutiny. Perhaps this is the reason you want Amber to come back. So you have someone to prop you up and make you look better than you actually are. You won other titles in unification matches for fucks sakes. If anything screams stat-padding, it’s that. And now, you enter the Blast From the Past. Just to prove you’re as good as you think you are.

This just reeks of desperation and a lack of confidence in your own legacy.

But hey, you are in the finals. You did beat… hold on… Cassie Wolfe? Christ. Oh, no, wait, you did beat Alicia Lukas. Like I said, you win some stuff and then you get bored. So kudos to you are in order aren’t they? I’m sure that if you win this tournament, everyone will just look at the people in the tournament and think… “Yeah, that sounds about right.” Then you can crow about it all day. It still won’t change how you are viewed.

I will also opine that this is why you continue to want Mark Ward’s attention as his favorite and you just call yourself the best bombshell, when the reality is, nobody thinks of you when they think of all-time greats.

Misty? Set the bar.
Amy Marshall? Done it all.
Roxi Johnson? Ditto.
Amber Ryan: Completely overshadowed you.

Hell, even Alicia Lukas, Evie Jordan, Crystal Whotever and Sam Marlowe have carved their names in history here.

You’re the one everyone forgets about. You are a shooting star, Mikah. Here one moment, gone the next. And people move on. They forget. And I know you really can’t stand that, can you? You want so bad to be in that class, but you… you just aren’t, and you never, ever will be.

You said it yourself, you just want to remind people you are good. Ney, great! You don’t care about the championship, you just want to win a tournament that you, in all honesty probably should, and then… you’ll leave again and feel good about it. I love that for you, you have created the best win-win scenario.

You win, and then you’re like “I’m so good, I won this tournament!”
You lose, and it’s “Tee-hee this was all a gag, I really don’t care. Retired again!”
 
I know, I’ve seen this movie before.

But there is good news for you, Mikah! There is a silver lining in all this. You, Mikah, have been given a very important task. You have a chance to be the savior you always wanted to be. You have a chance to make the biggest impact in Sin City Wrestling, maybe of all time. Doesn’t that sound appealing? It should be to someone like you. It’s extremely important that you accomplish this task.

Do you know what it is?

You have to win this match. You have to stop me.

You are the last hope for this place to stop me from going straight to the top right away. The last “great” “legend” to stop me before I get truly started in changing this company. Now, mind you, I don’t really count you in this changing. I will put you in the “Retired” list and that will be less work for me.

Besides, why would I want to change you? You’re perfect just the way you are. Insecure and proud of it. I love that about you. I love it for you. You can’t really find too many desperate, insecure, attention-whores in this day and age.

Wait, nevermind, Twitter, Onlyfans and Tik-Tok exist.

Okay, so you’re not that special. Still, Sin City Wrestling only has… like three of those too.

Come to think of it, we have too many Mikah’s around here. Well shit. This… this won’t do at all.

Yeah, see, this is why I have to move you to the “retired” section. There’s just… no room for you here anymore. Your spot? Your position? It’s already been filled. We have no need for you. We have upgraded models of you. You’re just obsolete Mikah.

I have big plans for changing and re-shaping this company, and the sooner you are out of it, the better. Don’t worry, you won’t be the only one I have to remove. There’s plenty this company doesn’t need. You’ll get your own section, like I said, and then you can observe from afar and make pithy comments and stuff. That’s your thing. But moving forward, there’s just no need for you to be part of this.

As with any athlete or worker in any company whose work isn’t up to snuff, there just comes a point where we have to let them go. It will be my time at some point as well, hell, it probably should have been in some cases sooner, but that’s not the point. I’m going to send you where you can have a permanent vacation away from all this and you don’t have to worry your pretty little head about it anymore. Your time, Mikah is up, and this is where we have to part ways.

After Into the Void, your services will no longer be required.

And you can fuck right off back to Hawaii. Again.

And we’ll forget all about you. Again.

But don’t worry, everything will be much better off without you.

Trust me.

[Laura Phoenix]

The second Laura stepped through the curtain, the noise from the arena gave way to the quiet hum of backstage. The rush of adrenaline still pulsed through her veins, but now it mixed with something else—relief, satisfaction... and pride.

And waiting for her, like gravity itself, was her family.

Bella reached her first. Before Laura could even get her gloves off, her daughter crashed into her, arms tight around her waist, laughing breathlessly.

“Okay... okay... I admit it,” Bella said, her words muffled against Laura’s shoulder. “I was wrong. So wrong. You... you killed it out there, Mom.”

Laura chuckled, brushing the damp hair from Bella’s face, her hand trembling only slightly now. “Told you, kid. You can’t keep a Phoenix down.”

Behind them, Malachi grinned, clapping her hard on the shoulder. Even stoic old Mal was grinning ear to ear, his daughter Máire bouncing in his arms.

“Jesus, Laura,” Mal said, shaking his head. “You didn’t just come back. You made a goddamn statement.”

Laura’s gaze softened as she reached for Máire, the little girl giggling as Laura pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“You see that, sweetheart? Grammy can still throw down.”

“Grammy RAWR!!!” Máire giggled, clapping her little hands.

Nick stepped up next, arms crossed, his face an unreadable mask—until the corner of his mouth tugged into a crooked smile.

“Well,” he huffed. “Guess I owe you an apology too.”

Laura raised an eyebrow at him, her smirk teasing. “Oh, do you now, husband?”

Nick chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “You made me eat every word tonight.”

“I’ll make you eat more later,” she shot back, winking at him.

He rolled his eyes before giving her a kiss, but there was no mistaking the pride in them. It wasn’t just pride in his wife as a fighter—it was pride in the woman who defied every expectation.

Aaron came bounding toward them, practically vibrating with energy, his grin stretched ear to ear.

“Mama, Mama! You were so awesome!” he cried, wrapping his small arms around her waist.

Laura crouched to his level, brushing the hair from his face. “You think so, champ?”

He nodded fiercely. “You’re the coolest. Ever.”

She hugged him tight, closing her eyes for a heartbeat, letting herself feel the weight of the moment. This—this was why she fought. Not just for herself... but for them.

Bella leaned against Malachi, a smile tugging at her lips, but there was something softer there too. Something reflective.

“Guess we were all wrong,” Bella admitted, her voice quieter now. “You didn’t just survive. You reminded them why you’re the head bitch in charge.”

Laura stood back up, rolling her shoulders, her body aching in ways she hadn’t felt in years... but it felt good. It felt right.

“That I did. And it felt great,” Laura said, her voice low, but fierce. “But this is just the start. Tonight was Amsterdam. Next stop…”

She glanced at Bella, their eyes locking.

“Paris,” they said together.

Bella grinned, but there was a flicker in her eyes—a shadow of something heavier. Laura caught it. She’d always caught it.

“We celebrate tonight,” Laura said gently, brushing a hand through Bella’s hair, like she used to when she was little. “But tomorrow? We keep our foot on the gas.”

Bella nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Well, we’ll head home for a bit and then, the foot stays on the gas. We both have our hands full for what is next.”

“Into the Void,” she whispered.

Laura smiled, but it was the smile of a predator now.

“They’re not ready for us.”

The moment lingered just long enough for the adrenaline to settle, and then the chaos of backstage life threatened to swallow them again—staff weaving past with headsets, techs calling cues, other wrestlers offering nods and pats on the back as they moved through the narrow corridors.

But Laura caught Bella’s wrist before the moment could fade entirely.

“Walk with me, kid.”

Bella blinked, but nodded. “Yeah... yeah, of course.”

They broke away from the group, leaving Nick and Mal exchanging knowing looks, Aaron bouncing excitedly between them, Máire still babbling about “Grammy smash!”

Mother and daughter walked in step, the hum of backstage dimming behind them as Laura guided them down a quieter hallway toward the locker rooms. The glow from the arena lights barely filtered through the narrow hallway vents, casting everything in a dull, muted haze.

Neither of them spoke at first. There was no need.

For the first time in weeks—hell, make it months—Bella wasn’t the center of attention. And she was okay with that. She glanced sideways at her mother, watching the way Laura rolled her still-taped wrists, the way she carried herself, taller somehow. She wasn’t just back—she was alive in a way Bella hadn’t seen in years.

And yet... that flicker hadn’t left her.

“Mom,” Bella finally broke the silence, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Can I ask you something?”

Laura glanced at her, eyebrow raised. “Since when do you need permission?”

Bella huffed a soft laugh, but it faded just as quick.

“You really think you can do this... full-time? I mean... do this, not just the match, but the schedule, the grind, the travel...” She trailed off, not quite able to say the rest out loud.

Laura stopped, turning to face her fully. The hallway was empty now. No crowd. No cameras. Just them.

“I wouldn’t have walked through that curtain if I didn’t think I could,” Laura said simply. “But I know what you’re really asking.”

Bella swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

Laura softened, brushing her knuckles against Bella’s cheek, like she had when she was a scared kid hiding from nightmares. “You’re wondering if I’ll lose myself in it again. If I’ll forget to be Mom... Grammy... wife... if I’ll burn myself out chasing the old ghosts.”

Bella’s throat tightened. “Yeah.”

Laura nodded, almost proud of her daughter for saying it. “It’s a fair fear. I had it, too.” She let the words hang for a beat before continuing, her voice softer now. “But I’m not that woman anymore, B. I know how to fight smarter. How to balance it. And I’ve got you to kick my ass if I forget. But it’s so much more than being in the ring for me. When I left my full-time in-ring career for an office job, I felt the pull then. Now here I am back in the ring and I can feel myself being a mentor to these women back here.”

Bella blinked fast, her tough shell cracking just a little. “And you have every right to feel that way, mom. You really do.”

Laura smiled, drawing Bella into a quick, fierce hug.

“Besides,” Laura murmured in her ear, “I’m not the only Phoenix who’s got the world watching right now. Paris? Into the Void? They’re expecting us both to show up swinging.”

Bella pulled back, finally letting the grin crack her face fully. “We always do, Mom. It’s what we do the best.”

Laura threw an arm over her daughter’s shoulder as they started walking again, both knowing that the fight in Amsterdam was over... but the real war?

That was waiting for them in Paris.

-----

Back Home For A Bit for some Rencon
New York, NY

The chaos of Amsterdam felt like a distant memory as the familiar sounds of home filled the Madison household. Aaron’s giggles echoed through the spacious living room, cutting through the soft hum of the TV and the rhythmic creak of the hardwood floor beneath Laura’s feet.

“Mama’s gonna get you!” Laura teased, chasing her son around the couch, both of them breathless with laughter.

Aaron shrieked, diving behind the armchair, only for Laura to double back and scoop him up with a triumphant roar. She spun him around in the air, both of them dissolving into giggles as she tickled his ribs.

From the kitchen, Nick leaned against the counter, arms folded, watching them with a crooked smile. These moments—these were the ones he’d missed most when Laura was on the road, and now that she was back, even if just for a few days, the house felt whole again.

“You two are gonna take down the whole living room if you keep it up,” Nick warned, though there was no heat in his tone.

“Tell that to Aaron,” Laura grinned, planting a kiss to her son’s messy hair. “Kid’s got energy for days.”

“Mama’s the fastest!” Aaron declared proudly.

Laura chuckled. “You better believe it! I’m even faster than daddy!”

The sound of the doorbell cut through the moment, and Laura glanced toward it, knowing exactly who it was. She set Aaron down gently, ruffling his hair.

“Go see what snacks your dad’s got hidden, champ. Mama’s gotta handle some business.”

Aaron bolted toward the kitchen, and Laura wiped the sweat from her brow, rolling her shoulders as she moved to the front door. She opened it to find Demetrius Spinelli standing there, as punctual as ever, a thick manila folder in hand.

He adjusted his glasses, offering a knowing smirk.

“You never stop, do you, Phoenix?” he asked by way of greeting.

“Would you respect me if I did?” Laura shot back, stepping aside to let him in.

Spinelli chuckled under his breath. “Fair point.”

He handed her the folder as they moved into the office off the main hallway, the sounds of Aaron and Nick fading into the background.

“Everything you asked for. Every Bombshell currently active on the SCW roster. And a little extra on your two opponents for Paris,” Spinelli said, settling into the armchair like he owned the place.

Laura flipped open the folder, her eyes scanning the meticulously organized tabs and bullet points. She smirked. She always did appreciate a man who knew how to do his homework.

“Mikah’s file is thick,” Spinelli commented. “Hell, I had to condense it just to keep it from turning into a novel. She’s a multi-time Bombshell World Champion, Roulette Champion, multiple-time tag champ... and let’s not forget, BFTP 2022 winner. She’s the real deal, and she knows it.”

Laura’s lips twitched, but there was no smile in her eyes. “Oh, I know who Mikah is. I had the privilege of talking to Lachlan about her a few years ago. The question is... does she know who I am?”

Spinelli smirked. “I think that she’d be a fool if she didn’t but I think she’s about to.”

Laura flipped to the next section—marked Frankie Holliday. The contrast between the files was almost comical. Where Mikah’s was dense with accolades, Frankie’s was slim, but not empty.

