[Christian Underwood]

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

[Mercedes Vargas]

[The city is a blur of motion-cars streak by, neon glints off wet pavement, and distant sirens wail. Under the flickering light of a battered bus shelter, Mercedes Vargas sits alone at the far end of a cold metal bench. Her hands, rough and steady, reach for a pair of glasses resting atop a folded newspaper. She puts them on with a practiced motion, her gaze settling on a crossword puzzle.

A beat. She murmurs, voice low, almost lost in the city’s din.]

MERCEDES:
A seven-letter word that uses all five vowels?

[She’s dressed for utility, not attention-a Reba Wool cowboy hat pulled low, faded blue jeans, and a tank top that shows the faint bruises and scars of her trade. She tips her hat, a wry smile flickering as she fills in the answer: Sequoia.

Her pen taps the paper, restless. Crosswords are her antidote-rules, answers, order. Everything life refuses to give her, wrapped up in seven little squares. As she ponders her next clue, Mercedes glances up to watch the world go by-a man in a suit checks his watch with increasing agitation, a mother scolds her child near the curb, and the air is thick with the mingled scents of exhaust and springtime.]

MERCEDES:
Nine across... An association. Accord. Rapport...

[There’s only so much time you can spend staring at the bus schedule or the faded advertisements before you crave a little human connection.

A young girl slides onto the bench beside her. Francine Chandler, ten, hair in pigtails, Girl Scout uniform a size too big, plops down, watching Mercedes with open curiosity.]

FRANCINE:
You look like you’re thinking real hard. You trying to solve world peace, or just that puzzle?

[Mercedes lets out a laugh-short, genuine, surprised.]

MERCEDES:
Honestly? Both. And I think the puzzle might be easier.

[Francine swings her legs, grinning.]

FRANCINE:
My mom says if you wait too long, you’ll turn into part of the bench.

MERCEDES:
That explains why my back hurts.

[They share a quick laugh. Mercedes looks up at the cloudy sky.

[Francine fumbles in her bag, producing a battered notepad, thrusting it at Mercedes with the eager boldness only kids have.]

FRANCINE:
You want to sign this? Or do you only sign autographs for people who don’t think you eat babies?

MERCEDES:
I sign for everyone. Even conspiracy theorists.

[They laugh again, just as the bus rumbles into view, brakes squealing as it pulls to the curb. Mercedes stands, nods to Francine, boards the bus. As the doors close, Francine waves-a small gesture, but it lingers with Mercedes as the city blurs past.

And just when you think the bus is never coming, there it is. Not always on time, not always the one you wanted, but it’s moving-and sometimes that’s enough.]

EXT. CITY STREET - EVENING

[The city looks different through the bus window as dusk settles in. Streetlights cast long shadows, and the pulse of the city feels less chaotic now, more focused. Mercedes steps off the bus in a neighborhood that smells faintly of industry and determination. This isn’t the glitz of the arena; it’s a place built on raw effort.]

INT. GRIZZLY’S GYM – EVENING

[Inside Grizzly’s Gym, the air buzzes with energy. Irma pounds away on a treadmill, her movements steady and strong, occasionally glancing down at a magazine. Tomas struggles with the bench press, his form a little off but his determination clear. Mercedes drops her bag with a satisfying thud.

The gym feels alive with motion. Ricardo shadowboxes in a corner, his punches sharp and precise, embodying both grace and power.

Tomas approaches Mercedes, phone in hand, a hopeful grin plastered over his nerves.]

IRMA:
Hey, look who finally untangled herself from the bus route of doom. Took you long enough.

[Mercedes forces a smile, but her eyes are tired. She shrugs off her jacket, revealing bruises-some fresh, some faded.]

MERCEDES:
If you think the city’s confusing, you should try my life. At least the bus route’s predictable.

TOMAS:
Made you a playlist. Steely Dan and 80s montage jams. Motivation, right?

[Mercedes takes the phone, scrolling through the tracks. She lets out a short, genuine laugh-the first real one of the day.]

MERCEDES:
Perfect. Nothing says “victory” like jazz fusion and Mr. T.

[Irma steps off the treadmill, tossing Mercedes a water bottle with a practiced flick.]

Irma:
Ready to get twisted up in training?

MERCEDES:
Always.

[Training blurs into a montage: Mercedes dodges Irma’s playful jabs, Tomas trips over a jump rope, Ricardo lands perfect punches and takedowns, Grizzly, the gym owner, watches from the sidelines, arms crossed over his chest. He pretends not to smile at their progress, but there’s a glint of pride in his eyes.

The sounds of the gym fade for a moment as Mercedes leans against the ropes, catching her breath. Sweat beads on her brow, but there’s a small, satisfied smile on her face. Irma tosses her a towel, Tomas grins through his exhaustion, and Ricardo nods in quiet approval. Grizzly, arms still crossed, gives the faintest of nods-respect earned, not given.]

IRMA
So, Paris, huh? Big city, big dreams. You really going through with it?

[Tomas looks up.]

TOMAS
Yeah, Mercedes. You’ve been talking about this forever.

IRMA
Just don’t forget us little people when you’re sipping wine and winning championships over there.

MERCEDES
Never. You’re my friends. Wherever I go, you’re coming with me-in spirit, at least.

[Mercedes shrugs, a small smile playing on her lips.]

RICARDO
Well, if you need a hype man for the Eiffel Tower, I’m your guy.

[The laughter fades into comfortable silence. Mercedes breathes deeply, the weight on her shoulders feeling lighter for the first time in days. Around her, the gym hums softly-a sanctuary of sweat, struggle, and solidarity.]

~~~

Almighty Fire
semana del 11 de 18 de mayo de 2025

Into the Void is about to get legendary. Why? Because yours truly is coming for Bella Madison and her precious Bombshell Internet Championship.

Now, let’s talk about Bella for a second. She’s good. Cute, even. She’s got heart, hustle, and a shiny belt that’s been keeping her warm at night. But honey, championships aren’t about comfort-they’re about legacy. And if there’s one thing I know, it’s how to make history.

Let’s talk about history, shall we? Because if there’s one thing I don’t shy away from, it’s the truth-even when it isn’t dripping in gold and confetti.

I know the numbers. I know the whispers. Mercedes Vargas, the Hall of Famer, the record-setter, the woman with more accolades than most can dream of-yet when it comes to Bella Madison in SCW, the scoreboard reads 0-2-4. That’s right. Six times we’ve stood across from each other, and not once have I had my hand raised over hers. Some call it a curse. Others say it’s a mountain I just can’t climb.

But here’s the thing about legends, darling: we don’t run from our history-we rewrite it.

Every draw, every loss, every single time I’ve come up short against Bella, it’s only fueled my fire. It’s made me sharper, smarter, and hungrier than ever. Bella, you’ve had my number, but numbers don’t lie-and neither do streaks. And every streak? It has an expiration date. May 25th at Into the Void? That’s looking like the perfect night for a rewrite.

But let’s not stop there. Let’s talk about what this match means-not just for you, not just for me, but for everyone watching. For every young girl sitting in the crowd, dreaming of one day stepping into this ring. For every aspiring wrestler who looks up to us and believes that anything is possible. For every fan who has followed our journeys, who has cheered us on, who has lived and died with every win and loss.

This match is bigger than just a title. It’s bigger than just a rivalry. It’s about inspiration. It’s about hope. It’s about proving that no matter how many times you fall, you can always rise again. That no matter how high the mountain, you can always climb it. That no matter how tough the odds, you can always overcome them.

That’s the message I want to send. That’s the legacy I want to leave.

So, Bella, when we step into that ring, know that we’re not just fighting for ourselves. We’re fighting for everyone who has ever dared to dream. We’re fighting for everyone who has ever faced adversity and refused to back down. We’re fighting for everyone who believes that greatness is within reach.

And that’s why I’m going to give everything I have. That’s why I’m going to leave it all in the ring. That’s why I’m going to fight with every ounce of my being.

Because that’s what legends do.

People love to talk about “underdogs” and “fairy tales.” But in this business, fairy tales end the moment the queen arrives. And trust me, I don’t just wear the crown-I own the kingdom. And let’s not pretend, Bella, that you haven’t been watching me. You know the deal. When Mercedes Vargas is on the card, the whole world tunes in. That’s not hype, mamita-that’s history. I’m the headline, the main event, the reason the lights shine just a little brighter on May 25th.

Clutch that Bombshell Internet Championship as tight as you want, Bella. Because when you step in the ring with me, you’re diving into the deep end-and I don’t just swim, I make tidal waves. I’ve been breaking records, breaking hearts, and breaking the mold since day one. Legends don’t chase titles, Bella. Titles chase legends.

So go ahead-shine up that belt, take your selfies, post your hashtags. Because when the bell rings, it’s not about who’s trending-it’s about who’s standing. Spoiler alert, sweetheart: it’s going to be me, hand raised, championship high, with the world chanting my name..

And to every Bombshell who thinks they can step up and take my place? Think again. To everyone who’s ever doubted me-watch closely. To every critic who keeps my name on their lips, keep talking. And to everyone who’s ever believed in me? Get ready to celebrate. Because at Into the Void, I’m not just taking the title-I’m taking over.

So, Bella, I hope you’re ready. I hope you’ve been training, dreaming, and maybe even praying. Because when that bell rings, it’s not just your title on the line-it’s your reputation. And everyone knows, when Mercedes Vargas walks down that ramp, the spotlight follows. The crowd rises. The moment gets bigger.

And the outcome? Let’s just say I have a habit of making sure history remembers my name.

Bella, after Into the Void, you’ll know exactly what it means to share the ring with greatness. You’ll know what it means to be outclassed, outshined, and outwrestled by the one and only Mercedes Vargas.

So polish that belt, darling. It’s about to have a real champion’s reflection.

See you at Into the Void, Bella. Bring your best. You’ll need it.

~~~

INT. THE FLOATING PENALTY BOX – NIGHT (ON TOMAS’ BOAT)

[The crew gathers on Tomas’ boat, which tonight doubles as The Floating Penalty Box-Hugo’s sports bar, but with a twist: every surface is draped in colorful “Happy Mother’s Day” banners, and the walls are plastered with wrestling posters featuring formidable women-some real, some invented, all larger than life.

Hugo balances precariously on a barstool, stretching to hang a glittery sign above the entrance. His King Jaguarito costume, a luchador character who’s half jaguar, half caveman, is only half on, the jaguar mask dangling from his elbow as he tries to tie the banner’s last knot.

HUGO:
Tonight’s match is for my mamá. She’s the fiercest woman I know. King Jaguarito fights with her spirit!

[The mask slips from his arm and bounces off the counter, but Hugo catches it with a flourish, grinning at the others.

Mercedes stands nearby, referee’s whistle already around her neck, phone clutched in one hand as she texts furiously.

MERCEDES:
I’m juggling this match and my mom’s 3 p.m. call. If I miss it, I’m grounded for a week.

