COLD OPEN INT. MERCEDES’ LIVING ROOM – EVENING
[The cozy living room was a shrine to Mercedes Vargas's wrestling career—championship belts hung artfully on walls, vintage posters captured moments of her greatest victories, and action figures stood in dramatic poses across shelves. Mercedes herself sat on the plush leather couch, her fingers scrolling absently across her smartphone screen. The late afternoon Los Angeles light filtered through venetian blinds, casting geometric shadows across the room.
Her expression shifted subtly—from casual disinterest to sudden, sharp attention—as her phone buzzed with an incoming call. The caller ID showed "Mom," and Mercedes knew immediately this wasn't going to be an ordinary conversation.]
MERCEDES
Hey, Mom. What’s up?
[Her mother Estelle's excited voice burst through the phone's speaker, practically vibrating with energy.]
ESTELLE (V.O.)
Mercedes! Big news! Your father and I are opening a restaurant!
[Mercedes sat up straighter, her athletic frame suddenly alert.]
MERCEDES
Wait, what? A restaurant? Since when do you two know anything about running a restaurant?
[Estelle's enthusiasm was infectious, even through the phone line.]
ESTELLE (V.O.)
It’s not just any restaurant—it’s wrestling-themed! And we're not running it, your friends are. They need your help to promote it. You’re their star attraction!
[Mercedes freezes for a moment, overwhelmed but intrigued.]
MERCEDES
Wrestling-themed? That’s... actually kind of cool. But me? Promoting it? I don’t know, Mom—
[Before she can finish, the apartment's door bursts open. Jorge walks in uninvited, laptop tucked under his arm and looking smug.]
JORGE
Did someone say “restaurant”? Because I smell a feature article!
[Mercedes glares at her brother but can’t help smirking. Some things never changed.]
MERCEDES
Jorge, do you ever knock?
JORGE
Why knock when I have perfect timing? This is big news, Mercedes. Your friends are opening a restaurant, and you’re the face of it! This could be my next big story.
[Mercedes rolls her eyes but can’t hide her nervous excitement.]
MERCEDES
Yeah, well, don’t get too excited. I haven’t said yes yet.
[She looks back at her phone as Estelle continues talking excitedly in the background.]
INT. CARMEN’S OFFICE – SAME TIME
[Carmen Reyes sits at her desk in a sleek office, surrounded by stacks of legal files. She’s on the phone with a client while glancing at an email from Mercedes about the restaurant.]
CARMEN
(to client)
Yes, I understand your concerns, but we’ll need more evidence before we can move forward with the case.
[She sighs and clicks on Mercedes’ email, reading it quickly before muttering to herself.]
CARMEN
A wrestling-themed restaurant? Of course they’d rope me into this somehow...
INT. JORGE'S APARTMENT
[Jorge sits at his cluttered desk, the glow of his laptop illuminating his face in the dim light of the apartment, a chaotic mix of old pizza boxes and scattered papers, remnants of late-night brainstorming sessions that never quite went anywhere. The faint hum of the computer fills the silence as he types furiously, his fingers dancing over the keys. A half-empty coffee cup sits precariously on the edge of the desk, its contents long gone cold. Fingers flying over the keyboard, he crafts a satirical article that pokes fun at his sister Mercedes' lofty dreams. With each word, a smirk creeps onto his face. He’s crafting a satirical article that mercilessly mocks his sister Mercedes’ lofty aspirations. He can almost hear her voice in his head, the way she passionately talks about her dreams, and it only fuels his resolve.“Who does she think she is?” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head as he types another biting line.
Just as he types the final sentence, a sudden ping from his phone breaks his concentration. It’s a message from Mercedes: "Can’t wait to share my big news with you! 😊"
His heart skips a beat, and for a moment, doubt flickers in his mind. Should he really publish this? He hesitates, fingers hovering over the keyboard as he considers her excitement. But then he shakes off the thought, a mischievous grin returning to his face.
With a triumphant click, he hits "publish," sending his biting commentary into the digital world. The room is silent except for the soft hum of the computer, as Jorge leans back, satisfied with his mischievous work.]
INT. RESTAURANT KITCHEN – NIGHT (FLASH FORWARD)
[Ricardo and Tomas are in the kitchen of the unfinished restaurant. It’s chaos—pots are boiling over, smoke fills the air, and Tomas is frantically fanning a burnt tray of appetizers while Ricardo tries to salvage a dish.]
RICARDO
Tomas! How did you burn everything in five minutes?!