“Frankie Holliday... practically a rookie,” Spinelli said. “But don’t underestimate her. She clawed her way into the BFTP finals this year. People are already calling her the dark horse. She’s scrappy, unpredictable. She’s not afraid to throw hands with anyone, even if she gets bloody doing it.”

Laura nodded slowly, absorbing every word.

“Good. I don’t want easy. I want hungry,” she murmured.

Spinelli leaned back, folding his arms. “You’ve got both ends of the spectrum, Laura. A living legend in Mikah, and a wildcard in Frankie. You ready for this?”

Laura closed the folder, her gaze turning flinty.

“Spinelli,” she said softly, but with steel in every syllable. “They have no idea how ready I am.”

She rose, already pulling the tape off her wrists as she walked toward the kitchen.

“Now, stay for dinner. You look like hell.”

Spinelli chuckled as he followed her. “I miss the days when you were almost polite.”

“And I miss when you would call me Valkyrie all the time,” Laura grinned over her shoulder. “That woman’s dead. But I make a mean spaghetti.”

“Ooo, with meatballs?”

“Is there any other kind?”

The house had settled into a calm hush by the time Laura sat back down at the kitchen table, the overhead light casting a soft glow on the now well-worn folder that Demetrius had left behind. The noise of Aaron’s cartoons faded to a lull from the other room, and Nick stood by the sink, nursing a beer, watching his wife with an expression that was half smirk, half admiration.

She flipped Mikah’s file back open, eyes scanning the history, the accolades, the familiar smug grin in every promo shot.

“She’s the Queen Bitch for a reason,” Laura muttered, tapping her finger on a shot of Mikah holding the Bombshells World title high above her head. “But the thing about Mikah is... she don’t give a damn about anyone but herself. She plays the game, yeah, but it’s on her terms. She thinks everyone else is beneath her.”

Nick arched a brow. “And she’s wrong... how?”

Laura cracked a grin. “She’s not wrong about most of ‘em. But I ain’t most of ‘em, Nick. Mikah underestimates people by default. She gets bored easy. She thinks this is all a foregone conclusion. That’s her biggest weakness.”

She shoved Mikah’s file aside, flipping to Frankie Holliday.

“This one... she’s the wildcard,” Laura said, her voice cooling. “Frankie’s green, but she’s got fight. She’s hungry. She’s reckless. She’s the kind who will take a shot she shouldn’t, just to prove she’s tough enough to stand in that ring with the big girls.”

Nick took a sip of his beer. “And that’s gonna get her hurt.”

Laura’s gaze hardened. “Exactly. She’s got more guts than sense right now. And that’s dangerous, for her and for Mikah. Frankie’s the chaos factor. She’s the type who could sneak one if we let her.”

She sat back, folding her arms.

“On paper, they couldn’t be more different. Mikah is all precision, calculated, polished. Frankie’s raw, scrappy, unpredictable. One thinks she’s untouchable. The other’s got something to prove.”

Nick smirked. “And you?”

Laura leaned forward, that glint in her eye returning.

“I’m the storm that neither of them sees coming,” she said, her tone low and venomous. “I’m the one who doesn’t fit the story they’re telling. They want it to be a clash of the veteran queen and the hungry rookie. Me? I’m the one who sets the goddamn fire under both of them.”

Nick let out a chuckle, shaking his head.

“You’re having fun with this, aren’t you?”

Laura allowed herself a grin as she closed the folder.

“Un poco. Because they’re both gonna find out the same thing at Into the Void. Doesn’t matter if you’re a queen or a rookie... you step in the ring with me?”

She stood, walking over to Nick, taking the beer from his hand, her smirk curling into something feral.

“You get burned.”

Nick chuckled softly as she sipped his beer, eyes narrowing at her with playful caution.

“Even after all this time I still need to be reminded to never to piss you off, Phoenix.”

She winked. “You’re smarter than Mikah and Frankie put together.”

-----

The camera sat steady on the tripod, its little red light blinking as it recorded. Laura didn’t need bells, whistles, or fancy editing. She had the truth, and that was sharper than any gimmick.

She sat at her kitchen table, arms folded, gaze locked on the lens like it owed her money.

“Well, here we are,” Laura said, voice smooth but carrying that quiet edge. “Into the Void. Paris. A triple threat that was built for headlines. You’ve got Mikah—the self-appointed queen of SCW—coming back to grace us with her presence. You’ve got Frankie Holliday—the upstart with a chip on her shoulder and something to prove.”

She smiled, slow and knowing.

“And then there’s me.”

Laura leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table.

“Now, I know the narrative. Hell, I’ve been in this business longer than some of you have been legal to drink. So I get it. The fans, the pundits, even some of the folks in the back... they see this match and they think they know the story. Mikah’s the icon. Frankie’s the future. And me?”

Her smirk widened, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m supposed to be the nostalgia act. The veteran getting her ‘one last ride.’ A fun little comeback story for the highlight reel.”

Her fingers drummed on the table, each tap deliberate.

“But here’s where that story falls apart. I’m not here because I need to prove anything. I’ve done it all. Titles, records, wars you’ve only seen in clip packages. My legacy is set. Cemented. I don’t need this match to validate me.”

She sat back, folding her arms again.

“But you know what, ladies? Proving you're the best? That never gets old. And that’s the difference between me and the two of you.”

Her gaze sharpened, like a hawk zeroing in.

“Mikah, you walk around with your nose so high in the air, I’m surprised you haven’t suffocated from your own ego. You think this is yours by default. Like the ring should bow to you just for showing up. But you’re so busy looking down on everyone, you haven’t noticed the ground shifting beneath your feet.”

A pause. A smirk.

“And Frankie, sweetheart... you’ve got heart. You’ve got fight. But heart without experience? That gets you hurt. You’re stepping into a world you don’t fully understand yet. You think earning your spot in this match was the hard part. Newsflash, kid—that was the easy bit. Now comes the lesson.”

Laura’s fingers laced together as she leaned into the camera, her voice dropping lower, dead serious.

“And let me make something perfectly clear to both of you. I’m not here to play nice. I’m not here to smile for the camera and trade catty barbs back and forth. You want to throw sass my way? You want to act cute, condescending, or cocky?”

A flash of teeth. All predator now.

“I will shut that down real quick.”

The words hung heavy, final.

“At Into the Void, I’m walking into that ring as the woman who doesn’t need to prove a damn thing. But I will remind every single person why I’m still the standard. Because while you’re busy worrying about status and statements, I’m coming to do what I’ve always done best.”

She stood, slow, deliberate, towering over the table.

“I’m coming to win.”

Laura reached forward, clicking off the camera with a snap of her fingers. The red light blinked out.

Message sent.

[Mikah]

“Frustrations.”
LOCATION: Kailua, Hawaii.
DAYS UNTIL THE MATCH: 5.
SCENE: 12
REC

Tuesday, May 13, 2025.
TIME:2:35 p.m..

The traveling around for the past few shows that SCW had been holding overseas took a bit of a toll on all of the kids and on Mikah and Kris as well. They had been trying their best to get their life on track and their sleep schedules somewhat organized but it was almost a lost cause. Mikah sighs as she looks at the clock and realizes that their sleep schedules were still all over the place. Ridley had yet to adjust and she was still asleep in Mikah’s and Kris’ bed but Kris was nowhere to be found. Mikah assumed he was in his art room, creating some sort of masterpieces or something to occupy his time and his brain. Mikah leans over and places a kiss on Ridley’s head as the toddler sleeps.

;;MIKAH “Sweet baby.”

There was something about the way that little kids sleep that just made them that much sweeter. Mikah smiles a little bit before getting out of bed and walking downstairs. She jumps a little as she sees Leighton sitting at the counter, going through all of the mail that they had acquired since they had been overseas. Leighton chuckles a little as she had caught her mother jumping.

::LEIGHTON “Get enough sleep?”

Mikah shrugs her shoulders a little bit.

;;MIKAH “We both know that I don’t acquire much sleep.”

Leighton chuckles a little bit as she looks at the mail once again. Both of them are a little startled as the almost six year old runs into the kitchen.

::MYLES “MOMMY! I wanna go surfing!”

Myles was always a ball of energy, especially after napping. Mikah smiles before lifting Myles up and hugging him.

;;MIKAH “Maybe in a little bit. Are you hungry or did you eat?”

Mikah looks at the almost six year old and then over to Leighton. Leighton shakes her head no as she pushes the mail to the side.

::LEIGHTON “No, he just woke up too. I checked on him right before you came downstairs.”

Myles nods his head as if to agree with what Leighton was saying. Mikah kisses the boy’s cheek before setting him down and walking over to the fridge and pulling out things to make grilled cheese sandwiches. Myles cheers a little bit as he loved grilled cheese.

::MYLES “Grilled cheese! Those are the best!”

Mikah smiles at her son’s love of grilled cheese sandwiches before looking at Leighton and she nods her head, insinuating that she too wanted a sandwich as well.

;;MIKAH “Did you enjoy your time in the many countries we visited, Leighton?”

Leighton nods her head as she gets up to help Mikah cook, knowing that Mikah’s knowledge in the kitchen and with cooking was limited.

::LEIGHTON “I did. I can’t wait to go to Paris, I hope we can spend some extended time there after the show is over. There’s a lot to see. Do you think it would be okay to spend two weeks there?”

The question was simple and Mikah didn’t see a problem with extending the trip.

;;MIKAH “I don’t think there’s a problem with that idea. I think spending some extra time in Paris is a wonderful idea, actually. Maybe we wouldn’t have to leave Hawaii until next Wednesday so we can have a little extra time in our house. And in the sun.”

Leighton nods her head in agreement with what Mikah was suggesting.

::LEIGHTON “I think that sounds perfect, actually.”

Leighton takes over on making the grilled cheese sandwiches as Mikah begins to set the table so that there was a spot for everybody at the table. She even sets one for Kris, not really knowing if he would come down to the kitchen or not.

::LEIGHTON “Are you ready for the final match between you, Laura Phoenix, and Frankie Holliday? I know that it’s an important match and it could decide what your future with SCW would be after the show is over.”

Mikah frowns a little bit as she didn’t realize that Leighton had paid much attention to her career or how the matches worked. Or how the booking worked.

;;MIKAH “I…think so. I mean, I’ve been to the finals of the tournament before and won it, so it’s not like it’s that much different.”

Leighton nods her head and Mikah watches as she finishes making the grilled  cheese sandwiches. She was still amazed that her daughter was so grown up and able to fend for herself and help otu with the kids so selflessly.

;;MIKAH “I didn’t know that you paid much attention to wrestling or what I did in SCW. It’s a little surprising.”

Leighton cracks a smirk as she looks over at Mikah.

::LEIGHTON “I know more than you probably realize. Just because I don’t voice my opinions about it or act like I’m interested, doesn’t mean that I’m not. It’s interesting and you’re fun to watch in the ring, so is Kris.”

A sharp pang of guilt hits Mikah’s stomach.

;;MIKAH “You would have really loved watching your father in the ring and on the microphone, Leigh. He was really such a natural at it. And he would have loved to share his knowledge about wrestling with you. And the love he had for this island. He had two loves in his life that weren’t human and that was Hawaii and wrestling. And he was so knowledgeable about both of them. I really wish that you could have gotten to know him as an adult, and not just a kid.”

It was always something that MIkah felt guilty about. But there wasn’t anything she could do; she couldn’t bring Christian back from the dead and she couldn’t change the past. The only thing she could do was share the knowledge of Leighton’s father with her, and that’s what she tried to do when she felt like she could bring it up.

::LEIGHTON “I know. You talk about him a lot, Mom. And I wish that I knew him better as well…”

Mikah could sense that there was something that Leighton wasn’t telling her but she stops for a moment as Myles grabs her hand, trying to get her attention.

::MYLES “Mommy, is the food ready yet? My belly’s hungry.”

Mikah doesn’t get a chance to respond as Ridley comes toddling into the kitchen, her hair all messy from sleeping so long.

;:RIDLEY[/b] “Mama…”

Mikah smiles as she walks over to the toddler and picks her up. She kisses Ridley’s cheeks and hugs her before walking over to the table and setting her down to get her ready to eat. Leighton plates the sandwiches and brings them over to the table. Mikah smiles as Myles climbs up onto a chair, eagerly.

;;MIKAH “Thanks, Leigh.”

Leighton nods her head at her mom and watches as Mikah grabs a sippy cup from the cupboard and then a juice pouch from the fridge for Myles. Mikah fills the cup up with milk for Ridley before walking over to the table. She sets the sippy cup down in front of Ridley and then opens the juice pouch for Myles and hands it to him.

::LEIGHTON “Can…we talk about something, Mom?”

Mikah nods her head as she finishes tearing Ridley’s grilled cheese sandwich up into small, bite sized pieces. She places another kiss on the toddler’s head before walking into the other room with Leighton. What Mikah doesn’t notice, is Leighton grabbing an envelope off the counter. Mikah sits on the couch and Leighton sits next to her, a nervous energy surrounding her a little bit.

;;MIKAH “Is everything okay, Leigh?”

Mikah didn’t like the nervous energy she could feel from her daughter’s body. She knew that there was something up but she couldn’t read what it was. Or understand the hesitation on Leighton’s face.