[She looks up, surveying the chaos with a mixture of affection and exasperation.

At the far end of the bar, Irma sets up her latest masterpiece: a merch table overflowing with “Mom-inspired” wrestling pins, t-shirts, and even a few hand-painted luchador masks with floral patterns. She arranges the items with an artist’s eye, pausing to admire her “Matriarchal Mayhem” collection.]

IRMA:
Nothing says love like a wrestling mom pin.

[Ricardo sits at a small table, laptop open, fingers flying across the keyboard as he works on his latest promo.]

RICARDO:
I’m working on a promo so heartfelt it’ll make the crowd cry.

[His focus breaks repeatedly as his phone buzzes.]

RICARDO:
Hello, Mom! Yes, I’m rehearsing. No, I’m not hungry. Yes, I’ll wear a sweater.

[He rolls his eyes good-naturedly at the others but smiles.]

RICARDO:
She’s got great advice, but she’s also distracting.

[Behind the bar, Tomas pours drinks and keeps a wary eye on the proceedings.]

TOMAS:
If this event doesn’t bring in business, nothing will. Just… no flooding this time, please.

[The boat rocks gently beneath their feet, the air buzzing with anticipation and the unmistakable feeling that, whatever happens next, it will be a Mother’s Day to remember.]

INT. SPORTS BAR – LATER

 The crowd fills the boat’s limited space, laughter and chatter blending with the clinking of glasses. Hugo steps into the ring, his costume slightly askew. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He struggles to keep his composure

HUGO:
For my mother… the strongest woman…

[Suddenly, his mask slips off, tumbling to the floor. A ripple of laughter spreads through the crowd. Hugo blinks, then grins sheepishly.

HUGO:
Uh… she’s strong AND funny!

[From the corner, Tomas rushes out carrying a tray of food. His foot catches on a loose cable, and the tray tips, sending soggy nachos flying across the floor.

TOMAS:
Oops! Catering mix-up! Who ordered soggy nachos?

[Mercedes is refereeing, but keeps glancing at her phone, answering texts. She glances at it, sighing.]

MERCEDES:
Yes, Mom, I’m watching the match. No, I don’t need to call Aunt Rosa yet.

[At Irma’s merch booth, two families awkwardly reunite, arguing over who gets the last “Mom Power” pin.]

IRMA:
Art is conflict, people. Buy a pin and make peace!

[Ricardo stands on a chair, ready to deliver his promo, but Tomas suddenly grabs the mic.

TOMAS:
Before we continue, who wants to karaoke “Mama Said Knock You Out”?

[The crowd cheers; Ricardo sighs but smiles.]

INT. SPORTS BAR – LATER

[Hugo stands in the center of the ring, exhausted, but beaming with pride. He raises his arms.]

HUGO:
This one’s for all the moms who fight every day-on and off the mat!

 [Mercedes steps forward, holding the mic.]

MERCEDES:
Moms are the real champions. They call the shots, keep us grounded, and yes, they referee our lives better than I do in this ring.

[The crew gathers around a table piled high with takeout food. Tomas raises his glass in a toast.]

TOMAS:
To moms-and to surviving their calls during wrestling matches.

IRMA:
And to merch that celebrates them!

RICARDO:
And to promos that maybe next time won’t get drowned out by karaoke.

[Mercedes lifts her soda with a smile.]

MERCEDES:
In wrestling and in life, moms always call the shots.

[They all laugh and clink glasses as the camera pulls back, revealing the boat gently rocking under the warm glow of string lights, capturing a moment of camaraderie and celebration.]

