C L I M A X C O N T R O L ♦ G R A N D J U N C T I O N • C O L O R A D O[Backstage at Climax Control, the energy is tense. Mercedes Vargas storms through the curtain, sweat-drenched and scowling, clutching her gear bag. Crystal Caldwell, dressed to the nines and scrolling through her phone, leans against a crate, waiting.]
CRYSTAL
Rough night, Mercedes. Guess Kayla still has your number.
MERCEDES
I’m not in the mood, Crystal. Save the gloating for your vlog.
CRYSTAL (smirking, pocketing her phone):
Oh, come on. You know I’m just here for the business. Besides, the Internet Title scene’s about to get crowded. You sure you’re ready for Summer XXXTreme?
MERCEDES (stopping, squaring up):
I’m always ready. Unlike some people, I don’t need to tweet my way into relevance.
CRYSTAL (shrugs, circling Mercedes): Maybe. But you lose again on the Sun Princess, and management might start looking for a new face. Someone with… crossover appeal.
MERCEDES
(stepping in, voice low): If you want a shot, Crystal, just say it. But don’t think for a second you can outwork me. I’ve bled for this company.
CRYSTAL (grinning):
And yet, here you are—backstage, empty-handed. Maybe it’s time for a new headline. “Crystal Hilton: Internet Champion.” Has a nice ring, doesn’t it?
MERCEDES (smirks): Headlines fade. Legacies last. And mine’s just getting started.
CRYSTAL (leaning in, whispering):
We’ll see. Just don’t choke when the lights are brightest.
[Crystal glides past, her confidence palpable. Mercedes watches her go, jaw set, determination burning in her eyes. The business of wrestling is never just about the ring—it’s about who controls the story.]
[As the roar of the crowd faded, Mercedes Vargas made her way backstage, her night in Grand Junction, Colorado now over after her intense match with Kayla Richards. She couldn't help but feel a mix of disappointment and determination despite the outcome. The clash between these two SCW veterans had lived up to expectations, showcasing their skills and rivalry.
The electricity was in the air even as Climax Control was still ongoing. The crowd was buzzing with excitement after witnessing the clash of titans that unfolded between Mercedes and Kayla. Even with the momentum Mercedes had entered with coming into the night, this latest setback just two weeks before she defends the Bombshell Internet Championship at Summer XXXTreme raised questions about her chances in the upcoming championship match, where she will face tough competition in a high-stakes environment. She knew that Kayla would be a formidable opponent, but she also knew that she had what it took to win. That did not happen this night.
While her recent setback may have shaken her confidence, Mercedes has the experience and skill to bounce back. Mercedes knows she'll need to regroup quickly and focus on overcoming this defeat to compete effectively against multiple challengers at Summer XXXTreme in her quest to reclaim her status as a top contender in Sin City Wrestling.]
• • •Blog: Almighty Firesemana del 7 al 13 de julio de 2025Let’s address the elephant in the room, shall we? At the go-home show at Climax Control, Kayla Richards pinned Mercedes Vargas. I know, I know. Cue the confetti, light up the group chats, and let Kayla have her moment in the sun. She earned it. For one night, the stars aligned, and the universe decided to give her a taste of what it feels like to stand above the rest. Trust me, it’s a view I know well.
But let’s not get carried away. Losses happen. One match doesn’t rewrite history, and it certainly doesn’t rewrite the standard. I’m not going to pretend it didn’t sting—losing never sits well with me. But unlike some, I don’t need to throw a tantrum or blame the ref. I don’t need to post cryptic messages about “injustice” or “bad luck.” or "having a bad night." Sometimes, you get caught. Sometimes, the other woman has your number.
See, the thing about being at the top as long as I have is you learn to treat setbacks as setups for the next act. Legends don’t crumble after one loss. We recalibrate, we refocus, and we remind everyone why we’re the ones they’re still talking about when the lights go down.
To the fans and the other Bombshells who suddenly found their voices after last night—enjoy it. I know how you love an underdog story. But don’t get too comfortable cheering for the flavor of the week. Because while the rest of you are busy debating who’s next, I’m already planning what’s next. That’s what separates icons from idols. I don’t follow the conversation—I am the conversation.
If I were Bella Madison or Lilith Locke, I wouldn’t get inspired. I wouldn’t mistake a stumble for a downfall. My career’s been built on comebacks, on turning “could have beens” into “never agains.” If anyone thinks one loss changes everything, let’s look at the so-called contenders waiting in the wings.