::LEIGHTON “Yeah…but I need to tell you something…”

Mikah frowns as Leighton didn’t seem to come right out and say it. The hesitation and nervousness made Mikah uneasy and she didn’t know what her daughter could be so hesitant to tell her.

;;MIKAH “Okay, you know that you can tell me anything, right?”

The hesitation and nervousness was now settled in Mikah as she watches her daughter shift a little uncomfortably in front of her. She holds a guilty look for a moment before handing Mikah the larger envelope. The envelope was heavier than expected.

Matte white, crisp edges, Leighton’s name printed in a clean, digital font that felt too sterile for something this intimate. No fanfare, no bold letters declaring “Your DNA Results Are In!” Just a quiet return address, a discreet logo, and the subtle weight of truth tucked inside. Mikah didn’t know what it meant and she frowns as she looks to Leighton for a little bit more of an explanation.

::LEIGHTON “I know that I should have asked for permission before I did it, but…I thought for mother’s day, I would get you an ancestry report of our family history. I wanted you to know about me and my biological father as well as whatever else that you could find out about the family genetics…but…I don’t really understand it. I only took your DNA, mine, and Kris’ to see how it lined up. But it shows yours and Kris’ as being related somehow.”

Mikah frowns a little bit, knowing that it wasn’t true. She knew that her and her husband were not even remotely related.

;;MIKAH “Well, that can’t be right…”

Mikah was one hundred percent sure that there was absolutely no way that her and Kris were related. Mikah might now have known her lineage very well, but she was completely sure that she was not related to her husband in any way, shape, or form.

::LEIGHTON “I don’t know…but that’s what they say…”

Leighton shrugs her shoulders and watches as Mikah pulls the paperwork out to read over it. She looks at the DNA that was collected and how it was compared. It showed that her DNA and Kris’ matched somehow but hers and Leighton’s did not match at all. She frowns a little bit, wondering how off the DNA ancestry kit could be.

;;MIKAH “This is wrong on all levels, it is even saying that you are not my daughter. And I’m pretty sure I was in the hospital room when I gave birth to you…”

Mikah frowns as she looks at the paperwork again, trying to make heads and tails out of what she was reading. But no matter how she read it, she couldn’t understand why it was saying what it was saying. She knew that she was Leighton’s father and she knew that she wasn’t related to Kris. But there it was in black and white.

::LEIGHTON “I. guess I didn’t see that part. Maybe they mixed up our results from somebody else.”

Mikah just shrugs her shoulders as she looks over the paperwork again. She thought if maybe she read it over several times, it would make more sense to her. But there was no way that she could believe what she was reading. She knew that giving birth to Leighton had happened and she knew that Leighton hadn’t been switched at birth with another baby because she looked similar to herself and had so many features of one Christian Othniel.

;;MIKAH “Maybe…did you send the packet in right after taking DNA?”

Mikah looks up to meet Leighton’s eyes, looking for an answer from her daughter. Leighton hesitates, trying to think back to when she actually too her DNA, Kris’, and Mikah’s.

::LEIGHTON “I think so…but I can’t be sure. I might have left it on the counter for an hour or two.”

Mikah gives Leighton a look as she thinks about what could have happened in that hour and there was only one conclusion she could come to.

;;MIKAH “I’ll be right back. Don’t worry about it, Leigh. I think I know exactly what happened.”

Mikah grabs the papers and gets up before walking to Kris’ art room. She opens the door and walks in, shutting the door behind her as she finds her husband painting. She gets distracted, momentarily as she always enjoyed watching him paint and make art.

;;MIKAH “I’m still jealous that you can do that…”

He looks up from what he was working on and gives her a grin before he goes back to it.

;;MIKAH “By the way…the DNA results came in…apparently you and I are related….”

She walks over to him and sets the papers down in front of him.

;;MIKAH “Care to explain that?”

TO BE CONTINUED.

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

“The Queen’s Judgement.”
LOCATION: Kailua, Hawaii.
DAYS UNTIL THE MATCH: 8
SCENE: ii
REC

Saturday, May 17,  2025.
TIME: SUNSET.

The scene opens up to a view of the sunset over the beautiful paradise of the state of Hawaii. The way that the golden sun sinks into the ocean is a view that anybody would be envious to see and Mikah gets to see it from her own deck. The waves crash into the shore gently, the sound filling the space around her as she sits in one of her deck chairs in a black silk robe, with her long, tanned and toned legs sticking out and the long ends of the robe falling to each side of Mikah. She has a glass of dark red wine in one hand while the other adjusts her dark lensed sunglasses on her face. She takes her sunglasses off and sets them on the table next to her. The look in her eyes is one that is calm, composed, and mostly dangerous.

“You know…people always think Hawaii is paradise…

The beaches, the breeze, the sun setting like the gods themselves painted it across the sky. They think it's peace., they think it's beautiful, they think it's soft.”

She pauses for a moment, her eyes focused on the setting sun in front of her.

“But here’s the truth that no travel ad will tell you—paradise is earned. It’s something that I earned after spending years of my life in that wrestling ring.  And out here? Out there?”

Mikah points out at the ocean.

“The waves can drown you and the volcanoes? They don’t ask anybody for permission to erupt. The land is ancient, violent, and unforgiving.

Just like me.

So welcome to my home…welcome to Kailua.”

She raises the glass up to the camera as a way of saying cheers and takes a sip of the dark colored liquid. She sets the glass down on the table beside her.

“Let’s talk about next Sunday, let’s talk about the final war and let’s talk about the end of the road for two women who think they belong in the same breath as me.”

She holds up two fingers and wiggles them at the camera.

“Laura Phoenix and Frankie Holliday. They’re two Bombshells with very, very different problems. But yet, they still share the same fate.”

Mikah smirks just a little bit at the thought before she leans back more in her seat, aiming to get more comfortable.

“But let’s start with Laura, shall we?”

She just smirks a little at the camera, as if she was already confident in what she was going to say.

“Laura Phoenix.

The mother.

The fighter.

The comeback story.

You’ve played this little resurrection arc so well, haven’t you? Rising from the ashes, seemingly so poetic and noble, and acting as if your pain is what makes you oh so powerful.”

Mikah laughs a little bit, but the noise was anything but joyful.

“But let’s cut the drama and save it for the Hallmark channel.”

She takes a deep breath as she looks out at the ocean, watching as the sun gets closer and closer to the part of the ocean that meets the horizon.

“You didn’t rise from any ashes, Laura. You clawed your way out of irrelevance and you’re pretending it was by choice. You were never born again, you were only forgotten and now, that you found a sliver of spotlight once again, you’re acting as if it was divine timing. But it’s not, it’s not fate. But you know what you are in proximity? Greatness.”

This time, she faces the camera face head on.

“You should be thanking me for this moment because you get to share that ring with me. And I’m allowing you to breathe in the same purified air that I will get to breathe next Sunday. So you’re welcome. But let’s not confuse my presence with your purpose. Because this final match isn’t going to be your victory match. Oh no, Laura, it’s going to be your eulogy.”

She bows her head a little as if to show respect before looking back up at the camera.
You walk into this match thinking it’s your chance to redeem yourself, that somehow, if you win, people will forget that you’ve been nothing more than a shadow clinging to relevance. But that’s the thing about shadows—they disappear when the light shines too bright. And Laura, I am the spotlight, I’m the pressure. I’m the voice inside your head that reminds you, every single night, that you were never enough.
She thinks for a moment before continuing on.
This match won’t be a classic, it’ll be a cautionary tale. Laura Phoenix stepped into the ring with a woman who didn’t want to wrestle—she wanted to dismantle. Who didn’t just pin her—she erased her. I don’t want to beat you, I want to make sure that even when you look in the mirror next Monday, you regret ever thinking you belonged here.
She just shrugs a little bit at the thought, the sinister look present in her eyes.

“You want this match to be a grand affirmation for you. You want to prove that you still belong in the ring. You want to believe and prove that you’re still worthy enough to be a contender for the championship. But I see through everything that you’re trying to prove. And you know what’s going to happen? You’re going to choke. And I’m going to tell you the main reasons why…

You are not in my league. You’ve never been in my league.

And I think you know that. Deep down.”

Mikah is quiet for just a moment, as if she has to re-center and refocus herself.

“You talk about resilience like it’s a crown that you can wear but survival? That doesn’t impress me, thriving does, dominating does. And leading empires into battle and burning legacies down. But Laura? You don’t lead anything or anybody, you linger.”

She shrugs her shoulders before standing up and fixing the sash on her robe.

“And unlike what your last name says about you, you’re no phoenix. You’re just the ashes and I’m not going to be coming to test you, but instead, I’m planning on erasing you from SCW’s existence. And out of this tournament.”

She just shrugs before walking over to the railing and leans against it, her eyes watching the horizon once more. She then turns her head to look at the camera.

“And that brings us to the other Bombshell in this match…

Frankie Holliday.”

She makes a face as if saying the name left a bad taste in her mouth.

“Frankie Holliday…you try so hard, don’t you? You’re like a wolf baring its teeth, hoping that nobody even dares to look in its eyes. Do you know why? Why you don’t want anybody to look into your eyes? Because you know that all they will see is fear.”

Mikah pauses for a moment, letting the quiet sounds of Hawaii surround her.

“You strut around like anarchy in combat boots; all attitude and noise. It’s almost as if you believe that if you shout loud enough, people will forget that you have absolutely no substance. You yap about being dangerous and different but the only thing I can see is somebody playing dress up in chaos, hoping that the cracks in your performance are invisible.”

She shrugs her shoulders a bit.
Frankie, you treat this tournament like it’s your redemption arc, but let me be clear—it’s your exposure. Because every second you’re in that ring with me, I’m stripping away that inflated confidence, peeling back the mask until everyone sees the desperate, wannabe Bombshell beneath. You’re loud. You’re brash. But volume doesn’t equal substance. And all that noise? It’s covering up the panic you feel when you realize you’ve walked into something way above your level.
The ocean waves surround her, enveloping her in the calming sound.

“You’re loud, Frankie but the noise you make? It’s not a threat, instead it’s camouflage.”

She doesn't move from her spot on the deck, her eyes still looking at the ocean and the sun as it gets closer and closer to the edge of the horizon.

“You paint yourself as the rebellion, the outlier, the…different one. But Frankie, I was the revolution before you knew how to lace your boots. I was rewriting this company’s bombshell history while you were still asking to be excused from your dinner table. And now? You think that you’re walking into this finale of the Blast From the Past as the disruptor, the wildcard. But let me tell you something….

You are not a storm; you’re a forecast I’ve seen a million times. There have been hundreds of girls just like you that walk into this company and think they have what it takes to shake it up, to be the one that is so different from the others that they mean something special. I’ve seen hundreds like you. Girls who confuse attitude for skill. Who think a little social media pop and a loudmouth gimmick makes them dangerous. But you’re not dangerous. You’re disposable. And in this final, you’ll finally understand what happens when your delusion meets my reality. You want to go viral? Congratulations. You’ll trend for all the wrong reasons when I leave your broken ambition on that canvas. And guess what? You’re just another flash in the pan. You won’t last. But you think throwing a few punches and throwing out some clever words is going to be something that shakes me or any of your other opponents. And maybe it’s because you think that you scream louder, and hit louder.

But Frankie?

Let me introduce you to silence.”

She turns and puts her back to the ocean, letting the calming sound of the waves hit the camera and so that it’s all the audience can hear for a moment.

“This kind of silence comes after I end your fairy tale run, before it hits that spot where you could maybe make something out of yourself. The kind of silence that falls over a crowd when they realize that you’re nothing special because you couldn’t survive in a match with a shark like myself.

Because that’s what I am, not a flame or a phoenix or a rebel.

I am extinction.”

The feed goes grainy and then black before it comes on a gain to seeing Mikah sitting on a chair in the room where both her and Kris’ championships were proudly displayed, along with other awards. She adjusts her simple turquoise top that she’s paired with a pair of white shorts before looking at the camera.

“You know, I’ve been called many things in this business—bitch, queen, villain, legend. But what people fail to grasp is that I’m not just any one of those, I’m the sum of them all. I am the reason nightmares wear heels and stilettos echo like war drums down the hallway.
When I walk backstage, people stop talking. Not out of respect—but out of fear. Because they know I’ve broken better women than Laura and Frankie without even chipping a nail.
I’ve made champions cry in locker rooms. I’ve made icons question their worth. I’ve shattered careers like they were glass dolls in a rage storm. And now? I’m going to do the exact same thing to you two. Not because I have something to prove—but because you dared to exist in a world I already own.
This isn’t a match for me; this is a ceremony. A crowning. A coronation of cruelty. I don’t need to pin you to defeat you, I just need to show you the truth.
That truth being—you never had a chance.”
She just smirks a little bit at the camera again, the arrogance and confidence written in her eyes.
“I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: I didn’t come back for nostalgia and I didn’t lace my boots up for legacy. I came back to conquer. I came back before there’s still blood left to spill. And on May 25th, I’m going to take two women–both who are desperate for redemption and meaning– and I’m going to show them that this division doesn’t run on hope, fire, or fear good stores.

It runs on fear.

And I’m the source of said fear.