END.

~~~

Present Day ♦ S A N T A M O N I C A, C A L I F O R N I A

[REC•]

[The camera opens on Mercedes Vargas standing alone on a windswept Santa Monica pier, the ocean breeze tugging at her hair. She stares intensely into the lens, determination burning in her eyes.]

"So, Bella Madison-the self-proclaimed standard-bearer of the Bombshells Internet Championship division. Since you've held the title, I've been hearing your little speeches, and I have to admit, it’s cute. Really, it is. You talk about responsibility, about proving yourself, about daring others to step up. Well, congratulations-you’ve got my attention. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

[Mercedes shifts her weight, her eyes narrowing with confidence. She takes a slow, deliberate breath, letting the ocean air fill her lungs.]

“You see, Bella, you’re clinging to that title like it’s your life raft, but you’ve forgotten one crucial thing: championships don’t make the wrestler. Wrestlers make the championship. While you’re starving to keep that gold, I’m out here feasting on legacy. You’re fighting to prove you’re not a transitional champion? Sweetheart, I’ve already proven I’m a permanent fixture in this business.”

[She leans in, her voice sharpening, the smirk never leaving her face.]

“You say you respect me? That’s nice. But respect doesn’t win matches. Respect doesn’t stop me from walking into Into the Void and reminding you-and everyone else-why my name is etched into SCW history. You call yourself the standard? Honey, I set the standard long before you even laced up your boots.”

[Mercedes lifts a hand, palm out, as if to halt any rebuttal before it starts. She lets her hand linger, a silent signal to the world that she’s not here for backtalk.]

“Do I know what it’s like to lose something as fast as I gained it? Sure. But do you know what it feels like to hold onto something so long it becomes synonymous with your name? That’s the difference between us, Bella. You’re fighting not to lose. I fight because winning is second nature. I don’t just chase greatness-I define it."

[She steps forward, her gaze icy, voice dropping to a cold, measured tone. The wind whips her hair across her face, but she doesn’t flinch.]

“You think you’re dangerous because you’re hungry? Let me tell you something: hunger fades. But experience? Experience stays with you forever. And at Into the Void, all your fire and determination won’t mean a damn thing when you’re staring across the ring at me-the woman who’s been there, done that, and still has plenty left in the tank. You see, I’ve faced the best. I’ve beaten the best. I’ve been in matches that have defined careers, ended reigns, and built legacies. And through it all, I’ve never lost sight of who I am or what I stand for.”

[Mercedes tilts her head, her smirk widening, confidence radiating from her every word. The sunlight catches her eyes, making them gleam with challenge.]

“You want to know what separates the best from the rest? What it really takes to be a legend in this business?”

[She pauses, letting the question hang in the air before continuing, her voice gaining strength. The camera zooms in, focusing on the intensity in her eyes.]

"You know what? Let’s peel back the curtain a little more. Let’s talk about what it really means to be a champion in this business. Because it’s not just about the matches, the wins, or the gold-it’s about the journey. It’s about the sacrifices, the late nights, the early mornings, the pain, the sweat, the tears. It’s about walking through fire, time and time again, and coming out stronger on the other side."

[Mercedes paces slowly, her gaze unwavering, her voice steady and commanding. She glances out at the horizon, as if drawing strength from the endless ocean.]

"Bella, you’ve had a hell of a journey. I respect that. I respect anyone who can step into this ring and hold their own. But there’s a difference between holding your own and holding the standard. And that’s where I come in. I am the standard. I am the measuring stick. When people talk about greatness in this business, they talk about Mercedes Vargas. Not because I demand it, but because I’ve earned it. Every accolade, every record, every headline-it’s not just a testament to my talent, it’s a testament to my will. I’ve been the underdog, the favorite, the champion, the challenger. I’ve been counted out, written off, and underestimated. And every single time, I’ve proven the doubters wrong."

[She jabs a finger toward the lens for emphasis, her expression fierce.]

"You see, Bella, there are champions, and then there are legends. Champions come and go. They win a title, they bask in the glory, and then they fade away. But legends? Legends are eternal. Legends are the ones who set the bar so high, others spend their entire careers trying to reach it. Legends are the ones who make you believe in the impossible. Legends are the ones who, even in defeat, command respect. And that’s what I am. That’s what I’ve always been."

[Mercedes steps closer to the camera, her intensity growing.]

"And that’s what separates us, Bella. You’re the champion. I’m the legend. But let’s not get it twisted-I didn’t wake up one day and decide to be a legend. I earned it. I fought for it. I bled for it. I sacrificed for it. I’ve been knocked down more times than I can count, but every single time, I got back up. Stronger. Smarter. Hungrier. I’ve survived eras, outlasted rivals, and adapted to every new threat that’s come my way. You’re just the latest in a long line of challengers who think they’re ready to take me down."

[She clenches her fist, recalling the battles fought and won. The wind howls, but her voice cuts through it like a knife.]

"You see, Bella, every time you’ve beaten me, every time you’ve walked away with your hand raised, I’ve gone back to the drawing board. I’ve studied the tapes. I’ve analyzed every move, every mistake, every missed opportunity. I’ve turned every loss into a lesson, every setback into a setup for a comeback. That’s how legends are made-not by avoiding failure, but by embracing it, learning from it, and coming back stronger every single time."

[Mercedes pauses, taking a deep breath, her eyes narrowing with focus.]

"And that’s why this time is different. This time, I’m not just coming for your title-I’m coming for redemption. I’m coming to prove, not just to the world, but to myself, that Mercedes Vargas is still the best in the business. That Mercedes Vargas is still the woman to beat. That Mercedes Vargas is still the name that makes opponents tremble and fans rise to their feet. I’m coming to remind everyone that legacies aren’t built on luck-they’re forged in the fires of competition, in the crucible of adversity, and in the heart of every battle."

[She raises her chin, pride and determination radiating from her stance.]

"Because at the end of the day, that’s what this is all about-legacy. When the lights go down, when the crowd goes home, when the belts are locked away in their cases, what’s left? Your legacy. Your impact. The mark you leave on this business. And my mark? It’s indelible. It’s unforgettable. It’s legendary. I’ve inspired generations, broken records, and redefined what it means to be the best. And I’m not done yet-not by a long shot."

[Mercedes slowly removes her sunglasses, staring directly into the camera. Her eyes are cold, but her passion is unmistakable.]

"So, Bella, when you step into the ring with me at Into the Void, you’re not just defending a title-you’re defending your legacy. You’re defending your place in history. And let me tell you, that’s a heavy burden to bear.The pressure will be suffocating. The spotlight will be blinding. Every eye in the arena will be watching, waiting to see if you can live up to your own hype. But don’t worry, darling. I’ve carried that weight for years. I know what it’s like to have the world watching, waiting, expecting you to fail. I know what it’s like to have the critics circling, ready to pounce on any sign of weakness. I know what it’s like to have the pressure of greatness on your shoulders. But don’t worry, darling. I’ve carried that weight for years. I know what it’s like to have the world watching, waiting, expecting you to fail. I know what it’s like to have the critics circling, ready to pounce on any sign of weakness. I know what it’s like to have the pressure of greatness on your shoulders."

[She smirks, confidence oozing from her every word.]

"And you know what? I thrive under that pressure. I live for it. It’s what separates the good from the great, the champions from the legends. So, Bella, bring your best. Bring your heart, your hustle, your fire. Because you’re going to need every ounce of it. You’re going to need every trick in the book, every ounce of strength, every shred of determination. Because when you step into the ring with me, you’re stepping into the lion’s den. And trust me, I’m hungry."

[Mercedes’s voice grows sharper, her intensity peaking.]

"I’m hungry for victory. I’m hungry for redemption. I’m hungry for that Bombshell Internet Championship. But more than anything, I’m hungry to remind the world exactly who Mercedes Vargas is. I’m hungry to prove that legends never die-they just get stronger, smarter, and more dangerous with time. I’m hungry to show that no matter how many times you try to write me off, I always come back better than ever."

[She points to the camera, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone.]

"Because let’s be honest, Bella-there’s a reason why, after all these years, I’m still here. There’s a reason why my name is still at the top of the marquee. There’s a reason why, no matter how many times I get knocked down, I always get back up. It’s because I’m relentless. I’m unstoppable. I’m inevitable. And on May 25th, at Into the Void, in Paris , France, I’m going to prove it-one more time."

[She gestures emphatically, her expression fierce. The wind picks up, whipping her hair around her face, but her focus never wavers.]

"So, Bella, enjoy your reign while it lasts. Enjoy the spotlight. Enjoy the adulation. Because when the dust settles, when the smoke clears, when the final bell rings, there will be only one woman standing tall. Only one woman holding that championship high. Only one woman whose name will echo through the annals of history. And that woman is Mercedes Vargas."

[She steps back, a sly smile curling on her lips. She turns slightly, looking out over the ocean, the waves crashing against the pier below.]

"So, to all the fans, to all the doubters, to all the believers-get ready. Because history is about to be made. A new chapter is about to be written. And at the center of it all? Yours truly. Because when it’s all said and done-when the dust settles and reality hits-you’ll realize that stepping up was the easy part. Staying up? That’s where legends like me thrive."

[Mercedes turns back to the camera, her voice softer but no less intense.]

"You see, Bella, the truth is, this business isn’t just about titles or accolades. It’s about moments. It’s about the times you get knocked down and the times you rise again. It’s about the legacy you leave behind and the stories people tell when your career is over. I’ve made a career out of silencing doubters, overcoming obstacles, and making history. And at Into the Void, I plan to do it all over again."

[She lets the words hang in the air, the challenge clear and unmistakable.]

"So bring your fight, Bella. Bring your heart, your willpower, your desperation to prove yourself. Because when you step into the ring with Mercedes Vargas, you’re not just facing an opponent-you’re facing a force of nature. You’re facing destiny. You’re facing greatness. And when the final bell rings, and the dust settles, you’ll know exactly why they call me a legend."

[Mercedes lowers her head for a moment, then looks up, her eyes blazing with determination.]

"I hope you’re ready, Bella. Because I was born ready. I was made for moments like this. I was made for history. And on May 25th, at Into the Void, I’m going to show the world-one more time-why Mercedes Vargas is the name that will never be forgotten."

[***Fade***]

[BellaMadison]

INTO THE VOID: PART ONE
~*~La Vie En Rouge~*~

The wheels of the car crunched over the gravel drive as Bella Madison shifted in her seat, craning her neck to glance back at the car seat behind her. Little Máire O’Connell, just shy of two years old, giggled as she clutched her favorite stuffed cow. Malachi reached back from the passenger seat and brushed a thumb along her cheek, earning a delighted squeal.

"Are you gonna be good for Granny Aileen?" he asked with a playful lilt.

Máire gave a solemn nod, though her smile betrayed her excitement.

Bella chuckled, leaning over to boop her daughter’s nose. "You’re going to have so much fun. Granny’s got cookies, the big garden, and—" She dropped her voice dramatically. "—she said you can help her chase the chickens."

Máire gasped like Bella had just told her Santa Claus was real and Irish.

As Mal parked the car in front of the quaint Waterford home, Aileen O’Connell was already standing at the door, arms crossed and smiling wide with the warmth of someone who genuinely loved being a grandmother.

“Oh, give the child to me already,” Aileen said as soon as the door swung open, plucking Máire into her arms with ease. “Go on, enjoy Paris. I’ve raised two boys and one very rambunctious girl. One little spitfire won’t be any trouble at all.”

Bella and Mal exchanged a half-grateful, half-anxious look. Letting go, even just for a week, wasn’t easy.

“You sure?” Bella asked, brushing some hair behind her ear. “She’s gotten very good at climbing lately.”

Aileen winked. “Then it’s a good thing I’ve still got a few tricks myself. Go. Be young and stupid in love.”

“...We’ll FaceTime every night,” Mal added.

“I expect nothing less.”

----

Paris was everything Bella remembered—maybe more. The cobblestone streets glistened faintly after a morning drizzle, and the air buzzed with summer warmth. As Mal wandered off toward an old record shop, Bella ducked into her favorite café near the university where she finished her degree. It hadn't changed. The chalkboard menus still had smudges, the barista still wore his thick glasses too low on his nose, and the espresso smelled like home.

She was halfway through her latte when she heard a familiar shriek.

“Is that... BELLA?!”

A trio of women descended on her like a fashion-forward hurricane. Isabelle, Léa, and Camille—all old friends from university—pulled her into a tight group hug before pulling chairs to crowd her tiny table.

“Cela fait six ans! (It’s been six years!)” Léa said in rapid French. “Tu as disparu après l'obtention de ton diplôme! (You disappeared after graduation!)”

“Je n’ai pas disparu, (I didn’t disappear)” Bella replied with a smirk, slipping easily into the language. “Je viens de commencer à vivre une vie très chargée. (I just started living a very busy life.)”

Camille leaned in, this time in English, “So... are you still with that Irish guy? Mal...Malik?”

“Malachi,” Bella corrected with a small smile. “And yes. We got married, actually back in 2021. We have a daughter.”

Isabelle clapped her hands, visibly shocked and thrilled. “Oh my God, you have a baby?!”

Bella laughed as she pulled out her phone, unlocking it with a swipe before turning the screen to her old friends. “This was Máire last week—she tried to feed her plush cow a spoonful of peanut butter.”

Léa let out a gasp and clutched her heart. “Mon Dieu, she’s adorable!”

Isabelle leaned in, squinting at the photo. “She looks just like you, Bella.”

“She’s got Mal’s eyes though,” Bella said with a soft smile. “And his attitude. She already tries to boss me around.”

They all laughed, and for a moment, it felt like no time had passed. But then Camille, seated just off to the side, crossed one leg over the other and tilted her head.

“So... you’re still wrestling?” Her tone wasn’t rude, but the undercurrent of judgement was there. “I just figured you would’ve moved on from all that by now.”

The table went quiet.

Bella blinked. “Moved on?”

Camille shrugged. “I mean, you were top of our class. You actually spoke at our graduation. You had so much potential—marketing, design, communications. We all thought you'd be running a firm or launching your own brand, not… throwing yourself into cages or getting hit with chairs.”

Bella’s smile slowly faded. She set her phone down on the table, her fingers still resting over the screen.

“I am running something,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “I’m running a career. One I chose. One that makes me happy. I get to travel the world, make my own schedule, be with my family—and yeah, sometimes I get knocked around a bit, but I’ve also knocked down a lot of doors doing what I do.”

Camille raised a brow. “But don’t you ever feel like you’re wasting your education?”

“No,” Bella replied without hesitation. “That education taught me how to think on my feet, how to carry myself, how to build my brand. Everything I learned in those classrooms, I use in this business. I didn’t waste it. I applied it.”

Léa and Isabelle exchanged glances, visibly impressed.

“But come on,” Camille said, pressing the issue. “You’re a mother now. Don’t you think it’s time to settle into something more… stable?”

Bella straightened. “Stable doesn’t mean stagnant. And just because you wouldn’t want my life doesn’t make it any less valid. I love what I do. I worked my ass off to get here. I’m not stuck behind a desk dreaming of the life I could’ve had—I’m living it. My daughter is going to grow up seeing her mom chase her dreams, not regret them.”

Camille leaned back, chastened, but clearly unsure what to say.

And that’s when Malachi appeared at the edge of the table, a small paper bag of pastries in hand, glancing between the four of them with a raised brow.

“Everything alright?”

Bella smiled up at him as she stood, slipping her hand into his.

“Perfect,” she said. “We were just catching up.”

There was a beat of silence as the girls took Mal in—tall, handsome, unmistakably protective. Isabelle all but swooned. “Is this Malachi?”

He gave a short nod. “Pleasure.”

The women gave a chorus of greetings, and Camille’s earlier smugness melted into a flustered half-smile. Bella smirked slightly as she grabbed her coffee.

“Well,” she said, lifting her cup in a mock-toast. “À bientôt, ladies. I’ve got a city to walk through and a life to keep living.”

After a round of kisses and farewells, Bella and Mal walked back onto the street, her mood lighter than it had been moments ago.

She and Mal stepped back into the golden Paris afternoon, leaving the table—and the judgments—behind.

“Waste of potential, huh?” Mal asked under his breath.