TOMAS
It’s called “flavor,” Ricardo! You wouldn’t understand genius if it hit you in the face!
[Smoke alarms start blaring as Irma rushes in holding a plate of lopsided cupcakes.]
IRMA
I think I used salt instead of sugar... again.
[They all freeze as the fire alarm goes off and water sprays from the sprinklers above. Smash cut back to Mercedes in her living room as she hears all this chaos through her phone.]
INT. MERCEDES’ LIVING ROOM – CONTINUOUS
[Mercedes pinches the bridge of her nose as her mom continues rambling on speakerphone.]
ESTELLE (V.O.)
So what do you think? Are you in? We’re counting on you!
[Mercedes exhales deeply before responding with a resigned smile.]
MERCEDES
Yeah... sure. What could possibly go wrong?
INT. RESTAURANT KITCHEN – DAY
[The kitchen was a battlefield of culinary chaos. Ricardo stood in front of a stovetop with smoke billowing around him as he frantically waved a dish towel to clear the air. Pots clanged, timers beeped, and the unmistakable scent of something burning filled the room.
Tomas was perched on a stool nearby, holding a tray of raw chicken wings with an air of misplaced confidence. He inspected them thoughtfully before shrugging and placing them on a serving platter.
Tomas mutters to himself.]
TOMAS
Perfectly fine. Medium rare is trendy now.
[Meanwhile, Irma bustles around the kitchen island with a mixing bowl in hand, her brow furrows in concentration. She carefully measures out what she thought was sugar and dumps it into the batter for cupcakes. The granules sparkles innocently in the light—until Ricardo glances over and froze mid-motion.]
RICARDO
Irma! That’s salt! You’re putting salt in the cupcakes!"
[Irma stopped stirring and looked down at the bowl, her face falling as realization dawned.
IRMA
Oh no... again?!
[She groans and set the bowl aside, muttering under her breath about how recipes were unnecessarily complicated.
Across the room, Tomas was already making his next questionable decision. He grabs a ladle and began taste-testing the soup directly from the pot—only to spit it out dramatically into the sink.]
TOMAS
Too much pepper. Or maybe not enough? Who can tell these days?
[Ricardo turns back to his stovetop just in time to see flames licking up from one of his pans. He yelps and grabs a fire extinguisher, spraying foam wildly until both the flames and half of their appetizers were ruined beyond recognition.]
RESTAURANT DINING AREA – LATER THAT DAY
[Despite the earlier chaos, the dining area was transformed into an inviting space for the tasting event. Tables were adorned with crisp white linens and centerpieces featuring miniature wrestling belts as a nod to Mercedes’ career. Guests mingled with curiosity as servers brought out trays of appetizers—some salvaged from earlier disasters, others hastily prepared last-minute replacements.
[At one table sat a well-known food blogger, who eyed Tomas suspiciously as he placed a platter of chicken wings in front of her with an overly enthusiastic grin.]
TOMAS
Fresh from the kitchen. Bon appetit.
[Tomas walks away without waiting for feedback. The blogger picked up a wing, took one bite—and immediately froze. Her expression shifted from curiosity to horror as she realized it was completely raw inside.]
INT. RESTAURANT KITCHEN – SAME TIME
[Back in the kitchen, Ricardo paces nervously while Irma tries to salvage her salted cupcakes by frosting them heavily with buttercream icing. Tomas leans casually against the counter, oblivious to any concerns about food safety or presentation.
Ricardo mutters under his breath.]
RICARDO
We're doomed.
INT. RESTAURANT DINING AREA – EVENING
[The tasting event was in full swing when Jorge’s article went live online—and it wasn’t long before guests began murmuring among themselves as they read it on their phones.
[Mercedes enters the dining area just as Carmen approaches her hesitantly.
CARMEN
Is it true? That this restaurant is just... some vanity project for you?
[Mercedes freezes, her stomach sinking as she realizes what has happened.
Spotting Jorge across the room chatting casually with another guest, she storms over to him.]
MERCEDES
JORGE!
[Mercedes glares at Jorge, holding up her phone with the offending article headline glowing on the screen: “From Wrestling Rings to Restaurant Dreams: Mercedes Vargas’ Next Big Move.” Jorge, standing a few feet away, looks up at her and blinks innocently. He quickly realizes she’s not in a joking mood.
The scene freezes as Jorge instinctively turns to bolt about to be chased by his very angry wrestler sister. Freeze frame holds as the scene fades to black, capturing the perfect comedic moment of sibling confrontation.]