You both want a shot at the Bombshell Championship….”

She smirks a little bit, a certain deviant look passing through her eyes.

“You don’t get to want anything while I’m around; you’ll only get what I allow you to have. And the only thing that is going to be allowed next Sunday  is…

Destruction.”

The scene once again goes to static and then black before opening up again to Mikah outside but this time, she’s on the beach in front of her house. The sun has set and the moonlight glints off of the ocean, Mikah’s silhouette mostly visible. She turns just enough where her face can be seen by the camera.

“Laura.

Frankie.

I want you to listen up and really understand this.”

She pauses as she makes sure that the focus is solely on her.

“You’re not walking into a match, you’re walking into a  final judgement. The tournament may say Blast From the Past but what’s coming next Sunday is anything but the past. It’s a prophecy.”

She smirks a little bit, letting the arrogant look take place in her eyes.

“Because when that bell rings and the dust settles, and your names are etched into another disappointing chapter of  Bombshell failure?

Mine will be carved in stone.”

She smirks again.

“And once again, I’ll be holding the keys to the kingdom…or I should say Queendom of SCW once again. But this time?

I’m not going to give them back.”

She walks along the sand, letting her feet make indents in the sand as the camera follows her. She smirks and looks at the camera.

“This is what power looks like and this is what the Bombshell division is going to fear when they go to sleep at night.

Not memories.

Not legacies.

Mikah.

The mother fucking QUEEN of the division.”

The waves can be heard, crashing against the shore before she finds a spot in the sand to sit down. She settles in, finding comfort in watching the waves crash along the store, the wind picking up just a little bit.

“Girls, you’re not ready for what I’m going to do next Sunday. And while I do want to win, it’s not the only reason that I’m looking forward to next Sunday.

I’m here to end you. And when it’s over and the ring is empty with the lights dim and the crowd can barely breathe from what they just witnessed?

They’ll call it dominance, they’ll call it evil. Some may even call it the second or third or even fourth coming of Mikah.

But me?

I’ll just call it Sunday.”

The scene fades to black and her final words can be heard as an echo in the dark.

“Long live the Queen.”

[Frankie Holliday]

Stockholm, Denmark, and now… Paris.

Not the three places I would have expected to wrestle for my debut, but here we are.

Beating Melissa, Lilith Locke and Julianna DiMaria? Also not on the people I would have expected to face and beat to get to the finals. But here we are.

Beating Mikah and Laura Phoenix to win the whole fucking thing? Unexpected, for sure.

But I am the unknown. I am the unexpected.

I am full of surprises.

Ready for more?

Paris is going to be something else.

I am going to win the blast from the past tournament.

A change is coming, and sacrifices will be made.

But it will all be worth it.



Trust me.

My morning routine had been quite extensive once my mother lost her license. She was relegated to the house, and it made her very claustrophobic. I had to get myself up and ensure my mother was first, alive, and then awake. I ensured she took her Zofolt, the upper to get her day started along with coffee. Without those two things, I don’t know if she could function. All before getting myself ready and at the bus stop on time.

Charlie would occasionally be awake when I left the house. It all depended on if he had some job to do. But no matter what, it was up to me to get myself ready and prepared for school. It became like a job. More like an internship or volunteering thing, because it wasn’t like I was getting paid. The point being that my mother basically became a non-factor in my development. Things were happening to me and I didn’t understand them and there was no one to teach me. But when I think about it, what could my mother teach me? She was plucked away from her life before she understood it either.

So, you know, when blood started coming out of my vagina, it was a strange and scary experience. I mean, I was 13, and now, I’m just bleeding. Luckily, I had the internet to show me what the hell was going on with my body. My mother was in no condition to actually help me. I got through it, but it’s a bit much to bleed for 5 days without explanation.

The point is, I was the head of my house when I was 13. I did these things because they needed to be done, and no one else was going to do them. But when I needed help? There was no person to guide me. Only strangers on the internet.

But rather than fold, I just kept going.

And that made me better than most of the other children.

I spent most of 7th grade really trying to find some method to get revenge on Melissa for something she hadn’t done yet and never would. And all she ever did was be nice to me. I hated it. I hated her. Like, I spent way too much time really thinking about how I didn’t like her. I could have done a number of things, but all of them seemed too risky. Although people fought all the time in middle school. For the smallest, dumbest things. I could’ve just thrown food on her, or something like this. Claimed it was an accident. These were my real thoughts at the time.

Then, I just sort of dropped it, because of a boy.

Not a boyfriend or anything, because middle school relationships are weird. But just… a friend. Kind of.

His name was Spencer. I had art class with him. Spencer was a talented artist. He could draw landscapes like Bob Ross. He could draw people, places, animals, anything he wanted. He was also quiet and rarely said anything. I don’t know why I got this connection, but I felt it. I was just infatuated with him. I wanted to know about him.

Then I saw him in the cafeteria. For some reason, I was nervous and I walked over to where he was sitting. No one else was there, just him. I sat down and Spencer was drawing something and looked up at me. He seemed confused as to why I would be sitting there, but he didn’t say anything. I had my ear buds in and sat there, watching him draw, and eating. He was meticulous in his work. After a few minutes, he looked up again and we made eye contact.

“Hey.” I said, pulling my ear buds out.

It took him a second, but he finally spoke up. “Hey.”

It felt like forever again, but I finally spoke again “I like your drawing. You’re really good at it.”

He just nodded. I figured that was the end of the conversation, but he looked back at me, and gestured to my phone.

“What are you listening to?” He asked.

“Oh, just some music.” I said. Yeah, of course I was. That was a stupid answer.

“I know. What music?”

“Oh. Um… Stone Sour.” I finally came back.

“Cool.” He answered, before returning to his drawing.

And that was the end of the conversation.

It went on for a few days, I would come and sit with him, he was always alone and always drawing. But gradually, we started having longer conversations. But the ice was broken and we both saw that the one wasn’t out to get the other.

There was a point where we both ended up staying after school. It was late, so Charlie, if he wasn’t hammered by then, would have to pick me up. But I would have to wait. Spencer saw me and we sat on this little school bench.

“Why did you stay after school?” he asked, sitting down

“I had an extra science lab I volunteered to do.” I said.

“Oh.” He replied. Then a beat. “Do you like it here?”

“I… guess.” I said, not really knowing how to answer the question.

“I hate it here.” He said sharply. “Everybody just sucks.”

“Yeah, some people are really shitty.”

“You mean you like the people too?” He questioned.

“I mean, they aren’t all bad.”

“There has to be someone you don’t like.” He said, now genuinely curious.

“I.. I don’t like Melissa.” I answered.

“Really? Why?”

“ I… I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I just… don’t like her. That’s really it. What about you? You said you don’t like anybody.”

“Because they pick on me.” He said. His tone was lowering and sounding morose.

“Oh. Yeah, that sucks.”

“Does Melissa pick on you?”

“No. She’s actually really nice.” I answered with a shrug.

“Then, why do you hate her?” He was extremely confused.

“I don’t know. I just do.”

“Oh.”

He pulled out his sketch pad and started doodling.

“You said everybody sucks. Do… do I suck?” I asked.

He looked up at me and shrugged.

“No. I think you’re cool, actually. You don’t judge me.”

The reason why anybody judged Spencer was because he looked like he rolled out of bed with his clothes on everyday. He wore glasses and ratty shoes. When we were sharing our miserable life stories, he told me his parents were divorced and  his mom was on disability. He wasn’t really poor but he wasn’t doing well from that standpoint. He also had pretty bad acne when I met him. But he was in a pretty shitty situation, just like me.

I felt a sense of pride that Spencer didn’t think I sucked. We had a pretty nice thing going from art class and lunch. We would talk all the time and eventually, I found out that Spencer only lived like a mile away from me. So, we started foregoing the bus and walking home together. We didn’t really talk unless we were alone, or at lunch. In which, nobody sat with us anyway, so we could talk about anything.

We started talking about music, pop culture, and the music we liked. We stopped walking one day and he pulled out a big black booklet from his backpack. It contained CD’s which I thought weren’t even a thing anymore. Any music I found was on the internet.

We found a bench and he handed me the booklet.

“This is the music I like.” He said, pretty proud of himself.

Most of the music was older than I was. Stuff from the ‘80’s and ‘90’s. Some early 2000’s stuff was there too. I pulled out my phone and used the notes feature to write the names of bands and songs that Spencer found to be good. As he had often critiqued my music style.

“I will give some of these a listen.” I said.

“Cool. I know you will like it.” He said, still very proud of himself.

I went home, and began searching up the bands, firing up youtube and my eyes were opened to so many actually good bands and songs. The only real music was what my mom listened to on the radio when she would sit and read. But all of a sudden, I was hearing Nirvana, Alice in Chains, & The Smashing Pumpkins. But also Metallica, Anthrax, Pantera & Cannibal Corpse. Like my mind exploded with these new avenues of music.

I began listening and getting as much as I could. And things progressed and Spencer and I were talking music, movies and art all the time. It… it was nice.

In 8th grade, Spencer was in some of my main classes, but we kept our little secret of not talking to each other in front of people. We both went about our business until we were alone.

But then, something else started to happen, where people started just… talking to me after a couple of years of saying nothing. I was still killing classes and tests, even though it was just getting less and less interesting except for science, which started to talk about life sciences and physical sciences, and that was interesting to me. But the kids started talking to me, asking me things, being friendly to me. People genuinely started to like me.

At first I didn’t know how to take it. It felt weird and sudden that these kids, who were popular, all of sudden found me interesting enough to talk to and hang out with. I was just included in conversations before school and in the hallways. I had forgotten all about not liking Melissa because she wasn’t around and these new kids were and they seemed to raise me up on some kind of pedestal.

Suddenly I was popular.

And I liked it.

They needed me. They relied on me. I was like a god-king to them because I was so intelligent. My superiority complex reared its head again and I was on top of the world.

Spencer was not so fortunate.

I was spending less and less time with him, but we still walked home together. But I could tell he was distant. It wasn’t the same as it once was. I had to say something.

“You got any new… or… old music still? Do you have that booklet?”

He stopped, and stared at me.

“No.”

“Oh. Okay.”

We kept walking and I didn’t know what to say to him. He was obviously mad that I wasn’t talking to him as much. I realized that how upset he was and I needed to say something to smooth things over, but what?

“So…” I started “Do you need any help with the homework and stuff?”

“No.”

Again. Sharp, and cold.

“I bet your other friends do though!” He said with another sharp bite.

“You are my friend too though, Spencer.” I said, trying to think of something.

“Yeah, but you like them more than me, Frankie! You are always talking to them and not me!” 

He was right, but our thing was different.

“We never talk in class, we always talk at lunch or like we are now though. That’s our thing.”

He stopped again, looking at me and trying to still be mad at me. But I was right, this was our thing. I talked to him at lunch, and I talked to him walking home, but we rarely if ever spoke in class. But the truth was, even lunch wasn’t the same, I had to almost find an excuse to go and sit with him, as he was almost always alone at his table. And even then, it was only for a few minutes. It wasn’t fair to him. I know that now.

But middle school is a confusing time for us all, and my confusion led to a choice.

Spencer would get picked on, but he usually just moved on and ignored it. But there was a day that it persisted. I had finished gym and was headed to our last class of the day, Science. I was with some of my other classmates who were asking me about the upcoming test and how to do certain math problems, But there was a commotion and there were a large number of kids all crowded around a spot. I walked towards it, the others not really wanting to get close, parted ways with me.

And there he was.

Spencer was on the ground, kids were laughing and three boys were keeping him there. Shouting at him that he was a loser and had no friends. He looked around and he spotted me. I had been looking long enough to know it was him, but I turned away before he saw me. 

“FRANKIE!”

He shouted at the top of his lungs. He screamed it as loud as humanly possible.

It felt like all the heads and eyes turned to me at that point. I could feel them. I had to make a choice.

I acted like I didn’t hear it, and when someone asked if I heard it, I said no. I acted like I couldn't hear through my ear buds.

I marched right out of his sight, ignoring his cries for help.

Sacrifices have to be made when you are a leader.

He confronted me after school on our walk home. I acted shocked and surprised when I saw his face and how torn his clothes were.

“What happened?”

“You saw it! I saw you!” He said, pointing his finger, extremely angry.

“What? Where? I didn’t see anything happen to you. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I lied.

“I. SAW. YOU.”

“I’m telling you Spencer, I didn’t see you. If I did I would have helped.”

“I YELLED YOUR NAME!”

“I didn’t hear you. I must have had my earbuds in maybe. I swear, I don’t know what happened!”

Spencer was silent as we walked home. His pace was far quicker than mine. I nearly had to run to keep up with him. When we reached the spot we would normally split and say good-bye, he just turned. He power walked away, and I sighed and continued on my way home.

Then, after a few days of silence and not talking at all despite my efforts to continue as if nothing happened…

Spencer stopped coming to school. I had his number and I texted him, but the messages remained on sent.

Then we all got the news that Spencer was reported missing. And after 3 weeks, they found him.

Spencer had taken his own life in the woods near his home.