Bella shrugged. “Let her think what she wants. I’m walking the streets of Paris with my husband, defending a championship at one of the biggest shows of the year, and I’ve got a baby waiting for me back home. If that’s a waste…” She kissed his cheek. “I’ll waste it all over again.”

The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden haze over the Seine, where the river shimmered gently beneath the soft hum of Paris life. Street musicians played nearby, the smell of fresh bread and lilacs lingering in the breeze. Bella's footsteps slowed as they approached the familiar bridge, worn but still romantic, nestled in the heart of the city where the world once stood still for her.

She stopped at the midpoint, fingers trailing across the cool iron railing as a quiet smile found her lips.

“It hasn’t changed,” she said.

Malachi came to a stop beside her, his eyes scanning the view. “Not even a little. Still the same spot I kissed you.”

Bella turned toward him, the corners of her mouth tugging upward. “Yeah, I remember. You didn’t even hesitate.”

He smirked. “Of course I didn’t. I’d already decided I was going to kiss you that night. Just needed to make sure you didn’t slap me. I will admit that for a moment I thought it was going to happen.”

“Oh please,” she teased. “I was hoping you would. You think I walked all the way across the river in heels for nothing?”

Mal laughed under his breath, wrapping an arm around her waist. “You could’ve told me.”

“But then where would have been the fun in that? Besides, I figured the eyes I was making at you all evening were enough.”

They both chuckled, falling into a comfortable silence as they leaned against the rail, gazing down at the water. The city moved around them, but time seemed to fold in on itself—bringing them back to that first night. She had been so full of fire and questions, and he’d been steady, charming in that infuriating Irish way.

That kiss had changed everything.

Bella reached into her coat pocket, fingers brushing against a small, silver lock. She turned it over in her hand before holding it out.

“I brought this,” she said softly.

Mal took it from her, his thumb brushing over the engraved names on the front:

Bella. Malachi. Máire.

“You had this made?”

“I figured we could make it official this time,” she said. “Not just us anymore.”

Together, they clicked it into place on the railing beside dozens of others—symbols of stories, of promises, of beginnings.

Mal rested his hand over hers, his voice quiet. “Have you ever thought about how different things could’ve been if I hadn’t kissed you that night?”

Bella leaned her head on his shoulder. “Rarely but sometimes. But I wouldn’t trade this life for anything.”

He nodded. “Me neither.”

She smiled up at him. “Forever?”

“Forever,” he echoed.

And then he kissed her again—not a first kiss, but one that carried every moment since. And under the Paris sky, surrounded by old memories and new promises, Bella and Malachi O’Connell began the next chapter of their story.

~*~More Than Just A Memory~*~
Rue Vielle du Temple, 75003

The late evening light cast a soft lavender hue across the narrow street of Rue Vieille du Temple, where the cobblestones still remembered the rhythm of her younger steps. Bella came to a slow stop outside a modest cream-colored building with ivy snaking up its side. The window shutters were closed now, but she remembered when they were always cracked open, letting in the hum of Paris nights and the smell of rain-washed stone.

She folded her arms, taking it all in like she was seeing a memory in motion. Malachi stood just beside her, hands in his coat pockets, quietly letting her process it all.

“This was it,” Bella murmured, eyes fixed on the second-floor window. “Right up there. That was my place. First one I ever had all to myself.”

Mal glanced up, nodding slightly. “I remember. Still looks cozy.”

“It was. Small. Creaky. Cold in the winter.” A small laugh escaped her. “But it was mine.”

They stood in silence for a few more heartbeats before her gaze shifted slightly, becoming heavier, more distant.

“I got jumped right at my door,” she said, her voice low. “By someone I thought I’d finally left behind.”

Mal turned toward her fully now, his brow furrowing.

“Reverend Synn,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “Or one of his messengers. Doesn’t matter which. He sent someone to make sure I didn’t forget where I came from… or what he made me.”

Mal’s jaw tightened. “I hate this memory, Bells.”

“I know you do. I remember being surprised by you when you showed up to make sure that I was ok, even after we just had one date. I remember standing there, right where you’re standing, blood on my lip, ribs aching. Talking to the police afterwards- but.... for the first time in a long time…” She paused, breathing in slowly. “I didn’t run. I didn’t break down. I stood my ground. Told them I wasn’t afraid anymore.”

She looked up at Mal, her expression raw but certain.

“Before that, I let people mold me. Pick me apart. Tell me I was too much or not enough. Reverend Synn. Some of the girls in the States. Even some of the fans. Hell, even Mercedes tried to pull that years ago.”

Mal gave a slow nod, his voice calm but steady. “You put her in her place, though.”

Bella smirked faintly. “That I did. And in my own hometown no less. That was the match where I stopped letting people tell me who I was. When I realized I didn’t have to be anyone else’s version of a Bombshell. I could just be me. And that was enough.”

She turned her gaze back to the building, her tone softening.

“This place… it’s where I stopped being afraid of my past. It’s where I started writing my own story.”

Mal stepped closer, gently brushing her hair back from her face.

“And look at how far you’ve come,” he said. “Champion. Mother. Headliner. Still not letting anyone tell you who to be.”

Bella gave a quiet smile, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I used to walk back to this place, exhausted, questioning if any of this would ever be worth it. If I’d ever be more than someone’s puppet or someone’s problem.” She paused, looking down at the sidewalk. “Now I get to walk the streets of Paris with my husband, while our daughter’s in Waterford with her grandmother, and I’m heading into Into the Void to defend a title I won on my terms.”

Mal wrapped his arm around her. “You did all that. Not Synn. Not Mercedes. You.”

Bella tilted her head up, a fire sparking behind her eyes.

“And I’m not done yet.”

They lingered a little longer, letting the past settle around them like dusk. Then, with fingers entwined and the night ahead of them, they walked away—not to forget what had been, but to honor how far she’d come.

~*~Rules of Engagement: Let Them Know Just Enough~*~

The cool night air rolled off the Seine as Bella Madison sat on a worn stone bench, her hands cradling a warm cup of coffee as she gazed out over the Parisian skyline. The Eiffel Tower sparkled in the distance, its lights dancing like stars against the black velvet sky. Beside her, resting like a crown on the bench, was the SCW Bombshell Internet Championship.

She didn’t need a camera crew. Didn’t need a spotlight. Paris was enough.

Bella let the quiet fill her lungs for a moment, a calm before the inevitable storm. Then, as if releasing a weight, she began to speak—softly at first, but with purpose.

“Of all the people I could be defending this championship against… it’s you, Mercedes.”

A small smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth—not bitter, not mocking, but laced with reflection.

“And honestly? I’m glad. I am so glad that you got this chance because I feel like we have a lot of unfinished business”

Her eyes remained fixed on the river, watching the soft ripples catch the moonlight.

“This match isn’t about revenge. It’s not some dark cloud from my past coming back to haunt me. We’ve already done that. We had our feud. We played that game. And yeah… I won.”

She leaned back against the bench, a breeze tugging at a few loose strands of her hair.

“But that was another version of me. Before the sleepless nights. Before the emergency room scares. Before I knew what it felt like to hold a tiny hand in mine and know I’d burn the whole fucking world down to protect her.”

A quiet pause.

“You and I were different people back then. And I think that’s why this… matters.”

Her tone shifted slightly, edged with the calm steel of conviction.

“Because while I’ve grown—you haven’t. You still act like the name ‘Mercedes Vargas’ is some golden ticket. Like just showing up means everyone’s supposed to bow down and clear a path. You’ve built this narrative that the past owes you something. That just because you’ve been here forever, it means you deserve everything.”

Bella turned her gaze to the championship beside her, fingers tracing the edge of the metal plate with quiet reverence.

“But let’s not pretend you were the one building the road. You were waiting for someone else to pave it—and now, you want to walk it like it was yours all along.”

She shook her head.

“I’m not angry. I’m not bitter. If anything… I welcome it. Because I want the challenge. I want to face someone who believes they can take this from me. Someone who still sees me as the reckless rookie who didn’t know her place.”

Her lips curled into a wry smile.

“I remember that version of me. And I remember how you treated her. Like I didn’t belong. Like I hadn’t earned the right to even breathe the same air as you.”

She picked up the title, holding it close now, like a piece of her.

“But I did. I do. And I’ll do it again and again and fucking again.”

Bella stood slowly, the city stretching out behind her like a painting. Her voice, steady and full of fire, carried into the night.

“This isn’t just about defending gold. This is about everything I’ve become since the last time we stood in a ring together. The pain, the growth, the love, the fire. You can’t touch that, Mercy. You can’t intimidate it. And you sure as hell can’t outlast it.”

She looked directly into the imagined camera, the imagined eyes of the woman she would soon face.

“I’m not just another Bombshell. I’m a wife. A mother. A fighter. A God damn champion. And at Into the Void, I prove why I earned that—and why you won’t take it away.”

With that, Bella turned and began to walk slowly along the riverside, the light of her championship reflecting like a beacon against the shadows.

And Paris, like always, kept her secrets.

[Mercedes Vargas]

Almighty Fire
semana del 18 de 25 de mayo de 2025

Some people talk about making history. Me? I am history. Every milestone in this division has my fingerprints on it. Every record that matters has my name attached to it.

While others are busy trying to make a splash, I’ve already built an ocean. And yet, there are still whispers—people asking if Mercedes Vargas still has what it takes. Let me make this clear: I don’t just have what it takes—I have more than anyone else in this business ever will.

So go ahead and doubt me. Question my place here. Because every time you do, I’ll remind you why I’m not just part of the story—I’m the one writing it. The author, the headline, the whole damn book.

Let’s get one thing straight: this division didn’t exist before I stepped into the ring. Sure, there were competitors, there were matches, there were fleeting moments of brilliance. But it wasn’t until Mercedes Vargas arrived that this division found its identity. I didn’t just raise the bar-I became the bar. I set the standard, and everyone else has been chasing me ever since.

People love to talk about eras. The golden era, the modern era, the next big thing. But eras don’t define me. I define eras. I’m the constant, the throughline, the name that echoes through every championship reign, every main event, every single record book. When you talk about the greatest, you’re talking about me-whether you want to admit it or not.

Do you know what it’s like to carry a division on your back? To be the one everyone looks to when the lights are brightest and the pressure is suffocating? I do. I’ve done it for years. I’ve carried this division through its darkest days and into its brightest moments. When others faltered, I thrived. When others doubted, I delivered.

Every accolade, every title, every milestone-I earned them. Not because it was handed to me, but because I took it. I demanded excellence from myself and from everyone around me. I made everyone better just by being here. That’s what a true champion does. That’s what a legend does.

People talk about making a splash, as if a single moment of glory is enough to define a career. Let me tell you something: I didn’t come here to make a splash. I built the ocean. I created the environment where greatness could thrive. I made it possible for others to dream of being the best, because I showed them what the best looks like.

Every record that matters? My name is on it. Longest reigns, most defenses, most main events, most talked-about matches-go ahead, check the stats. The numbers don’t lie. And neither do the memories. Every time you remember a classic moment in this division, you remember me. Because I was there. I made it happen.

But still, the whispers persist. The doubters, the critics, the so-called experts who think they know what it takes to stay on top. They ask if Mercedes Vargas still has it. They wonder if the fire still burns, if the hunger is still there.

Let me answer that with the same honesty I bring to every fight: The fire never left. The hunger only grows. I wake up every single day with one goal-to prove that I am, and always will be, the standard. The one everyone measures themselves against. The one who makes history, not just lives in it.

Time is undefeated, they say. But time has nothing on me. While others fade, I remain. While others lose their edge, I sharpen mine. I evolve, I adapt, I overcome. That’s why I’m still here, still dominating, still rewriting the record books.

Every new challenger that steps up thinks they’re the one to finally take me down. They come in with their hype, their momentum, their dreams of glory. And every single time, they find out the hard way that dreams don’t beat reality. Hype doesn’t beat experience. And momentum? It crashes against the immovable force that is Mercedes Vargas.

Go ahead, doubt me. Question my place here. Whisper behind my back, write your articles, make your predictions. Because every time you do, you give me fuel. Every time you question my greatness, you remind me why I fight. Not for your approval, not for your validation-but to remind you, and everyone else, that I am the story. I am the reason you watch. I am the one you can’t ignore.

People ask me what it takes to be the best. They want to know the secret, the magic formula. There is no secret. There’s only hard work, sacrifice, and an unbreakable will. I’ve given everything to this company. My blood, my sweat, my tears. I’ve sacrificed time, relationships, comfort-because greatness demands it. I didn’t get here by accident. I got here because I refused to settle for anything less than the best. I pushed myself harder than anyone else. I trained longer, fought harder, endured more. And I did it all because I wanted to be remembered. Not just as a champion, but as a legend.

Some people are content with a moment in the spotlight. They win a title, have a great match, and then fade away. Not me. I’m not interested in moments. I’m interested in legacy. I want my name to be spoken with reverence, with awe, with respect. I want every competitor who steps into this division to know that they’re walking in my footsteps.

And they do. Whether they admit it or not, every woman who laces up her boots in this division owes a debt to Mercedes Vargas. I paved the way. I broke the barriers. I shattered the glass ceilings. I made it possible for others to dream bigger, to reach higher, to believe that they could be the best.

I’m not done. Not by a long shot. As long as there are records to break, titles to win, and doubters to silence, I’ll be here. I’ll be fighting, striving, pushing the limits of what’s possible. Because that’s what I do. That’s who I am.

I don’t rest on my laurels. I don’t coast on past glory. Every day is a new challenge, a new opportunity to prove that I am still the best. And every time I step into the ring, I remind the world why Mercedes Vargas is the name that matters.

To the next generation, I say this: Don’t just aim to be good. Don’t just aim to be great. Aim to be legendary. Aim to be unforgettable. But understand this-being legendary takes more than talent. It takes heart. It takes resilience. It takes a willingness to do whatever it takes, no matter the cost.

If you want to be the best, you have to beat the best. And I am the best. I welcome every challenger, every upstart, every dreamer who thinks they have what it takes. Step up. Bring your best. But understand that you’re stepping into my world. You’re playing by my rules. And in my world, there’s only one queen.

It’s easy to talk a big game. It’s easy to call yourself the future, the next big thing, the one who’s going to change everything. But talk is cheap. Actions matter. Results matter. And nobody has delivered more results than me.

I’ve beaten the best. I’ve survived the toughest. I’ve outlasted the brightest. I’ve done it all, and I’m still here, still standing, still dominating. That’s not luck. That’s not coincidence. That’s greatness.

You want to know if I still have what it takes? Watch me. Watch me dominate, watch me win, watch me make history-again and again and again. Because that’s what I do. That’s who I am.

The flame that burns inside me is brighter than ever. The desire to be the best, to stay the best, to prove the doubters wrong-it never fades. It only grows stronger. Every challenge, every obstacle, every setback-it only makes me better.

My story isn’t finished. There are still chapters to be written, records to be broken, moments to be created. And every single one of them will have my fingerprints on it. Because I am not just part of the story-I’m the one writing it.

So to everyone who doubts me, who questions my place, who wonders if Mercedes Vargas is still the standard-keep watching. Keep doubting. Because every time you do, I’ll remind you why I am, and always will be, the greatest this division has ever seen.

I am history. I am the standard. I am the ocean in which all others swim. And as long as there is breath in my body, I will continue to dominate, to inspire, to lead. Because that’s what legends do. That’s what Mercedes Vargas does.

So go ahead-make your splash. Try to make your mark. But remember: you’re playing in my ocean. And in my ocean, there’s only one name that matters.

Mercedes Vargas.

The past, the present, the future.

The one writing the story.

It begins at Into the Void.