• • •
Present Day ♦ LA S V E G A S, N E V A D A
[REC•]
[The screen fades in, showing Mercedes Vargas standing on a rooftop overlooking the Las Vegas skyline at dusk. The city lights twinkle behind her as she leans casually against the railing, her expression a mix of determination and defiance. Dressed in a sleek black leather jacket, she exudes confidence as the camera zooms in.]
"Las Vegas. The city of dreams, the city of stars. But on Sunday, at Inception, it’s going to be the city where history gets rewritten. You see, Song and I have danced this dance five times before. Two wins for her, three draws. And me? Zero wins. Nada. Zilch. That’s a bitter pill to swallow for someone like me, a two-time SCW Hall of Famer and multi-time champion.
"You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about this match. About everything it means—not just to me, but to Song, to the fans, and to SCW as a whole. This isn’t just another match on the card. It’s not just another chapter in our story. This is the chapter. The one that defines how this rivalry will be remembered. There’s something poetic about this match happening at Inception. The word itself means ‘the beginning.’ And maybe that’s exactly what this is—a new beginning for me when it comes to Song. A chance to finally close the chapter on this story where I’m always the underdog and start writing one where I come out on top."
[Mercedes smirks, adjusting her jacket.]
"I’ve heard it all before. The whispers, the doubts, the people saying, ‘Mercedes can’t beat her. She’s in her head. She’s outmatched.’ That’s fine. Let them talk. Let you believe that if it makes you feel better, Song. But here’s the thing about me: I thrive when the odds are stacked against me. I’ve built my career proving people wrong, and Sunday will be no different. You may have beaten me, but you’ve never broken me. And that’s the difference between us. You’ve had your moments, sure, but I’ve built a career on moments that people will remember forever. Championships, accolades, Hall of Fame inductions—those aren’t just handed out. They’re earned. And I’ve earned every single one of them."
[Mercedes crosses her arms, tilting her head slightly as a sly smile creeps onto her face.]
"But you? You’re just another name on a long list of people who thought they could keep me down. Spoiler alert: they couldn’t. And neither will you."
[Mercedes takes a step closer to the camera, her expression unflinching.]
"The thing about history—it’s not set in stone. It’s written by those who refuse to quit. And while you might have had my number in the past, Sunday is a new chapter, mamita. You may have gotten the better of me twice in singles competition, sure, but let’s not forget something important: every streak has an expiration date. And yours? It's overdue.
"Because this time, I’m not just fighting to win—I’m fighting to finally put an end to this narrative that you have my number. You don’t. You never did. What you had was opportunity—and on Sunday, I’m taking that opportunity back."
[She steps closer to the camera, her voice firm.]
"You may think you know me, but this isn’t the same Mercedes Vargas you've faced before. I’ve been through losing streaks, setbacks, and doubts—and I’m still standing. That’s what makes me dangerous. At Inception, I’m not just fighting for a win; I’m fighting to remind everyone why I’m one of the greatest Bombshells to ever step foot in SCW."
[Mercedes pauses, her tone softening but still sharp.]
"I’ll give you credit where it’s due, Song. You’re tough. You’re talented. You’ve earned your spot in SCW. But come Inception, none of that will matter because I’m walking into that ring with one goal: to finally put you down and prove to everyone—and to myself—that Mercedes Vargas doesn’t stay down forever.
"Because when that bell rings and we go toe-to-toe for the sixth time, I’m not walking into that ring as the same woman you’ve beaten before. I’m walking in as someone who has nothing left to lose and everything to gain. And trust me when I say this: that makes me more dangerous than I’ve ever been."
[Mercedes takes a deep breath, her tone softening but still carrying an edge.]
"So here’s what’s going to happen at Inception: we’re going to step into this ring one more time. You’re going to bring everything you have—every ounce of skill, every bit of fight—and it still won’t be enough. Because when that final bell rings and my hand is raised in victory for the first time against you? That’s when you’ll realize that history isn’t just rewritten—it’s redefined. And that I don't just rewrite history... I make it."
[Mercedes turns away from the camera, looking out over the city as the wind catches her hair. Her voice carries over her shoulder as she delivers her final words.]
"See you Sunday, Song. Bring everything you’ve got—because I’m bringing everything you can’t handle."
[She steps closer to the camera, her voice dropping to almost a whisper.]
"Prepare for the worst, hope for the best. And may the odds be ever in your favor."
[The camera lingers on her silhouette against the glowing skyline before fading to black once more.]
[***Fade***]