The police interviewed me after they searched his home and found his sketch pad. He drew a number of drawings, and some were of me. He regarded me as a friend. I was his only friend. He wrote it in a journal. He very much enjoyed that I didn’t judge him, and I was there. Because he didn’t have anybody else. Until that day. Though he never mentioned it in his journal. Perhaps he accepted my excuse of not seeing him.

I don’t know, and I’ll never know now.

All I could do was move on.


I must ask this question of you Mikah.
 Actually, several.

Did you really buy yourself a crown?
Did you really put that crown on your head like you were a queen or deserving of wearing a crown?
Did you think this was a cool thing? Like a physical metaphor?
Did you not think that was silly?
Do you use that crown for other things? Is it like a costume party thing?

I mean, obviously you thought it was cool, and made you look like a badass. You’re the queen! You wear the crown because nobody else can wear it!

That is… really the most insecure thing I may have ever seen.

I just want you to stop and think for a second and understand that you went out of your way to buy a crown to wear to talk to people. Like, you really did that. You are really trying to live up to how good you think you are when you know it’s not true. I respect the determination to go with the whole “If I say if enough, people will believe me” thing. Right on.

You piss and moan about being forgotten one week, and then the next you throw on an actual crown like you, after beating Cassie Wolf mind you, have accomplished the goal of being back. How does that work? What makes a person worthy of wearing a crown? You clearly don’t have any royal blood in you, and hold no authority. So, it was symbolism, but again, there just aren’t many people who put you in the list of great bombshells, and even less that would put you at top. In fact, the only person who would, is you.

I for one, was howling with laughter when you put that thing on your head. “I’m the queen, I’m the mountain. I am the crown”  It was a laugh riot to hear you exclaim these things and be so confidently wrong. And what’s even more hilarious is that you don’t even believe the words when you say them. You put an actual crown on your head and said out loud you were the crown. You know that’s so stupid, right? But that’s right, you didn’t come back to chase glory, even though that’s… literally what you are doing, but no, you came back to dominate!

I understand you have to convince yourself of that, and you need a very wide and loose definition of “dominate” in order to do so. You just aren't convincing, Mikah.

If you were truly secure in your legacy, truly able to let it stand on its own, you wouldn’t need to be entering this tournament in the first place. You want to make people your name because you get pushed aside because, let’s face it, others have more important, and more impressive legacies than you do. And we know this, because you keep calling Amber Ryan back to team with you. You really want to just rub elbows with people who outclassed you. T

If Amber Ryan did as you have practically begged her to do, and returned to Sin City Wrestling, what on earth would she need you for? Why would she team with you? There’s no Bombshell’s tag titles anymore, so what’s the point of teaming with you? She can easily win any title she wants. Having you there makes little to no difference. You would be entirely useless to her if she came back.

Amber Ryan does not need you. You need her.

Besides, she likes me more than you, anyway.

She would get no benefit from propping you up, and dragging you along in this nostalgia act. Why do you think she just humors you by politely telling you she’s busy but she’s watching. It’s like you are a child who needs the approval of their mother. Yes Mikah, she’s watching you, you slide down that slide! Good for you!

Wait… do you… do you really think Amber is your friend? Wait… no seriously, you want to have a friend?! Oh my god that’s so precious! Mikah needs a friend. Holy shit.

This fits you a “T” anyway. A desperate, attention whore, who is all “I don’t need anybody’s approval and I’m a bad bitch…” And so on so forth, you know, you say these things all the time. Yet, you continue to need Mark Ward’s approval. You need Amber’s approval. You need Simon Jones’s approval. I mean, you sat there and tried to say that everybody’s attention was on you when it was announced that you were participating in this tournament. But if this were true, you wouldn’t need to reserve your name. This would be something like I would do. I did that, in fact. Because who the hell would know or care about me? You are Mikah, right? You’re supposed to be able to come in and dominate. I mean, if you were that badass, everybody would have just flaked out and canceled and you would have been the automatic winner. But… they didn’t. You hid your entry to try and draw interest when your name was called.

I certainly didn’t see anybody go “Oh no, Mikah is in this!”  It was more “Oh, Mikah’s in this? I thought she was retired?”

No one is afraid of you, or your name anymore. If this was 2016? Maybe. But no matter how bad you want it, it’s just not happening anymore.

On the contrary, it is you, who doesn’t seem to know me. It is you who is afraid of me.

I would assume this is why you threw out wild random ass accusations hoping that one sticks.

I am afraid of you?
I am seeking redemption?
I want to go viral?

What are you even blathering about? Why would I be afraid of you? I’ve studied you for a long time, I have no reason to fear you. You wore a crown on camera like it meant something. Stop it.

Also, I can assure you, I don’t ask, or seek redemption. I am terrible and I know that, and I embrace that. Trust me, you will find that out very soon.

I want to go viral? I don’t even know what you’re on about. I tweet some things I find entertaining for fucks sake, I guess I’m wrong for that?

No, Mikah, I don’t think you know me at all.

So when this is all over, and you lose, I will remind you that this will be your biggest failure. You’re Mikah, you’re supposed to dominate and be the end all be all and that happy horseshit, but at the end of this, you will be an “also took part.” You will be another name I came straight out of the gate and beat. I will be at the top, right away, and I will have the right to say I beat Mikah and exposed her for the fraud she really is. I will snatch her stupid crown from her hands, and I will toss it away.

No, Mikah, I don’t seek redemption.

I seek revolution.

And for any revolution to work, sacrifices have to be made. And you will be one of them.

I am the future.

And I will make you believe.

Trust me.

Moving on to Laura…

Laura, I just want you to understand that this isn’t personal.

It probably felt that way since, you know, I said what I said about Bella and all, but it’s not personal. I don’t really care if you hate my guts now because I said those things, what matters is I am after a prize, and you stand in my way. And I don’t intend on losing to you or Mikah as part of a feel-good storybook ending for you, or whatever Mikah wants to call her nostalgia run. This isn’t about you, or her. It’s about me.

I was simply demonstrating that I will go to any depths, and say the things I need to say to ensure I get the best out of you. And right now, you’re kind of failing in that department. I need you focused, I need you motivated, because I don’t want any excuses from either of you when I win. I want you at your best, because I want you to realize that even at your best, it wasn’t good enough.

The things I said about you and Bella? They were the truth, and I hope they upset you. I hoped they made you mad. I wanted to start a fire in you, I want it to consume you. And just to plant a little bit of fear in you. Because when that fear grows, when it takes hold, I’ll know it. I’ll look into your eyes and then when you look back at me, you will know that I know.

Because I want to think about something here, Laura: If I am willing to slag you, your legacy, and your family, just to get a rise out of you, what am I willing to do in order to beat you in the ring? That’s the truly scary part, isn’t it? You don’t know. And you’ll always fear what you don’t know. The unknown. And truthfully, I don’t even know. And that’s half the fun of this Laura. I just want you to know, I’m willing to stoop to depths that are pretty goddamn low. 

Because I have a job to do. A mission to accomplish. And it means beating you and beating Mikah. You two have to be the sacrifices, so that the goal can be reached. The only good part for you, is that once this is over, you don’t have to take part in what’s coming. You and Mikah can stay on the sidelines and watch. And breathe a sigh of relief that it’s where you are, and it’s where you’re going to stay.

The same cannot be said for your daughter, but that’s just how this has to work.

I know you may be worried or nervous about my takeover, but trust me, it’s for the best. I am remaking this company in my image and you, and Mikah are the last couple of pawns that need to be sacrificed. It’s just that simple. Had you not decided for one last run and really, not decided to try and call me “kid” and give me the verbal condescending pat on the back you did, this wouldn’t be happening to you.

You will just have to live with the fact that you helped cause all this.

But again, you could have been anybody. Had you not beaten Sam Marlowe, this would have been the same speech I gave here. Because you both are interchangeable. You and Mikah are just different sides of the same coin, the only difference really is the fact that she’s living in denial and you have accepted this as one last run.

But the run is over in Paris.

It all comes to crashing down and it ends in utter failure. But hey, you had fun right? You enjoyed that last look in the spotlight. I know, you’ll want to deny it, but that’s the first step, you know? You didn’t know what would happen. Now you’re feeling guilt, which you certainly should feel. And then we hit anger and bargaining. Depression and loneliness, so on and so forth.

I am going to cure your addiction to the spotlight and ensure that you do not want to come back. Then you can sit at home, and enjoy life. I will take good care of Bella, you don’t need to worry about that. Just understand that you could have prevented this, but you weren’t strong enough. Your time is over, and my time is now.

This is a revolution Laura, and when the old stand in the way of the future, they have to be removed from the picture. You standing across from me, is the worst place you can be, because as the leader of this revolution, I will have to personally see to it that you aren’t in the way anymore. I don’t want to hear the argument in Paris, Laura. It’s too late now. You had a chance to not be the example, but you chose to enter this tournament. You made a mistake, and for that, you have to be punished. I don’t make the rules.

I mean, I will eventually, but at this moment I do not. So I’m following the rules set forth. You have to be put down, and if necessary, I will make you stay down. It’s not that I want to do that to you, Laura, but you’re making me do this. You’re making this harder on me then it should be. All you have to do is stay down Laura, I’m giving you the option right here and now. It’s not hard, don’t make it hard.

But, then again, I know you will do the opposite. Older generations always go for the hardest path. “Builds character” they say. The reality is, it’s a losing battle and you’re not built for it. But yet, you will try. I know you will. You would rather die on your shield as they say, rather than do things the easiest and least painful way. Fine, I can’t stop you, but I want you to remember this whole thing when it’s over.

I want you to remember that I gave you the chance and opportunity to do the right thing. So, when it’s all said and done, and you lose, it will be all your fault. You will have no one to blame but yourself. Because by hook, or by crook, I’m going to win this tournament. I will do anything and everything to do so.

Just remember I gave you fair warning.

Revolution requires sacrifice.

Through your pain, will come what needs to happen.

It’s for the best.

Trust me.

[Laura Phoenix]

Together Again. Gee, it's good to be together again.
Paris, France

The flat just outside central Paris had the kind of charm you’d expect from an old postcard—arched windows, wrought iron balconies, and the golden wash of late afternoon light settling over the hardwood floors. But inside, the Madison-O’Connell clan were anything but peaceful.

Laura stood in the corner near the wide window, arms crossed, watching the traffic on the street below. She didn’t say much—she didn’t need to. The silence around her was just a pause in her storm.

Behind her, chaos reigned.

Aaron darted around the living room with his toy airplane, zooming it through the air with sound effects that echoed off the walls. “Watch out! Crash landing!”

“Airrrplane!” Máire squealed, chasing after him in tiny, wobbling steps. She wore one of Nick’s oversized Yankees hats, which kept slipping down over her eyes.

“Careful with her!” Bella called, jogging behind with a sippy cup in one hand and a half-tied ponytail swaying as she moved.

“She likes it!” Aaron yelled back. “She’s chasing me!”

“Because she thinks you're a snack, not a pilot,” Malachi muttered from the kitchen, cutting up apple slices with one eye on the mayhem.

From the couch, Aileen O’Connell watched it all with a smirk, nursing a mug of tea and giving Laura a once-over. “You gonna let the chaos win, or are you still planning to raise hell in that ring next week?”

Laura’s lips curled into a dry smile. “Who says I can’t do both?”

Nick came up beside her, handing her a fresh cup of coffee. “You’re not even trying to relax, are you?”

She took it without looking at him, eyes still fixed on the Paris skyline. “I relax when the job’s done.”

“Which one?”

“All of them.”

There was a pause, filled only by the shriek of Máire attempting to scale the couch like Everest, followed by Mal plucking her off mid-climb.

Laura turned away from the window and walked slowly toward the center of the room. She crouched down to Aaron’s level just as he buzzed by again.

“You ready to watch me win again, champ?”

He nodded fiercely, pushing imaginary buttons on his plane. “You’re gonna beat ‘em all. Boom! Like that!”

“Boom,” she echoed with a grin, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

Máire waddled over next, hands out. “Up! Up!”

Laura scooped her up, the little girl giggling as Laura gave her a spin and rested her on her hip. “Even my biggest fan believes in me.”

“Gammy strong!” Máire declared, her voice slightly garbled but proud.

Laura chuckled. “That’s my pretty girl.”

She looked to Bella, who stood a little apart now, watching her mother with a softness in her eyes. It wasn’t reverence exactly—it was respect. Earned. Reinforced. The kind you couldn’t fake.

Laura handed Máire back to Bella and turned toward the hallway, motioning to Nick.

“I’m gonna get some air. And maybe… talk a little shop.”


“What If You Could?”
Paris, Late Evening

The apartment was finally quiet.

Aaron had crashed, tangled in a blanket on the pullout. Máire was tucked into her travel crib, one fist curled under her cheek. Even Nick had turned in, a book still open on his chest.

And Laura? She was alone on the balcony, nursing the last of a glass of wine, a hoodie zipped over her tank top, her hair messily tied back. Paris sparkled in front of her like a dream—but it felt a million miles away.

She pulled her phone out and opened her notes app. Not to write. Just to look.

Names. Matches. Bullet points on Mikah. On Frankie Holliday. Promos watched. Interviews analyzed. She’d always done her homework—obsessively, quietly, like a scholar preparing for war.