~~~

M O N D A Y ♦ P A R I S, F R A N C E

[It wasn’t the Eiffel Tower’s majesty that greeted Mercedes Vargas on her first morning in Paris, but a stubborn vending machine in a crowded Métro station. Wrestling legend, world traveler, and—at this moment—thirsty, Mercedes glared at the machine as if it were a rival in the ring. The machine, naturally, was winning.

Mercedes jabs the buttons again, the line behind her growing longer by the second. She could feel the eyes—some amused, some impatient. She sighs, tapping her perfectly manicured nails impatiently against the glass. You’d think in the city of lights, they’d have figured out bottled water by now. 

A tourist in a beret gave her a sympathetic shrug, as if to say, “Welcome to Paris.” Mercedes rolls her eyes. She’d faced tougher opponents in the ring, but this machine was testing her patience.

Finally, with a well-placed hip check (she’s still got it), the bottle drops. Mercedes flashes a victory grin, grabs her water, and struts out—straight into a puddle. She sighs, “C’est la vie,” shakes off her heel, and keeps moving.

After her hard-fought victory over the vending machine (and a minor defeat by a puddle), Mercedes escapes the Métro’s chaos and heads above ground. Soon, she finds herself at a bustling sidewalk café, determined to embrace the Parisian lifestyle. The air hums with chatter, clinking glasses, and the occasional accordion melody drifting from a nearby street musician. She flips open a small menu, her French textbook tucked in her bag feeling like a distant memory. She orders in her best French—“Un café, s’il vous plaît”—and is feeling pretty proud until the waiter responds with a rapid-fire string of French that goes right over her head. She nods, smiles, and pretends to understand.

Moments later, she’s staring at a tiny cup of espresso and a plate of something suspiciously green. She pokes the suspiciously green appetizer with her fork, shrugs, and tastes it. “Not bad,” she admits—then freezes as the realization hit. Escargot. Snails. She’d survived steel cages and ladder matches, but this? This might be her bravest moment yet. She grins.]

MERCEDES
When in Paris...

•••

[Determined to see the sights, Mercedes hails a cab and tries to explain she wants to visit the Louvre. The driver nods enthusiastically and takes off—straight into rush hour traffic. What should be a ten-minute ride turns into a forty-minute tour of Parisian gridlock.

With her phone propped up, Mercedes goes live on Instagram, giving her followers a running commentary. The chat scrolls with hearts and comments. She waves to the camera.]

MERCEDES
Bonjour, beautiful people! Still stuck. Still fabulous. At least the view’s good—if you like the sound of car horns and the smell of croissants.

[She pans the camera to the gridlock outside. A moped zips by, nearly clipping the cab’s mirror.]

MERCEDES
If I miss my match because of Paris traffic, someone’s getting put in a headlock. And I don’t care if it’s the cab driver or the Mona Lisa.

[Comments from her parents popped up in the chat:]

MamaVargas (comentario):
¡No llegues tarde, flaca! ¿Desayunaste?
**Don’t be late, did you eat breakfast?**

MERCEDES:
Sí, mamá, comí. Tres medialunas. Y un facturita de chocolate. No me juzgues, ¡estoy en París!
**Yes, Mama, I ate. Three croissants. And a pain au chocolat. Don’t judge me, it’s Paris!**

DadVargas (comment):
No te olvides de tomar agua. Y ojo con los pibes de acá manejando, parece que están en un picadito de choque
**Don’t forget to hydrate. And watch your back—those Parisians drive like they’re in a demolition derby.**

MERCEDES:
Papá, sobreviví jaulas de acero y luchas con escaleras. Un poco de quilombo en el tránsito parisino no me va a matar. Igual creo que el taxista es fan—me acaba de pedir una selfie. O capaz está llamando al seguro, no sé.
**Dad, I’ve survived steel cages and ladder matches. I can handle a little Parisian road rage. Besides, I think the cabbie’s a fan—he just asked for a selfie. Or maybe he’s calling his insurance, I’m not sure.**

[The cab lurches forward a few feet. Mercedes sighs, shakes her head, and checks her watch.]

MERCEDES
Cuarenta minutos en el tráfico. Podría haber ido caminando al Louvre, haber peleado con una estatua y estar de vuelta ya.
**Forty minutes in traffic. I could’ve walked to the Louvre, wrestled a statue, and been back by now.**

MamaVargas (comentario):
No me contestes así, piba. Y acordate de llamar a la abuela.
**Don’t sass me, young lady. And don’t forget to call your abuela!**

MERCEDES
La voy a llamar, te prometo. Seguro piensa que estoy acá peleando con la Torre Eiffel. Buenome voy a buscar el café más cercano—y tal vez un desfibrilador. Los quiero a los dos. Y a todos los que están viendo—recen por mí.
**I'll call her, I promise. She probably thinks I'm out here wrestling the Eiffel Tower. Alright, I’m off to find the nearest café—and maybe a defibrillator. Love you both. And to everyone watching - pray for me.**

[The cab finally stops. Mercedes thanks the driver in broken French, grabs her bag, and heads toward the Eiffel Tower. The massive line for the elevator stretches around the block.

Never one to back down from a challenge, Mercedes decides to take the stairs. If she could climb a steel cage in heels, she could handle a few hundred steps.

Phone in hand, she starts climbing. Halfway up, she regrets every croissant she’d eaten since landing in France. Gasping for breath, she pauses, wipes her brow, and leans against the railing.

Finally, she reaches the top. Her hair was a little less perfect, but her smile was intact. She snaps a selfie, the sprawling city of Paris glowing behind her...

[END]

Present Day ♦ P A R I S, F R A N C E

[REC•]

[A slow, deliberate clap echoes as Mercedes Vargas steps onto the cobblestone banks of the Seine, the Eiffel Tower rising behind her. Bathed in Paris’s neon glow, she stands alone, city lights shimmering on the river. Her designer heels click with authority, every move exuding poise. The evening breeze stirs her hair as she adjusts her sunglasses—yes, even at night—and flashes a knowing, wicked smile. The distant hum of Paris blends with the river’s lapping, but Mercedes’s gaze is unwavering, her eyes burning with determination in the heart of the City of Lights.]

“Oh, Bella, darling… you always did love a monologue, didn’t you?”

[She laughs, smooth and rich, like velvet over steel.]

“I have to say, I’m touched. Really, I am. All that soul-searching, all that talk about growth and pain and motherhood—it’s almost enough to make me forget you’re still just a scared little girl playing champion.”

[Mercedes leans against the railing, the city lights dancing in her eyes.]

“You want to talk about unfinished business? Sweetheart, I don’t live in the past. I own it. I built this division before you ever laced up a pair of boots. While you were busy finding yourself, I was busy making history. I didn’t wait for someone to pave the road—I bulldozed through every so-called ‘legend’ who thought they could stand in my way.”

[She flicks her hair over her shoulder with a practiced flourish.]

“You say I haven’t changed? You’re right. Because greatness doesn’t need to reinvent itself every time the wind blows. I don’t need to cling to motherhood or hardship to justify my place at the top. I am the standard, Bella. I’m the reason there’s even a championship for you to clutch so desperately.”

[Mercedes’s voice softens, but the edge never leaves.]

“You talk about burning the world down for your family. That’s cute. But this ring? This is my world. And you’re just visiting, honey. You want to prove you belong? You want to show everyone you’re more than a ‘reckless rookie’? Then stop hiding behind your sob story and step up.”

[She leans in, her tone dripping with her signature blend of sass and menace.]

“At Into the Void, I’m not taking your gold because I think I deserve it. I’m taking it because I can. Because no matter how many times you reinvent yourself, you’ll never be Mercedes Vargas. And deep down, you know it.”

[She straightens, her confidence unshakable, her smile dazzling.]

"They say time waits for no one. You’d think, just once, it might make an exception."

[Mercedes paces along the Seine, the Eiffel Tower glowing behind her. She stops, locking eyes with the camera, resolve sharpening her features.]

"Into the Void is almost here. My adrenaline’s up, the war paint’s on, and the stage is set. Two of the Bombshells division’s best are about to collide for the Bombshell Internet Championship."

[She clenches her fists, rolling her shoulders, feeling the weight of what’s coming.]

"There's no question who the best in this match is: it's Bella Madison, obviously. The golden girl, the champion, the one with all the heart. Bless her. She’s cute, she’s spunky, she’s got her mama in her corner and a chip on her shoulder. Bella's good, but she's not Mercedes Vargas good. Not yet. Maybe not ever."

[Mercedes leans forward, her voice low and intense.]

"Maybe the fans wonder: am I just filling a spot on the card, or am I the toughest challenge Bella’s ever faced? Am I just talk, or have I gotten under her skin? Did I earn this shot, or am I just lucky? None of it matters."

[She straightens, a confident smirk crossing her lips.]

"At Into the Void, the mind games and the talking stops and the proving begins. Bella may be the champion, but she can be beaten. It won't be easy, but nothing ever is."

[Mercedes glances up at the Parisian skyline, taking a deep breath, drawing in the city’s energy..]

"I would have been okay not having a title match at the supercard, but here I am. You could say it was by accident. I didn't think beating Cassie Wolfe would put me in this position again and now it's up to me to seize the opportunity."

[She points to herself, determination radiating from her stance.]

"Chances are Bella will have her game face on and she's going to need a a little bit of luck and a hell of a lot of confidence. Luckily, she's going to have her mom motivating her and helping her train her ass off just for this match."

[Mercedes lets the silence linger, the city’s lights reflecting in her eyes. She turns, letting the camera follow her as she walks along the riverbank, her footsteps echoing softly.]

"You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about legacy lately. What it means to stand in a place like this, where history is written in every stone. Paris is a city that remembers. It remembers triumph and heartbreak, revolutions and renaissances. And in our business, legacy is everything. It’s what you leave behind when the lights go out and the crowd goes home."

[She stops at a wrought-iron railing, looking out over the water, her reflection shimmering beneath the Eiffel Tower’s golden glow.]

"I’ve been called a lot of things in my career. Some flattering, some... not so much. Veteran. Legend. Gatekeeper. I’ve worn all those labels and more. Sometimes, people look at me and see the past. They see the matches I’ve won, the titles I’ve held, the records I’ve set. But what they don’t always see is the hunger that still burns inside me. The need to prove, not to them, but to myself, that I can still be the best. That I can still be the one who changes the course of a night, of a division, of a company."

[Mercedes turns back to the camera, her expression fierce.]

"Bella, you’re the future. There’s no denying that. You’ve got youth, you’ve got talent, and you’ve got the world at your feet. But don’t mistake my respect for you as surrender. Don’t think for a second that I’m here to pass the torch quietly. You want my respect? Earn it. You want to be the face of this division? Take it. But don’t expect me to just hand it over. I’m not in the business of charity."

[She walks further, passing a street musician playing a soft tune on an accordion. The melody floats through the night air, lending a bittersweet edge to her words.]

"I remember what it was like to be the up-and-comer. To have everyone whispering about potential, about promise. I remember the pressure, the expectation, the fear of not living up to the hype. But I also remember the thrill of proving people wrong. Of stepping into the ring and showing the world that I belonged. That I was more than just a name on the roster—I was a force to be reckoned with."

[Mercedes stops at a small café, the warm glow of its lights spilling onto the sidewalk. She rests her hand on the back of a chair, looking thoughtful.]

"Maybe that’s what this is really about. Not just a championship, not just a win or a loss. It’s about proving, to everyone watching, that I still have what it takes. That I’m not just a relic of the past, but a champion for today. For tomorrow. The day after tomorrow. For Paris."

[She sits, crossing her legs, her gaze never leaving the camera.]

"Bella, I know you’re training harder than ever. I know you’re watching tape, running drills, pushing yourself to the limit. And you should. Because I’m coming at you with everything I’ve got. Every lesson I’ve learned, every scar I’ve earned, every ounce of fight left in me. I’m not just here to compete—I’m here to conquer."

[She leans forward, her voice dropping to a whisper.]

"Do you feel it, Bella? That pressure in your chest, that knot in your stomach? That’s not fear. That’s anticipation. That's reality setting in. That’s the knowledge that you’re about to be tested in a way you never have before. That’s the weight of history, of legacy, pressing down on your shoulders. And how you respond—well, that’s what separates champions from contenders."

[Mercedes stands, her chair scraping softly against the stone.]

"I’ve seen so many come and go. So many bright stars that burned out too soon. But I’m still here. Still fighting. Still hungry. And that’s what makes me dangerous. Because when you’ve been to the top of the mountain, when you’ve tasted glory and felt it slip away, you learn to appreciate every opportunity. You learn to fight for every moment, every second, every breath."

[She walks back toward the river, the city’s lights twinkling around her.]

"Paris is a city of dreams. People come here to chase them, to make them real. And Sunday, at Into the Void, my dream is simple: to walk out with the Bombshell Internet Championship. To remind the world who Mercedes Vargas is. To etch my name, once again, into the history books."

[She stops, the Eiffel Tower looming large behind her, a symbol of resilience and beauty.]

"Some people say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Maybe they’re right. But you know what you can’t teach? Heart. Grit. The kind of determination that keeps you going when everyone else has given up. That’s what I bring to the ring. That’s what I bring to this match."

[Mercedes looks directly into the camera, her eyes blazing.]

"Bella, I want you at your best. I want you to fight like your legacy depends on it—because it does. I want you to push me, to test me, to make me dig deeper than I ever have before. Because that’s how legends are made. That’s how moments are remembered."

[She smiles, a hint of mischief in her expression.]

"And when it’s all said and done, when the dust settles and the lights go down, I want you to know that you gave everything you had. That you stood toe-to-toe with one of the best to ever do it. And that, win or lose, you earned my respect."

[Mercedes takes a slow breath, the cool night air filling her lungs.]

"But make no mistake—I’m not coming to Paris for a handshake. I’m coming for a fight. I’m coming for a championship. I’m coming for you."

[She turns, walking along the riverbank, the camera following her every step.]

"You know, there’s something magical about this city. The way the lights dance on the water, the way the air feels electric with possibility. It’s a city that inspires greatness, that demands it. And I plan to rise to the occasion."

[She stops at the edge of the river, looking out over the water.]

"I’ve been in this business a long time. I’ve seen trends come and go, champions rise and fall. I’ve been the underdog, the favorite, the spoiler, the hero, and the villain. But through it all, one thing has never changed: my love for this sport. My respect for the ring. My willingness to do whatever it takes to win."

[Mercedes turns back to the camera, her expression solemn.]

"Some people chase fame. Some chase fortune. Me? I chase moments. The kind of moments that live forever. The kind of moments that make all the pain, all the sacrifice, all the struggle worth it."

[She lifts her hand, palm open, as if holding the championship in her grasp.]

"This is my moment, Bella. My chance to remind the world who I am. My chance to prove, once and for all, that I’m not done yet. That I still have what it takes to be the best."

[She steps closer to the camera, her voice steady and strong.]

"When people see an obstacle, I see possibilities. And possibilities are endless. Comme on dit ici à Paris, 'C’est la vie' — that’s life. You take your chances, you fight for what you want."

[She glances at the Eiffel Tower, its lights twinkling in the night.]

"So bring your best, Bella. Bring your heart, your fire, your will to win. Because you’re going to need all of it. When all is said and done, when the crowd is on its feet and the spotlight is shining, and when that title slips through your fingers, just remember—we’ll always have Paris. But after Into the Void, only one of us will have the Bombshell Internet Championship."

[Mercedes pauses, letting the words hang in the air.]

"And I plan to make sure it’s me."

[She smiles, a glint of challenge in her eyes as Paris sparkles behind her.]

"Prepare for the worst, hope for the best. And may the odds be ever in your favor."

[***Fade***]

[BellaMadison]

~*~Reunion~*~
Paris, One Week Before Into the Void
Charles de Gaulle Airport

The rhythmic hum of arriving flights echoed through the terminal, underscored by the occasional ding of an overhead announcement. Bella Madison adjusted the strap of her oversized tote bag for the third time, her fingers twitching with nervous anticipation. Her eyes scanned the crowd just beyond the international arrivals gate, searching for one face—no, two—that would make her whole world light up again.

Next to her, Malachi O’Connell sipped at a lukewarm espresso, equally focused, his foot tapping unconsciously on the polished tile. He looked calm to the untrained eye, but Bella could tell by the slight tension in his jaw that he was just as antsy as she was.

"Do you think she missed us?" Bella asked with a crooked smile, trying to ease her own nerves.

“Knowing our daughter, she’s probably already plotting how to take over the Eiffel Tower,” Mal replied dryly, though there was a twinkle in his eye.

Bella chuckled, the laugh easing the tightness in her chest. She reached for his hand and laced their fingers together.

“You know she’s going to pretend she didn’t miss us at all,” she said.

“Absolutely,” Mal agreed with a nod. “She’ll act like she runs the show now.”

A burst of movement at the gate made them both straighten. A flight had just landed, and a wave of travelers spilled out into the terminal. Tourists with neck pillows still clinging to their shoulders, businesspeople glued to phones, sleepy-eyed children dragged along by equally exhausted parents.

And then—there she was.

“There’s my girl,” Bella whispered, already halfway in motion.

Máire came toddling into view, her curly hair a bouncing halo as she held tightly onto her grandmother’s hand. Aileen O’Connell, as elegant and sharp-eyed as ever, wore a soft smile as she guided the almost two-year-old through the throng of people. The moment her granddaughter spotted Bella and Malachi, she let out a gleeful squeal and launched forward.

“Mama!”

“Hi, baby!” Bella cried, dropping to her knees with open arms just in time to catch her.

Máire barreled into her with all the force and excitement of a tiny hurricane. Bella held her close, breathing in that familiar, comforting scent of baby shampoo and crumpled toddler travel. She pressed kisses to her daughter’s cheek while Máire babbled and pointed excitedly.

Mal was next, scooping them both into a tight family hug, placing a kiss to the top of Bella’s head and another on Máire’s forehead. His voice was quiet when he spoke.

“Home again.”

Aileen arrived moments later, watching the reunion with warm eyes and a soft, tired laugh. “Well now, that’s the welcome I hoped for.”

Bella stood, still cradling Máire in her arms. “You spoiled her, didn’t you?”

“I educated her,” Aileen corrected with a mockingly stern tone. “And maybe a little spoiling. But she was an absolute angel.”

Mal took their bags while Bella wrapped her free arm around Aileen for a hug. “Thank you for taking such good care of her,” Bella said sincerely.

Aileen gave her a firm squeeze in return. “She’s easy to love. And I wouldn’t have missed this for anything. Paris with the O’Connells and the Madisons? How could I say no?”

As they began to head toward the exit, Bella grinned, her heart full. “Wait until you meet up with my mom. You two have so much to catch up on and are either going to become best friends... or team up and run us both into the ground.”