But tonight… she didn’t feel like a student. She felt like a relic.

“Maybe they don’t want me to win,” she murmured aloud. “Maybe they just want the drama of watching me fall.”

She hated how the thought lingered.

Because the truth was… she used to think that way too. Back when she was the one clawing for a shot, back when her name wasn’t followed by "legend" or "return." Back when she was dangerous for being new.

She set the phone down and leaned forward over the balcony, breathing in the cold bite of the Paris night.

“I’m not here to show I still can,” she whispered. “I’m here because I should. Because I am.”

And because when you’ve been through the hells she’s survived, it’s not enough to still be standing.

You need to burn.

The city was quiet now, or at least as quiet as Paris could be. A few muted horns in the distance, the soft hum of life far below. The lights of the Eiffel Tower blinked in rhythm like a beating heart.

Inside the apartment, the rest of the Madison-O’Connell clan had long since gone to bed. Even the creaks of the old floorboards had settled.

Laura stood in the kitchenette, arms braced on the counter, staring at the untouched tea in front of her. She hadn’t meant to be up this long, but her body ached in a way that sleep couldn’t mend.

She didn’t hear Nick come in—just felt his presence before his hand gently touched the small of her back.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked softly.

She didn’t look at him. “Didn’t try.”

A beat passed before she turned to face him. His eyes, warm and steady as always, searched her face.

“You do know that after all these years that I can tell that you’re hurting. Even when you are good at hiding it from everyone else,” he said, not as an accusation, just fact.

She gave a breath of a laugh, but it came out more like a sigh. “Physically? Always. Emotionally?” She paused. “Only when I think too hard.”

Nick stepped around her and gently took her hand, leading her toward the couch. She let him. They sat together in the quiet for a long moment, his hand tracing idle patterns over hers.

And then she asked, barely above a whisper, “Do you ever miss it?”

Nick’s expression didn’t change much—but Laura saw the flicker behind his eyes. Pain. Not from his body. From memory.

“Every day,” he said.

Laura nodded slowly. “Do you ever think… What if you could? What if they found some miracle thing and said you could take one more match?”

Nick smiled sadly, then reached up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I think about it all the time. But then I look at Aaron. I look at you. And I remember what the doctors said. One bump. One wrong landing… and I might never walk again. Might not even hold my son again or our granddaughter. Or even you. ”

Her throat tightened. She reached up, covering his hand with hers, squeezing it hard. “I hate that. I hate that that choice was taken from you. And I hate how selfish I am for wishing I could still see you in there.”

Nick pulled her in, their foreheads resting together.

“You’re not selfish,” he whispered. “The one thing I love about you the most is that you’re a fighter. You always have been. But Laura…” He tilted her face to meet his eyes. “You don’t need me to fight beside you to have me. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her voice cracked when she spoke. “I just… I don’t want to do this without you. Not the matches. Life.”

“You won’t. You’re not.”

“I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” she admitted, tears slipping from her eyes now. “If I lost you… and had to raise Aaron alone…”

He kissed her—soft and sure.

“You’d do it,” he said. “Because you’re Laura fucking Madison. You’d mourn, and you’d break. And then you’d rise like you always do. Because you don’t know how to do anything else.”

“But I don’t want to.”

“I know.”

She buried her face in his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms tight around her.

“You’re not going to lose me, Laur. I’m being careful. I have to be. Because I want to be with you. With our kids. For as long as this damn body lets me.” He tilted her chin again. “But don’t think for one second that my staying out of the ring means I’m less. You carry the weight for us both now. And you’re doing it beautifully.”

She nodded slowly, trying to breathe through the tangle of love and fear in her chest.

“I need you,” she said.

“I’m right here,” he replied.

And in that moment, for just a while, the pain in her shoulders felt lighter. Because the man beside her wasn’t the warrior she once fought beside.

He was the reason she still fought at all.


Conversations in the Dark

The space is mostly empty, the hum of fluorescent lights overhead the only real noise aside from the occasional echo of someone else far off, slamming a mat or exhaling hard between sets. But in the corner of the ring under a lone spotlight, Laura Madison sat on the second turnbuckle — hands taped, hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, sweat still clinging to her neck after her last sparring session.

There was a camera set up in front of her. Nothing flashy. Just real.

And that’s how Laura wanted it.

No glitz. No bullshit.

Just her.

She stared into the lens, letting the silence stretch long enough to become sharp.

Then she exhaled, low and deliberate.

“Let’s talk, shall we?”

Her voice was steady, rich with that low burn of someone who’d heard enough.

“Frankie Holliday. Mikah. You both had quite a bit to say, didn’t you? Felt real brave getting cute with your words when I wasn’t there to answer. But I’m here now. And sweetheart, I’ve got time.”

She slid off the turnbuckle, stepping into the center of the ring like it was a throne. Like it had always belonged to her.

“Let’s start with you, Frankie. You said people are acting like it’s ‘the second coming’ because I’m back. No, honey. They're acting like that because they remember. They remember who built the roads you're walking on. Who was headlining before your voice ever cracked. Who was throwing hands in main events while you were still learning how to lace your damn boots.”

“You think this is a new era? Good for you. You should be proud of where you’re standing. But let me make something perfectly clear…”

Laura leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing with razor-sharp focus.

“This ‘new era’ still runs through me.”

“You’re not the first flavor-of-the-month rookie who stumbled into the spotlight, mouth moving faster than their brain. And you won’t be the last. But I’ve seen your kind come and go. Fast climbs. Faster falls. You earned your shot, Frankie — I won’t take that away from you. But the second you opened your mouth about me like I was yesterday’s headline? You signed your own pain order.”

“Experience doesn’t matter? Baby girl, experience is the reason I know how to take people like you apart without breaking a sweat. Experience is why I know you’ll rush in wide open looking for that one viral moment — and I’ll be waiting with a receipt in the form of a knee to your jaw.”

She took a breath. Calm. Controlled. Lethal.

“Now then... Mikah.”

Laura actually chuckled, low and bitter.

“You said I belong in a museum.”

Her expression turned cold, her voice a hair softer — deadlier.

“Aren’t you one to fucking talk? Have you ever stepped foot in a museum, Mikah? You know what they hold? Masterpieces. Artifacts of power and legacy and permanence. That’s me. What are you? Some Instagram filters and a history of ‘almosts’.”

“Yes, you’re a legend in SCW. That’s the funny part. I didn’t forget. But somewhere along the way, you did. Because instead of showing me the respect I earned, you treated me like I was something to roll your eyes at. Like I’m some washed-up story trying to rewrite history.”

She stepped forward again, the light catching the sharp line of her jaw.

“I’m not here because I can’t let go. I’m here because I chose to remind this company what it looks like when someone walks into a ring without needing a gimmick or a catchphrase or a pity party to be great.”

“You wanna question if I still belong? You should be asking yourself how you’re going to survive standing across from someone with nothing to prove and everything to burn. Because unlike you two... I don’t need this win. Not one single solitary soul expected me to make it even THIS far. But I want it. And that makes me so much more dangerous.”

Laura stopped pacing, planting herself dead center again. Her arms crossed now, tone final.

“I’m not here to take sass. I’m not here to trade barbs and hashtags. I’m here to fight. To dominate. And to win. Not because I have to prove I’m still relevant — but because it’s fun as hell to remind people I’m still better than most of this locker room with one knee tied behind my back.”

“So come Into the Void ready. Bring your best. Talk your shit. Try to make your mark. But remember this…”

“I am not just another comeback story. I am not some nostalgia act. I am Laura. Fucking. Phoenix.”

She leaned into the camera one last time, her voice dropping to a near-whisper:

“And I’m about to give you both a lesson you’ll never forget.”

The camera held on her eyes — burning bright, burning steady.


It’s Okay To Call It Out
Another Quiet Night

Inside, the room was dim. Just the amber glow of a standing lamp in the corner and the city’s golden shimmer reflecting off Bella’s face as she sat curled on the oversized couch, a throw blanket tossed across her legs. Her phone was in her lap, voice recorder app open, unsaved takes stacked beneath a blank one waiting to be filled.

Her thumb hovered over the record button, but she didn’t press it.

A quiet shuffle came from the hallway. Bella glanced up to see Laura, dressed in lounge pants and an old SCW t-shirt, pad barefoot into the room with two steaming mugs in her hands.

“What is it about this damn week? Apparently you couldn’t sleep either?” Laura asked, handing her one of the mugs.

Bella took it gratefully. “Nah. Mind won’t shut up.”

Laura sat down beside her, folding one leg underneath her.

“You’ve been quiet since dinner,” she said gently.

Bella offered a small shrug. “Just thinking.”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “Thinking? Or spiraling?”

Bella chuckled softly — the kind of tired laugh that hides the weight behind the eyes.

“Little of both,” she admitted. “It’s… it’s my defense. More specifically it’s Mercedes Vargas. I did some thinking today, knowing what I need to say....feeling a tad bit hypocritical with her, especially since she’s got a high ranking vet underneath her. She’s in the Hall of Fame, for God’s sake.”

“I feel like even saying something about it at times feels like I’m shorting you. My own mother who is attempting history herself in winning the Blast from the Past.”

Laura sipped her tea, listening, not rushing the moment.

Bella continued, voice quieter now. “And I know you have an honest to goodness chance of winning the damn thing. But… I can’t lie — part of me feels guilty. Like I’m about to slap the crown off someone’s head who helped build the damn throne.”

Laura nodded slowly, eyes thoughtful. She’d been there — had been the one whose crown they came for.

“You’re allowed to feel that,” she said. “Let me explain something to you. Respect isn’t weakness, Bella. It just means you see the whole picture. It means you care.”

Bella turned toward her, frowning. “Then why does it feel like I’m the villain the second I open my mouth?”

Laura leaned forward slightly.

“Because you grew up watching this business practically under a microscope,” she said. “But that’s the trick of legacy. It makes certain people immortal in your mind — until you’re the one holding the sword.”

Bella’s fingers gripped her mug a little tighter.

“It’s weird, I don’t want to disrespect her,” she said. “But after everything she and I went through, I feel like I just have to prove I belong CONSTANTLY...of course it feels like it’s on a constant basis with her. I want to win and I want to retain. But how do you do that without coming off like every other brash rookie who ever called a vet ‘washed up’?”

Laura tilted her head, then offered a small, knowing smile.

“Well you are far from a brash rookie now. But you speak YOUR truth. The real truth. That’s the difference. You don’t need to tear Mercedes down with lies or cheap shots. Her legacy speaks for itself — so let it. And then speak for yours. This match isn’t about shoving her into the past. It’s about showing that the future is already here. You are already here.”

Bella nodded slowly, the fire beginning to flicker behind her eyes.

“And if she doesn’t see it that way?”

Laura shrugged, casually confident.

“Then you’ll show her.”

She set her mug down and rose to her feet, brushing a kiss to the top of Bella’s head.

“Be proud of your voice. Even if it shakes a little.”

Bella looked up, eyes softer now. “Thanks.”

Laura offered her a wink. “Hey, It’s perfectly fine to remind Mercedes that history doesn’t scare you. You’re writing your own.”

She disappeared down the hall, leaving Bella alone with the quiet again.


One More Time

The lights are dim. There’s a quiet hum from the street below, distant traffic and muffled nightlife. Laura Phoenix sits on the edge of a small table, one leg crossed over the other. Her phone is leaned up against a water glass. She doesn’t bother with a backdrop, or a fancy camera crew.

She's dressed in simple black — a hoodie and jeans. No war paint. No armor.

Her voice? Razor-wire soft.

“You want one more? Fine.”

She glances at the camera. Not with anger.

With certainty.

“But this isn’t a promo. I’m not here to perform for clicks. I’m not here to out-clever you. I’m here because there’s still a part of me — the part that built everything you’re standing on — that wants to make sure that everyone including the both of you understand what’s about to happen.”

She exhales slowly, as if she’s giving the words time to form correctly.

“Frankie Holliday. You’re not a threat. You’re a test balloon. Inflated ego, lightweight, and all air. You’ve got fire, I’ll give you that. But fire without direction? It burns out. Or worse…”

Her eyes narrow slightly.

“It gets put out.”

“You talk like you’ve been disrespected, like the world hasn’t given you your due. But deep down, I think you know you skipped a few steps. That’s why you lash out. That’s why you keep throwing my name around like saying it gives you legitimacy.”

“You want to use me as your measuring stick? Good. Because at Into the Void, I’m going to show you just how far you still have to go.”

Laura shifts, leaning in a little. Her tone drops to an almost maternal cadence — the kind that warns you before the belt comes off the wall.

“And Mikah…”

She smiles, faint. Not fond.

Like a woman watching someone she used to admire lose the plot.

“You used to be something. Truly. You weren’t just a star — you were a standard. But somewhere along the way, you stopped evolving. You got comfortable. And now you’re still here, still talking, still trying to convince yourself you haven’t been passed by.”

“But I’m not your past, Mikah.”

“I’m your present. And I identify as a MASSIVE fucking problem. A very CLEAR and present danger.”

“I get called a relic, a throwback quite a bit. But the truth is, I never needed to rebrand, reinvent, or repackage myself to be dangerous. I stayed dangerous. You just stopped paying attention.”