Aileen laughed as she gave Mal a sideways glance. “Well, I do like a strong woman who can keep my son in line.”

Bella winked. “So does she.”

The group continued on toward the car, reunited at last and ready for the final days before Into the Void. And as the family stepped out into the glowing Parisian sun, Bella felt something settle inside her—a peace, a purpose. She was whole again.

And soon, the world would remember why that made her dangerous.

~*~Later That Evening~*~
A cozy Parisian flat overlooking the Seine

The apartment was alive with the soft clatter of cutlery, quiet conversation, and the gentle sound of Máire giggling as she padded barefoot across the wooden floor, trailing a plush duck behind her. The nearly two-year-old had taken quickly to the flat, exploring every corner with endless curiosity.

At the round dining table, Aileen O’Connell and Laura Phoenix sat together, their wine glasses half-full as they looked on with warm smiles. It had been a few years since they last shared a room, but time hadn’t frayed the bond forged through family—and now, through their shared granddaughter.

“I swear she’s gotten taller since this morning,” Aileen said, shaking her head with a chuckle. “Must be all that New York sunshine.”

“She’s growing too fast,” Bella replied, leaning over from the kitchenette to drop a small plate of cheese and bread on the table. “Feels like I blink and she’s onto the next stage. Walking. Talking. Climbing everything she’s not supposed to.”

“Definitely a Madison,” Laura teased.

“Excuse me, that would be Madison-dash-O’Connell,” Mal corrected playfully as he entered from the hallway, scooping Máire up with ease and tossing her gently into the air. The toddler squealed with delight.

Aileen beamed at the sight, then turned to Bella. “Thank you again for this week. It means so much to be here with you all.”

“Of course,” Bella said, taking her seat beside her mother. “There are times it feels like we barely get to see you, except for those video calls. I wanted you to spend time with Máire more than anything and well....Paris means a lot to me and to Mal as well… and I wanted this week to be more than just a lead-up to the match. I wanted our family here. To remind me what matters.”

Laura’s expression softened as she placed a hand on Bella’s arm. “You’ve made a beautiful life for yourself, honey. And you’ve earned every piece of it.”

Bella gave a quiet nod, her eyes flicking to Mal as he sat on the rug with Máire, building a tiny tower of blocks. “It hasn’t always been easy. There were a lot of times I didn’t think I’d get here.”

Aileen looked over, curious but respectful. “Back in Paris?”

Bella leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. “Yeah. I mean, Mal tries to get us back here every so often but- This city changed me. It’s where I really started to find my voice—not just as a woman or a student—but as me. There was a time I let other people define me, control the narrative. People like Reverend Synn.”

Laura’s brow furrowed at the name, but she said nothing.

Bella continued, her tone thoughtful. “Even Mercedes, back in the day. That first feud with her… it lit a fire in me. I stood up for myself. Proved I wasn’t just a placeholder or was riding on my mother’s name. I proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that I belonged. And now, here we are. Years later, and I’m the Internet champion. She’s the challenger.”

Aileen gave a small, approving nod. “And I imagine you’re going to remind her of that.”

Bella smiled—not smugly, but with a quiet, earned confidence. “Oh, I will. But more than that… I’m going to remind myself, too.”

Máire waddled up then, clutching a single block in her hand and holding it out proudly.

“For me?” Bella asked.

Her daughter nodded solemnly.

She took it, held it gently in her palm, and exchanged a look with Mal. “Thank you, princess.”

Máire gave a somewhat toothy grin before she toddled her way back to her daddy.

There were still challenges ahead, always would be—but in that moment, surrounded by family, Bella Madison felt centered. Rooted. Ready.

~*~ Spotlight in the City of Light~*~
Paris – Midweek Before Into the Void
Studio: Bonjour Matin Live!

The morning light spilled in through the tall studio windows as cameras rolled and stage assistants whispered final cues. The warm hum of Paris awakened just outside, the Eiffel Tower visible in the distance behind the show’s iconic floor-to-ceiling glass backdrop.

“Five seconds,” a producer called out in French. “Quatre… trois…”

The bright studio lights intensified just as the show’s theme music faded.

“Bonjour à tous, and welcome back to Bonjour Matin Live!” the poised French host smiled directly at the camera. “This weekend LIVE at the Accor Arena Sin City Wrestling will close out their Viking Era Tour with the ALWAYS thrilling supershow, Into The Void IX. Today, we’re joined by a very special guest — an international wrestling champion, world traveler, and someone who proudly calls Paris her second home… please welcome SCW Bombshell Internet Champion, Bella Madison!”

The applause cue sounded softly as the camera panned to Bella, seated gracefully across from the host. She wore a sharp white blazer over a black fitted top, the SCW Bombshell Internet Championship resting on a display stand beside her. Her posture was poised, but relaxed — confident.

“Bonjour, Bella,” the host greeted warmly.

“Bonjour,” Bella replied with a bright smile. “Thank you so much for having me.”

“It’s our pleasure. You’re back in Paris — not just to enjoy the city — but to defend your championship at Into the Void this weekend. What does it mean to be doing that here, of all places?”

Bella leaned in slightly. “It means the world to me. Paris is where I finished college. It’s where- Where I found myself. Where my husband and I fell in love. It’s always been more than just a city for me — it’s where I learned to stand on my own. So, to return here, 6 years later, with this championship… it feels like coming full circle.”

The host nodded, intrigued. “And your opponent, Mercedes Vargas, is no stranger to you.”

“No, she’s not,” Bella answered with a knowing smile. “We’ve been down this road before. Back then, I was still learning to speak up, still finding my edge. Mercedes tried to break me, even bully me— the same way she’s broken a lot of women in this business. But I didn’t just survive her. I stood up to her in the loudest way possible AND I beat her. And now, with everything we’ve both been through… it’s only fitting that we meet again here.”

The host smiled with admiration. “You speak like a warrior.”

“Because that’s exactly what I am. The world of professional wrestling is not for the meak. This whole tour has been called the Viking Era Tour, every single one of them in their own way were great warriors. It’s great way to honor them.”

The camera zoomed in slightly as the host continued.

“One last question. There are a lot of young fans — especially young girls — watching right now. What do you hope they see when they watch you walk into that ring this weekend?”

Bella’s eyes lit up with the question. “I hope they see someone who was told she wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t tough enough, wasn’t right enough — and did it anyway. Someone who didn’t fit into a mold, who made her own path. I want them to know that you don’t have to be what they expect. You just have to be you.”

The host smiled. “Beautifully said.”

Then, as the show began to wrap, he leaned toward her with one final prompt. “Would you mind addressing your Parisian fans in French before we go to break?”

Bella nodded without hesitation. She turned slightly toward the camera, a smile playing across her lips — warm, fierce, and full of pride.

“Je vous invite toutes et tous à venir me voir défendre ce championnat ici, dans la ville qui m’a tant donnée. Paris est ma maison de cœur — et ce week-end, je vais me battre comme la guerrière que je suis pour conserver ce titre. Venez voir une vraie Bombshell briller sur votre sol.”

The applause came naturally, rising with her words. The host gave an approving nod, repeating, “Magnifique.”

As the show transitioned to commercial, Bella sat back, her smile lingering.

She wasn’t just passing through Paris.

She was staking her claim.

Outside the Studio – Bonjour Matin Live!

The studio lights dimmed behind her as Bella stepped off the set, exhaling the kind of breath you only let go of after you’ve said everything you needed to say.

She rounded the corner and spotted them instantly.

Malachi stood tall near the studio’s lobby windows, cradling a wriggling, giggling Máire who had just about enough patience for grown-up things. Aileen, ever the anchor of calm, was crouched beside them, tickling the little girl’s feet and chatting warmly with a young production assistant in halting but charming French.

Bella’s smile bloomed as she approached. “There’s my girl,” she said softly.

Máire turned at her voice, face lighting up as she reached her arms toward her mother. “Mama!”

Bella scooped her up with practiced ease, pressing a kiss to her dark curls as Mal stepped forward, brushing his hand along Bella’s lower back with a proud grin.

“You were great in there,” he said. “Could hear the passion in your voice, even from the greenroom.”

She leaned into him, her arms wrapped tightly around their daughter. “Felt good. I needed that.”

They didn’t get far.

A ripple of camera flashes followed by sharp, rapid French voices broke the moment like a snapped wire. A handful of reporters — tipped off by the morning show appearance — had swarmed just outside the studio entrance. Phones, lenses, and microphones pointed like arrows.

“Bella! Bella Madison! One word on Vargas!”

“Is it true you might leave wrestling soon? Focus on family?”

“Was that your daughter? Is she going to follow in your footsteps?”

Mal stiffened beside her. Aileen stepped slightly in front, putting herself between the crowd and her granddaughter with the grace of someone who’d done this dance before.

Bella’s jaw tightened.

She was used to attention. The spotlight. The scrutiny. But this—this felt different.

Máire squirmed in her arms, tucking her head against her mother’s shoulder at the sudden noise. Bella adjusted her grip and turned, shielding the toddler from the bursts of flashing lights.

“That’s enough,” Bella snapped, her voice cutting through the chaos like thunder.

She didn’t shout.

She didn’t have to.

The force behind her words made the media pack falter.

“This—” she said, gesturing toward Mal, Aileen, and Máire, “—is not for you. You want to ask about my match? About my title? Fine. Do it inside the arena, where I’ve signed up to be in the spotlight. But if you can’t respect this boundary—then you don’t get a damn word from me.”

No translator needed. Her body language did the talking.

The reporters slowly backed off, muttering amongst themselves as security finally moved to corral them away from the glass doors.

Bella turned back to her family, her features still hard-edged as she handed Máire gently to Aileen’s waiting arms.

Mal rested his hand on her shoulder. “You alright?”

She looked up at him, a flicker of storm still in her eyes.

“I will be,” she said. “As long as they remember what happens when someone tries to put me—or her—in a corner.”

A beat passed.

Mal smirked. “I seem to remember what happened the last time someone tried that.”

Bella’s lip curled into a matching smirk. “I flipped the damn table.”

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You still do, baby.”

She gave one more glance toward the dispersing cameras before turning fully back to her family. Her daughter giggled again, delighting in some secret joke with Aileen.

Let them write whatever headlines they wanted.

Bella Madison wasn’t here to be a tabloid.

She was here to be a champion.

And Paris would see that with crystal clarity.

~*~Breathe~*~
Later that Evening – Their Paris Apartment Balcony

The city shimmered in soft amber beneath a velvet twilight sky, the Eiffel Tower a distant silhouette against the warm haze of summer.

Bella sat on the narrow balcony, a blanket draped around her shoulders, legs pulled up into the oversized chair. A nearly forgotten cup of tea rested on the small table beside her, steam long since gone. The air was quiet—save for the faint music of the city below and the occasional hum of a passing car.

She didn’t move when the glass door behind her slid open.

Mal stepped out barefoot, a soft grey hoodie clinging to his frame and his hair still damp from a late shower. In his hands, two glasses of wine. He offered one to her, his fingers brushing hers as she accepted.

“Máire’s asleep,” he said, settling beside her in the other chair.

“Out cold?” she asked.

“Like a light. Your mom wore her out with that dance party in the living room.”

Bella smiled at the image. “She’s got moves. She gets it from me.”

Mal snorted. “Right. Nothing to do with my award-winning Irish footwork.”

Bella finally looked at him. Her expression was soft now—eyes tired, but calm.

“Thanks for today,” she said.

He took a sip of wine. “Didn’t really do much.”

“You kept me grounded. You always do.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the air between them thick with unspoken things. The city lights twinkled like stars below, and Bella watched them for a long while before finally speaking again.

“It still gets to me, you know,” she said quietly. “The way people look at me sometimes. Like I’m this… box they’ve already labeled and taped shut.”

Mal leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’ve never fit in a box, mo ghrá. That’s what makes you impossible to ignore.”

“I used to try to fit. To shrink myself down so I’d be easier to handle. But I’m tired of doing that.” She looked at him then, her voice firm. “Especially now. I’ve got too much to fight for.”

He reached over, threading his fingers through hers. “You’ve already won, love. Not just the title. But this. Us. Máire. Your voice. Your strength.”

Bella blinked quickly, her eyes misting—but she didn’t let the tears fall.

She just squeezed his hand tighter.

“Paris always feels like it brings me back to myself,” she murmured. “Even with the cameras, the noise… this city reminds me of the girl I was. The one who still believed she could do anything.”

“You’re still her,” Mal said. “Just stronger now.”

She looked over at him again—really looked—and saw not just the man who first kissed her on a bridge six years ago, but the one who’s been in her corner ever since. Through every storm, every high, every match, every moment.

Bella let out a slow breath and finally leaned into his side, resting her head against his shoulder.

The world could wait.

Tonight, she just wanted to breathe.

~*~Rules of Engagement: The Truth About Legacy~*~

The camera crew had long since finished their setup in the quiet studio space just outside of Paris, where SCW had rented a small but elegant venue for promo shoots leading up to Into the Void. It was minimalist—white walls, black floor, a single spotlight casting a halo down over the woman seated center stage.

Bella Madison sat perfectly still in the chair, posture poised, the SCW Bombshell Internet Championship resting across her shoulder. It gleamed under the light, a reflection of both her physical strength and emotional endurance. Her fingers tapped a steady rhythm along the metal plate. Calm. Controlled. But behind her steady eyes was a storm.

“Legacy,” she said, voice low but sure.

She let the word sit there, soaking in the silence.

“That’s what this match is about for you, isn’t it, Mercy?”

The nickname rolled off her tongue with deliberate sharpness—mocking and familiar all at once.

“Every word that comes out of your mouth these days is about what you’ve done. All the titles. The accolades. Hall of Fame status. Always dragging the past into the spotlight like it still belongs to you. You’ve always been good about the records and the past instead of focusing on what ACTUALLY matters.”

She shifted slightly, her expression shifting from calm to calculated.

“But here’s the problem with legacy—when that’s all you’re holding onto, it means you’re not building anything new. The things that actually matter, and that is not only the current events but the future of his business. And when you step into the ring with me, you’ll find out real quick that the past doesn’t mean a damn thing if it can’t keep up with the present.”

Her hand tightened on the title.

“You haven’t beaten me, Mercy. Not once. You’ve never pinned me. You’ve never made me tap. Our record? It’s solidly in my favor. Two wins, four draws... and nothing for you to show for it but excuses.”

Bella lifted her chin slightly, her voice growing firmer.

“You treat this championship like it’s your last shot at relevance. Like it’s some symbol you can use to prop yourself up and say, ‘See? I still matter.’ But I’m not here clinging to this title like it owes me something. I honor it. I elevate it. Every match I’ve fought with this on my shoulder has been a lesson in survival—and growth.”

She paused, breathing deep, eyes narrowing with focused fire.

“You can call me a villain if you want. There is somewhere along the way that we play the villain in someone’s story. You can act like I’ve changed, like I’m colder now, tougher. Guess what? You’re right. I had to get meaner. I had to stop asking for space and start taking it. I got tired of being told how to act, how to fight, how to exist.”

Her voice cracked, just slightly—not with weakness, but with a powerful honesty that came from living through the doubt, the criticism, the second-guessing.

“I’ve faced every fear they told me would break me. And I’m still here. Stronger. Smarter. Sharper.”

She stood slowly, the chair creaking beneath her as the light followed her movement. The championship never left her shoulder.

“I’ve watched people like you treat others like stepping stones. I’ve watched you try to do it to me. And I put you in your place then—just like I will again.”

The fire in her voice was unmistakable now.

“You want this championship? Earn it. Don’t talk about your legacy—be better than it. But spoiler alert, Mercy…”

Bella stepped forward into the camera’s eye, lowering her voice to a steady growl.

“You’re not.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth—confident, unapologetic.

“I’m the one who defines this title now. I’m the one the locker room looks to when they want to know what excellence looks like. I’ve fought my way out of the shadows of giants—hell, of my own mother’s legacy—to carve out something that’s mine. And I’m just getting started.”

She looked straight into the lens, no pretense, no gimmicks.

“This title stays with me. And after Into the Void, so will the undeniable truth that Bella Madison didn’t just beat you again…”

She let the silence build.

“She buried your legacy with a smile.”

The spotlight faded to black.

And then her voice in the dark.... “Actually I’m not done yet. Let’s have a change of scenery, shall we?”

The top of the Eiffel Tower at twilight, Paris spread out like a canvas behind her. The wind dances around her leather jacket, her Bombshell Internet Championship draped over her shoulder. The look in her eyes? Ice cold. The fire in her voice? Anything but.

Bella Madison didn’t come here to smile.

She came here to speak.

She leans against the rail, letting the golden light cast shadows over her face as the camera rolls.

“So let me get this straight, Mercy…” Bella begins, voice sharp, deliberate, venom laced through honey, “You spent what, five solid minutes calling yourself a legend? The measuring stick? The name etched in history? I mean, did you stop for a second to take a breath—or were you too busy giving yourself a standing ovation, a pat on the back or perhaps a little rub of the nub?”

Her lips curl into a cold smirk as she shifts her weight, the wind snapping her hair across her cheek.

“You’re right about one thing—you’ve been around. Long enough that half the locker room had to go Google you the first time your name came up. And sure, they found the accolades. The title reigns. The soundbites. But what they didn’t find? Relevance.”

Bella’s voice sharpens as she pushes off the rail and walks toward the camera, the championship now clutched firmly in her hand.

“See, Mercedes, legends don’t have to tell people they’re legends. They don’t need a twenty-minute history lesson just to feel seen. You keep calling yourself the measuring stick like that means something—but if you’re the stick? Then baby, the rest of us are already miles ahead of you in the massive metropolises, building skyscrapers that are towering over and blocking out the sun to your so-called legacy.”

Her glare hardens.

“You talk like I’m clinging to this title. You think I’m desperate? Oh no, sweetheart. You’ve got it all twisted. I earned this. I’ve defended it. I’ve bled for it. I’ve gone toe-to-toe with monsters and matriarchs, and I’m still standing here holding it. Because I’m not just a transitional champion—I’m the reason this championship means something again. And you? You want to ride that wave back into the spotlight like it’s still 2017.”

She scoffs, lifting the title, letting it shine beneath the fading sun.

“You call me cute. You say I’m hungry. You think that makes you dangerous because you’re not? Newsflash, Mercy: hunger is what keeps you sharp. It’s what separates the fighters from the fossils. And if you think your experience is enough to beat me?”

She leans in close to the camera. The venom comes out sweetly now—deadly and undeniable.

“Then you’re not experienced. You’re delusional.”

Bella paces again, jaw clenched. She’s not angry—she’s surgical. Focused. Brutally honest.

“Let’s talk about that standard you set. You had your moment. I’ll even give you credit where it’s due. But the problem with setting a standard is that eventually, someone comes along and surpasses it. That’s me. That’s what’s happening. Right now. While you’re stuck looking backward, romanticizing your prime, I’m building mine in real time, in front of everyone, week after week, match after match, win after win.”

“Back then, you underestimated me. You thought I’d fold under the weight of your legacy. But I didn’t. I thrived. I didn’t just survive Mercedes Vargas… I learned from you. And that’s what makes this so dangerous for you now.”

She gestures to the city behind her—living, breathing, now.

“I’m not afraid of your legacy, Mercy. I’ve read that chapter. I turned the page. You’re yesterday’s headline trying to rewrite history, but I’m the headline everyone’s reading now. The only thing you’ve done consistently the last few years? It reminds people that you used to matter. And then when you are shown that you have passed your prime, you fuck off into the background to “calculate” your next move and then it’s right back to where you started. It’s like a constant circle and it seems to roll back to me now and again to prove that your calculations were very off. Like somewhere you forgot to carry the one.”

She shrugs, tilting her head, mock pity in her tone.

“And for someone who claims to thrive under pressure? Funny how you keep folding when it’s me on the other side of that ring. All that talk about comebacks and redemption? I’ve heard it before. You bring your hunger, your fire, your legacy—but the moment that bell rings? It’s always the same story. You fight hard, you fall short, and then you vanish until the next desperate encore.”

She raises the Internet Championship high now, her eyes locked with the lens.

“So come to Paris. Step into the ring with me at Into the Void. Show the world what your legacy really looks like when it crashes into my era. You want to prove you’re still the woman to beat?”

A dangerous grin spreads across her face.

“Then I guess it really sucks for you that you’re staring at the woman no one can.”

The camera lingers on her for a beat—queen of the moment, champion of the present—before she delivers her final blow.

“You’re not the measuring stick, Mercy. You’re the cautionary tale.”

“Not just for the title. Not just to beat you. But to remind the world—and maybe remind myself—that the journey was never about becoming the next Mercedes Vargas.”

A final, piercing stare.

“It was always about becoming the only Bella Madison.”

“And I’m gonna leave you with one thing that has been floating in my head. I’ll see you all Sunday.”

It’s up to me to make it real.
Outwork, outshine, outlast.

Push harder—then go further.
How will I shape today?
Life doesn’t give second chances.

Stand tall. Don’t fold.
Lead with strength and kindness.
Time is precious. Don’t lose it.

I am the only one who can hold me back.
Be unstoppable. Get stronger.
See life with clarity.

What would Mom do?
What would Dad remind me?

Take only what’s needed.
Keep goals realistic.
Give without expecting.
See what others lack.
Be grateful. Always.

What truly matters at the end?

Stand firm in your values.
Never back down.

Ask: what’s the honorable path?

Treat others how I’d hope to be treated.

Don’t accept mediocrity.

Accept what’s beyond control.

Push limits, then go further.

Lead with love, always.

Into the Void.
Paris.
Where legacies live… and die.