“That’s the difference between us.”

There’s no yelling. No venom. Just clarity. And maybe that’s what makes it scarier.

“You both think you're about to steal a moment. Make a name off mine. Rewrite my ending to make your beginning shinier.”

She leans closer, resting her forearms on her knees. Her voice becomes whisper-thin.

“But what happens when I don’t let you?”

“What happens when the veteran doesn’t play nice? When the legacy doesn’t fade quietly? When the comeback doesn’t end in loss — but in domination?”

She lets the silence hang — gives the weight of her words space to echo.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Laura slowly rises to her feet and walks to the window. She looks out at Paris, never turning back to the camera.

She looks into the lens like it’s the person she’s about to hurt.

“Paris.”

“Seems poetic, doesn’t it?”

A bitter smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

“The city of lights. Of romance. Of legacy.”

She tilts her head slightly, voice calm and level — like a surgeon before the first incision.

“Fitting that it’s where yours ends.”

She pauses, not for effect — but because she chooses every word like it's a loaded round.

“Frankie. Mikah. You came into this thinking this match was about you. That Laura Phoenix was just the obstacle. The name on the flyer. The stepping stone you needed to make people believe the hype.”

She shakes her head slowly.

“But I don’t exist for your validation. I’m not here to give you your moment. I’m here to make sure you don’t get one.”

She sits back, arms folding — not defensive.

Immovable.

“Frankie, you talk like you’ve already made it. Like you're the second coming of someone who’s never even been. You want to spit on my name like I’m holding you back? Sweetheart, the only thing holding you back is your mouth — and the fact that your work ethic doesn’t match your volume.”

“You're not misunderstood. You’re just not there yet.”

Her jaw tightens, but her voice never rises.

“You said you’re not here to be my next chapter. That you’re the main character now.”

“That’s cute.”

She leans forward, steepling her fingers like she’s talking to a child who needs to be set straight.

“Frankie Holliday is a storyline. A side-arc. A spark with no fire behind it. And when I beat you, no one’s going to say damn, look what Laura did to Frankie… they’re going to say, ‘Right. Of course she did.’ Because that’s the difference between presence… and potential.”

And then, Laura smirks — but it’s not warm. It’s cold. It’s earned.

“Mikah.”

“You used to be untouchable.”

The smirk fades.

“Now you’re just uncomfortable. With your place. With the way the world moved on and didn’t slow down for you to catch up.”

“You call me a museum piece? At least they preserve those. You’re just collecting dust.”

“Let’s be honest — you didn’t come back to fight. You came back to be seen. To remind everyone you're still here, still relevant. But the problem is, you’re not dangerous anymore.”

“You’re desperate.”

Laura stands now — not pacing, just rising like a storm that took its time getting here.

“And that’s why you’re both in trouble.”

“Because I’m not desperate. I’m not trying to prove I still belong. I’m not coming back to hold onto a past that’s slipping away.”

“I am the past.”

“I am the present.”

“And in Paris, I am the WHOLE fucking problem that either of you can’t escape.”

She walks slowly to the window. The Eiffel Tower glows in the distance. Laura stands with her back to the camera, but her voice remains clear.

“I don’t need the fans. I don’t need the flowers. I don’t even need the win.”

She turns slightly, just enough for her profile to be visible — sharp. Unforgiving.

“But I’m taking it anyway.”

Cut to black.

[Mikah]

“Results?”
LOCATION: Kailua, Hawaii.
DAYS UNTIL THE MATCH: 12.
SCENE: 12
REC

Tuesday, May 13, 2025.
TIME:3:00 p.m..

Mikah stands in Kris’ peripheral vision as she sets the papers down in front of him, allowing him to read the documents fully. She hadn’t necessarily told him the truth, but she wanted to see his reaction. However, when he didn’t really react, her suspicions were confirmed.

;;MIKAH “Actually, we’re not related because none of your DNA was submitted, right? Only mine, Leighton’s, and Myles’, right?”

She gives him a look, raising her eyebrows at him. She wondered how long he would keep the charade up or if he would tell her the truth pretty quickly. If she was betting, she would guess that he would be playing it up until she made him give in.

::KRIS “Right.”

He nods his head as he gives her a skeptical look and she raises one eyebrow at him and folds her arms over her chest. She glances at the paperwork before looking at her husband, once more.

;;MIKAH “It’s pretty weird though…I’m not sure how if it was only my DNA, Leighton’s, and Myles’ that were submitted, how you would even think that the results said that we were related…”

He just shrugs his shoulders as he moves the papers away so he can go back to working on his painting. She raises an eyebrow at him as he seems unphased by the news.

::KRIS “Maybe they’re wrong, or you’re reading them wrong.”

Mikah clenches her jaw a little bit, growing just a little bit frustrated with her husband. It was hard to get a straight answer out of him, and it made her more flustered than she cared to admit.

;;MIKAH “Kristopher! This is serious! If we’re related, we clearly have to get a divorce. I can’t be willingly having sex with somebody that I’m related to. And the kids…the poor kids…”

She knew that they weren’t related, and she knew that he knew that they weren’t either. She also had lied to him, telling him that the results said they were related, because that’s not what they said. But she wanted to see if he’d admit to what she thought he had done. And he had yet to waver.

::KRIS “I think they fucked up the results.”

His demeanor didn’t change but his eyes stayed focused on the canvas that he was painting.

;;MIKAH “RIght, Kristopher, because they’re just going to mess results up like that. I don’t think that the results are wrong…and you didn’t even properly read them!”

She grabs the papers and puts them in front of his face. She doesn’t move them out of his vision, making him read the words in front of him.

;;MIKAH “What it really says is that Myles is definitely my child but Leighton isn’t. How is that even possible? I was in the room when she was born and I didn’t let the nurses ever take her to the nursery because I didn’t want her to be switched accidentally.”

Kris is quiet for a moment as he reads over the results before a grin stretches across his face. He then starts to laugh a little bit and Mikah gives him an annoyed look and places her hands on her hips, not finding amusement in whatever prank he was pulling.

::KRIS “This shit is hilarious…”

Mikah frowns, clearly not agreeing with his sentiment and didn’t find any type of amusement in it. She shakes her head at him.

;;MIKAH “I’m really glad that you find this amusing, Kris. I really do because I don’t need this shit right before the final match of the tournament.”

She turns to walk away from him, not wanting to engage in the conversation any further. But he stops her, grabbing her hand gently and pulling her back over to him. She lets out a huff as she looks at him, the annoyance still written in her eyes.

::KRIS “Come on, it’s pretty funny. You have to admit.”

He was trying his best to get her to calm down but she wasn’t finding any humor in the situation at hand. She pulls her hand away from his quickly.

;;MIKAH “No, Kristopher, I don’t find it funny at all. And the worst thing is? You won’t even admit to it.”

There’s a certain look in her eyes and for a moment, it makes Kris hesitate before sighing. He reaches out and cups her cheek gently with his own hand. She lets him for a moment before gently pushing it away.

::KRIS “You clearly already know what I did or you wouldn’t be this upset.”

There’s a touch of vulnerability in Mikah’s eyes as she looks at her husband. He was the only one that could ever have her emotions on high alert. He was also the only person that could get her to react like she had and he was the only person that she had ever truly let get close to her.

;;MIKAH “So, you’re admitting that you switched my DNA swab with your own?”

Her eyes look up to meet his as she steps a little closer to him and takes a deep breath. He watches her for a moment.

::KRIS “Will it make you feel better if I admit it?”

She purses her lips together a little bit but halfway nods her head.

;;MIKAH “Maybe a little better..”

He gives her his infamous grin and she looks at him, waiting for him to admit it or anything close to what she could consider to be an admittance.

::KRIS “You already know that I switched the swabs but that’s not why you’re upset. There’s something about the results that is bothering you.”

A look passes through her eyes, one that Kris couldn’t necessarily read but it wasn’t really one that was all too concerning.

;;MIKAH “Did you read the results? I mean, really read them?”

His brows furrowed together a little bit.

::KRIS “I read them…but there’s nothing too concerning?”

He didn’t seem to be too concerned about the results and Mikah gives him a look before pointing out the fact that his DNA and Myles’ DNA were identical. She looks at him as she waits for the realization to hit him.

;;MIKAH “If this is your DNA and this is Myles’ DNA, what does that tell you?”

He just shrugs his shoulders at her, clearly not caring what the results were reporting to them. She gives him a look and places her hands on her hips. He just laughs before flicking some orange paint at her and she tries to dodge it but it lands on her cheek. She wipes it off the best that she can, giving her husband a look and then shaking her head at him.

::KRIS “Nothing that we weren’t already acting like was the truth. It just makes it more factual.”

Mikah could see everything that would be going wrong and things that they would need to do now that they knew the actual truth.

;;MIKAH “I know that we’ve always joked that Myles is actually your son biologically and not Drake’s. But this paperwork? It makes it real. And that would mean I could cut all ties I have with Drake but it’s going to take some legal fees and a lot of paperwork to get Myles’ last name changed to Ryans and to remove Drake’s name off of the birth certificate. I wouldn’t have to deal with Drake at all anymore.”

It wasn’t that dealing with Drake was that much of an issue because it couldn’t be an issue. Mikah lives in Hawaii and Drake was never around anyways. He never even asked to see Myles, which always made Mikah feel bad for Myles. But with Kris being Myles actual biological father, it opened up doors that would be easier for them and closed doors to her past that she didn’t like to think about.

::KRIS “Sweet, let’s do it then.”

It was that easy of a choice for him and while it seemed like an easy choice for Mikah, there were also other things that came along with it. Her eyes become a little cloudy with hesitation and her eyes meet his again. He raises an eyebrow at her.

::KRIS “Or not?”

It was clear that he didn’t want to do anything that she didn’t want to but he was reading her emotions wrong. And she didn’t really blame them as they were all over the place already. She was already thinking about how her marriage to Drake had crumbled, not that it had been much of a marriage; she spent most of it flirting with Kris and then having a not-so-secret affair with Kris in 2018. But it was still a marriage and Drake had cared for Myles when he was a baby and they had still been together. But Mikah didn’t have to put herself through that mental torment anymore, not now that she had the paperwork that proved Kris was Myles’ biological father.

;;MIKAH “No, I want to. I want to close that chapter with Drake for good. But people are going to give me that look when they find out the truth about Myles’ father. And they’re going to know exactly what I did and how I was unfaithful to Drake…”

She didn’t regret her choice in 2018 in a dressing room in a Chicago mall and she knew that she’d do it all over again if given the choice. But that didn’t mean that she wanted to be looked at like she was some whore.

::KRIS “We were the worst kept secret of 2018, it’s not like it is new news.”

She gives him a look and shakes her head. It was different for him because women and men were judged differently for doing the same things.

;;MIKAH “Even if that is true, that doesn’t make it any easier. People are going to look at me as if I’m…the wicked witch or something.”

He cracks a grin before leaning down and kissing her.

::KRIS “They already do.”

Mikah gives him a look and shakes her head at him before winding her arms around his torso and pulling him into her for a hug. She sighs and relaxes against him, letting the worry wash away from her as she feels his body against hers. There was something comforting about being close to him and she liked every part of it.

;;MIKAH “I love you.”

She says it softly but loud enough for him to hear it. He leans down and presses his lips softly against hers.

::KRIS “I love you too.”

She cracks a grin before looking up at him.

;;MIKAH “Paris?”

It was the next trip on their horizon and the finale for the Blast From the Past Tournament, one that Mikah was hoping to win for a second time. She could only hope that what she wanted was going to be the actual outcome. Kris nods his head as he goes back to painting and Mikah grins to herself. She knew that they’d have to work out the details of when they would be in Paris and how long, but for now she was content with just agreeing to go.

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

“The Architect of Chaos.”
LOCATION: Paris, France..
DAYS UNTIL THE MATCH: 2
SCENE: ii
REC

Friday, May 23,  2025.
TIME: Early morning.

The camera opens slowly, the early morning light casting long, cool shadows across the colonnades of the Palais-Royal (The Royal Gardens). Mikah stands still amidst the striped pillars of Les Deux Plateaux, dressed in a simple black dress with an a-line style skirt and a sweetheart neckline. The air is quiet but heavy with anticipation, as if Paris itself is holding its breath. Her eyes cut to the camera with calm disdain, and her voice—sharp, controlled—breaks the silence like glass.

“Paris is known for its royalty, its revolutions. For the whispers of power that still haunt its corridors and stones. But I didn’t come here for the tourists. I didn’t come here for the lights. I came here because this city remembers what it means to elevate a woman to royalty… and just how quickly it forgets her when the next pretty distraction comes along.”

She makes a waving motion with her hand as she lets her eyes take in her surroundings.

“Let’s be clear, I’m not some wide-eyed ingénue scrambling up these columns praying someone throws her a glance. I’ve already ruled this industry, I’ve had the spotlight burn for me and only me before, even though others have been in that same spotlight after me. And I didn’t come back to share it

I chose this place—the Palais-Royal—because it speaks my language, it’s cold, deliberate. It doesn’t beg to be loved. And still... it endures. That’s what legacy looks like, not a burst of chaos, not a flash of gimmick, and not another loudmouth hoping to be remembered. And the problem with flashes is that they fade but I don’t fade, I remain.

I am the reminder of what happens when royalty decides to return.

And now that I’m back, I’ve come to collect.

My throne.

My crown.

My silence before the storm.

And if that makes the little darlings nervous? Good, they should be.”

She steps between the columns, heels echoing across the stone as the camera shifts to follow her. The elegance around her only sharpens the venom in her tone, as if everything, every marble shadow exists solely to frame her power. Her voice cuts sharper now, coiling toward her first target.

“Let’s start with the first one that’s desperately asking for attention…”

The morning light barely shifts as Mikah’s gaze narrows, her voice dropping to a razor’s edge, showing that her focus was only on what was going to be said in the coming moments.

“Frankie Holliday. The so-called ‘chaotic queen’ of this new generation, a tempest in a teacup, roaring loud but never truly threatening. You want to rewrite history, don’t you? To paint me as some faded relic, a shooting star long extinguished. How quaint.”

She steps forward, the cold stone beneath her heels echoing each deliberate word.

“You say I’m a burst of chaos, a flash of gimmick, a passing distraction. But chaos doesn’t build legacies, chaos burns itself out, leaving nothing but ashes and regret. I’m not the chaos you think you know — I’m the storm you can’t control, the quiet before the world falls to its knees.”

Mikah’s eyes glint as she continues, her voice laced with venom.

“You claim I’m forgotten; forgotten by the fans, by the industry, by history itself. But history doesn’t forget its queens, Frankie. However, it remembers the fire they bring, the crowns they wear, the empires they forge. And I? I am the empire.”

Her hand gestures to the sprawling gardens around her.

“You talk about me like I’m yesterday’s news,  a faded echo of a time that’s better left behind. But I’m not history; I’m the author of what’s next. While you scream and flail, hoping to carve a name from chaos, I sit here and command respect with a glance. Your jealousy of my legacy is obvious by your attempts to downplay my entire SCW career and name lesser Bombshells that you try to claim hold more importance to this company. People like Roxi Johnson, who is nothing but a wannabe superhero or people like Misty…but what is her legacy? I don’t even think people know who the fuck Misty is… or was. When my name is mentioned, people know who I am and whether it is a good thought fleeting through their uneducated brains or a bad one, they at least know who I am. However, you’re too busy focusing on people that don’t matter, instead of the opponents in front of you.”

She smiles, cold and unyielding.

“You say I ‘win some stuff, get bored, disappear, then come back’, as if my breaks are signs of weakness. No, Frankie. they’re calculated. Precision strikes in a game where patience and timing are the deadliest weapons. And if you remember, the last time I was in this tournament and won alongside Mac Bane, I never wanted a shot at the Bombshell Championship. I was pretty clear that I wasn’t going to be taking that shot from the beginning of the tournament and like every other sheep that this company has employed, you don’t seem to have believed me. But when I won and didn’t get what I actually wanted, I left because I wasn’t going to stick around on broken promises that were never followed through. I was true to my word, even if nobody else chose to believe me.

But that is history, as you clearly know, even if you have it wrong within your silly little mind. And Queens? They don’t linger on the past or things that do not matter anymore.”

She just shrugs her shoulders and waves her hand, as if waving the memory away and out of her brain.

““You think you can wear the crown by shaking the throne? You think shouting the loudest grants you power? You are mistaken. Power is earned, worn, and commanded, not demanded.”

She steps between two columns, letting the silence hang before delivering the next blow.

“You want to be the ‘true threat,’ the new face of this business? Start by showing respect to what you seek to claim. Because the crown I wear is heavier than your ambition, deeper than your chaos, and infinitely more dangerous than your empty words.”

Mikah’s gaze hardens as she leans in, voice almost a whisper.

“You have no idea what it takes to carry this burden… and you never will.”

She straightens out her dress as she stands straighter, voice rising, regal and cutting.

“I am not the stepping stone. I am the mountain. And if you think you can climb me, you will find only cold stone and shattered dreams”

The camera pulls back as Mikah turns, her heels clicking with finality on the marble floor.

“This tournament is not a game to me, it’s a reckoning. A reckoning for those foolish enough to challenge what I’ve built. And come Into the Void IX, I will remind everyone exactly why my name still echoes in the halls of power.”

She pauses, eyes burning with icy fire.

“Frankie, you’re a storm, but storms pass. I am the tide — relentless, inevitable, and unforgiving.”

Her voice drops to a venomous murmur.

“Prepare yourself. Because when the dust settles, there will be no question who rules this kingdom.”

She reaches up and tucks a strand of hair that has blown free.

“You call yourself chaotic, Frankie. A tempest, a queen of disorder. But chaos is a playground for the unprepared… a playground where I am the architect.”

Mikah’s voice is calm but cutting, each word measured like a scalpel.

“Your chaos is noise,  a desperate scream in an empty room. You wave your arms, you shout your threats, but beneath the surface? There’s no substance, no foundation. Just the fleeting illusion of power.”

She pauses, letting the accusation hang heavy in the cold morning air.

“You’re new, fresh-faced and hungry, sure. But hunger alone doesn’t fill the throne. You haven’t paid the toll, the sacrifices, the blood, the nights you spent carving your name into stone while others slept. You’re still scribbling in chalk, hoping the world forgets the eras that built this empire.”

A slow smile creeps across her lips, one that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“You think your chaos will rewrite the story? That your antics will overshadow the legacy I forged? I’m not a stepping stone for your ambitions; I am the mountain you will never summit. And you? You’re a storm passing through a valley,  loud, yes, but powerless.”

She lifts a hand to gesture at the vast columns and endless gardens surrounding her, while her eyes follow her gesture to look around as well.

“This place — the Palais-Royal — is a monument to endurance, to legacy, to power that doesn’t fade with the sunrise. I chose it for a reason. Because I am the living embodiment of that. And you? You are a passing breeze that will be forgotten by nightfall. You’ll be another dime a dozen that walk through those doors and once you’re gone, you’ll be nothing but a blip on the radar. Something like Polly Playtime is now or that Apple lady. They’re nothing more than forgettable and you soon will be as well.”

Mikah’s eyes burn with a cold fire as she leans closer, voice dropping to a venomous whisper. Her eyes are focus on the camera in front of her.

“You mocked me for my silence, you said it was the calm before a storm. Well, storms come and go, Frankie. But empires? They stand forever. And my silence? It’s the gathering of a force that will drown out your screams. And soon, silence will be the only thing that you have left.”

She goes quiet for a moment or two before she smirks at the camera.

“Into the Void IX will be your reckoning. The final act where you learn that chaos isn’t power, it’s weakness. A distraction. A moment before the crown returns to its rightful owner.”

She holds her head up.

“You think you’re ready? That you can face me? Let me remind you of something important, Frankie. I don’t just fight to win — I fight to reign. And when this is over, your name will be a footnote in the history I write.”

She seems to get more focused on the camera now, her eyes cold.

“So bring your chaos, your noise, your desperate screams. I will meet it with cold precision and brutal clarity. Because I am Mikah. And I am the storm that never passes”

She stops in her slow circle between the striped columns, one heel clicking deliberately as she pivots to face the camera fully. Her arms fold across her chest, and her gaze hardens.

“And then there’s you…”

Her lip curls in distaste, not quite a smile—more like a reflex of disgust held barely in check.

“Laura Phoenix. The supposed ‘standard.’ The measuring stick. The woman who walked into this match already draped in the myth of her own legacy.”

She clicks her tongue against her teeth.

“I watched your little promo. That low-budget, kitchen-table wannabe TED Talk where you sat there with all the personality of a stale saltine and tried to sell the world this narrative that you’re above it all. No smoke, no mirrors. Just ‘truth,’ right?”

She lets the silence hang just long enough to let the disdain settle before slicing through it.

“You call that authenticity? I call it desperation. Because that wasn’t a statement, Laura. That was resignation, that was a woman who’s come to terms with the fact that she isn’t the main character anymore. That the chapters that mattered? They’ve already been written… without her in them.”

Mikah starts walking again, each step soft but deliberate, weaving through the lines of the Palais-Royal like royalty stalking through her ancestral estate.

“You said you don’t need to prove anything anymore. But here’s the thing about people who scream that they have nothing to prove…”

She smiles a little cruelly.

“…they usually have the most to prove. And nothing left in the tank to prove it.”

She shrugs one shoulder, casual in her venom.

“You say you’re not here for validation. Then why show up at all? Why roll out of bed and film your little monologue about legacy and war stories if not to beg someone—anyone—to remember you? Because let’s be honest, Laura…”

Her voice lowers, as if sharing a secret meant to devastate.

“If people remembered you, if your legacy truly meant something right now, you wouldn’t be in a triple threat with a returning queen and a firecracker rookie. You’d be leading the division, not sneaking back in through the nostalgia door like a special guest star on a show that moved on without you.”

She glances up at the sky, blue, vast, and utterly indifferent.

“You’re not the standard, you’re the relic, which is something our other opponent likes to call me but yet... You’re the dusty trophy in the cabinet that gets a polite nod from the interns as they walk past. Not because they remember what you did, but because someone told them to respect it.”

Her voice sharpens a little bit.

“And what really kills you? What really burns under all that practiced composure? It’s not me. It’s not even Frankie.”

She leans forward slightly, a devilish gleam in her eyes, that same cold, calculated look in them.

“It’s that you’re terrified this industry will finally realize… it doesn’t need you anymore.”

She starts moving again, weaving between the columns with a dancer’s poise and a killer’s precision.

“Let’s talk about fear, since you think you’ve outgrown it. You said I walk with my nose in the air—that I expect the ring to bow just because I exist in it. You’re right about one thing: I do expect that. I’m not going to pretend that I don’t.  But I’ve been doing this a long time; since November of 2007 when I was just bare twenty-one years old. I’ve done everything in a SCW ring that I possibly could and now? I get to act however I want and do whatever I want because I’ve earned it. It’s something that you and Frankie don’t seem to understand at all. But that’s fine, I’m okay with being looked at as you two have looked at me. I’m used to the adversity, it’s like second nature to me. And I’m going to just prove to you on Sunday why the ring will bow down to me.”

A cruel smirk blossoms now.

“But the ring doesn’t bow for me because I demand it. It bows because I’ve broken every woman who stood in it with me. Because I have the kind of legacy that doesn’t beg to be remembered—it forces you to kneel.”

She pauses at a marble pillar, resting a single hand on it as she turns back to the camera with the poise of a queen addressing her court.

“You, Laura? You want credit for surviving battles that no one’s talking about anymore. You want praise for past wars as if they buy you immunity today. But here’s your harsh truth: your war stories don’t scare me, they bore me.”

She covers her mouth as she fakes a yawn.

“You’re not a lion anymore. You’re a taxidermy version of your former self, mounted, posed, and trying to convince people there’s still a heartbeat left under the glassy stare.”

She walks slowly toward the fountain at the center of the garden, the sunlight catching on the surface of the water as her reflection ripples.

“And you want to talk about me being arrogant? Condescending? You want to call me out for having the audacity to walk into this match with full confidence that I belong on the throne again?”

She just holds a smirk on her face and then simply shrugs her shoulders.

“I’m not arrogant. I’m inevitable.”

She lets the words settle to let the weight of them linger.

“I didn’t claw my way back to be anyone's last ride, I’m not here to polish your highlight reel. I’m here to write my next chapter in your blood, in Frankie’s bones, and in the silence that follows when royalty returns and no one remembers who the old regime was.”

She stops beside the fountain, letting her hand trail along its edge, dragging across the surface with a casual cruelty.

“So go ahead, Laura. Walk into the ring thinking you’re above it all. Tell yourself you don’t need the win, that your place in history is secure. Lie to yourself as much as you want. But once that bell rings?”

She leans closer to the camera and lowers her voice down to a whisper.

“You won’t be facing the ghosts of your past. You’ll be facing the woman who came to bury them.”

She lifts her chin slightly, the image of calculated finality.

“And when I stand over both of you—when the lights come down and the crown is back where it belongs—no one will remember your final stand, Laura. They’ll remember that it ended with your name in my win column.”

Her final glance to the camera is cold and merciless.

“You are not the standard, I am. You are not the present, I am. And after Paris?”

She smirks a little bit.

“You won’t even be worth mentioning.”

She stands in the center of the garden now, framed by the black-and-white columns of Palais-Royal, the fountain behind her. Her arms fall to her sides, relaxed.

Controlled.

Dangerous.

“Three women walk into Paris. Only one walks out with everything.”

She lets that linger, head tilting just slightly.

“Frankie Holliday wants to set the world on fire but she’ll burn herself out before the match is over. Laura Phoenix wants to be remembered but she’ll be forgotten by the time the lights come back up.”

Another smirk appears on her face.

“And myself?

I don’t need to want. I take.”

She raises one perfectly manicured hand and snaps her fingers once. Sharp. Final.

“At Into the Void IX, history doesn’t repeat itself. It kneels.”

She turns her back to the camera and walks away without a word. The wind catches the hem of her coat as she vanishes between the columns like a queen exiting her court.