You know, the more I watch Bella and Lilith, the more I realize they’re not threats—they’re cautionary tales. Bella acts like she’s owed something, as if the world is just waiting to hand her her next moment. In this business nobody is owed anything. Every accolade, every headline, every second of spotlight—I earned it while she was still rehearsing her entrance in the mirror, hoping someone would notice her. You want to talk about hard work? Try being the benchmark everyone else is measured against, carrying a division while every challenger aims for your crown. That’s real pressure. That’s legacy. Bella and Lilith wouldn’t understand—they’re too busy following trends to ever set them.
This business doesn’t care about your feelings or your excuses. It cares about results. About who stands tall when the smoke clears, who raises the championship belt high enough for the whole damn world to see, and who leaves a legacy that outlives the fleeting applause of a moment.
Bella and Lilith? They’re just part of the noise. Background static in a symphony that I conduct. They think they’re storms, but they’re just passing clouds—loud for a second, then gone without a trace. I’ve been through hurricanes, wildfires, and earthquakes, and I’m still here. Still standing. Still the one everyone is chasing. Still the one setting the standard, raising the bar, and making sure that when people talk about this division, there’s only one name that echoes through every hallway, every headline, and every history book—Mercedes Vargas.
Let me tell you something about legacy. It’s not built on Instagram likes or viral moments. It’s built on sweat, sacrifice, and scars. Every bruise I carry, every sleepless night, every grueling training session—it’s all part of the story that no one else can tell because no one else has lived it. When you’ve carried a division on your back as I have, you learn what it means to be more than just a name on a roster. You become the standard, the benchmark, the queen everyone else tries to dethrone but never can.
There's something almost charming about watching Bella and Lilith try to play the part of contenders. I say “almost,” because after a while, watching someone trip over their own ambition gets a little old. Still, I have to give credit where it’s due: it takes a special kind of courage to step into a spotlight you’re not ready for. Or maybe it’s just a lack of self-awareness. Either way, it’s entertaining.
But here’s the thing: I don’t hate them. I pity them. Because beneath all the posturing and the pyrotechnics, there’s a desperation that’s almost tragic. They want what I have—a legacy, a name that echoes through the halls of history. But they don’t understand that it’s not about wanting. It’s about earning. It’s about grinding when no one’s watching, pushing past pain and doubt, and standing tall when everyone else has fallen.
I’ve seen what happens to those who chase fame without substance. They burn out fast, leaving nothing but ashes behind. I’ve been through that fire and come out stronger. That’s why I’m still here, still relevant, still the queen of this kingdom.
When I first stepped into this ring, I was underestimated. Dismissed. Told I was too small, too soft, too inexperienced. But I didn’t let that stop me. I used it. Every insult, every sneer, every underestimation became a brick in the foundation of my empire.
Bella and Lilith? They’ve had it easier. Opportunities on silver platters, chances to shine without paying their dues. And yet, here they are—still scrambling, still clawing for a foothold. It’s almost sad to watch.
But I don’t hold grudges. I hold standards. And my standard is excellence. My standard is dominance. My standard is being the one everyone else measures themselves against.
I know, I know—this is the part where I’m supposed to be worried. Where I’m supposed to pretend that their little mind games and social media antics are keeping me up at night. But the truth is, I sleep just fine. Maybe it’s because I’ve already seen everything they're trying to be. Maybe it’s because I know that when the pressure’s on, they'll both do what they always do—fade into the background, while I take center stage.
Let’s start with Bella. She’s got that wide-eyed optimism, that “I just got my first pair of heels and I’m going to conquer the runway” energy. It’s cute—like watching a puppy bark at its own reflection. She talks about respect like it’s a birthright, not something you earn with grit and grind. Bella, darling, respect isn’t a participation trophy. It’s not handed out just because you showed up and remembered your lines. It’s forged in the fire of real competition, in the moments when you’re the last woman standing and everyone else is left picking themselves up off the mat.
But I suppose when you’ve never truly been tested, it’s easy to mistake applause for achievement. You want to be the future? Try mastering the present first. Until then, you’re just another face in the crowd, hoping someone mistakes your confidence for competence.
Bella, you’re always chasing—validation, relevance, that one win that’ll finally make everyone see you the way you see yourself.. But here’s the truth: you can’t chase greatness. You have to become it. And that takes more than a few good intentions and a catchy entrance song. The fans cheer for you because they see themselves in you—ordinary, unremarkable, destined for failure. Me? I’m everything they wish they could be: extraordinary, undeniable, and unstoppable.
Deep down you know the truth, Bella. You can’t beat me. And you won’t beat me.
And then there’s Lilith. Oh, Lilith. The self-styled chaos queen. She’s got all the trappings of menace—dark makeup, cryptic tweets, a penchant for melodrama—but none of the substance. It’s all thunder, no rain. You can set the stage on fire, but if you can’t back it up when the bell rings, all you’ve done is give the janitor more work. I’ve seen scarier things in my rearview mirror on the way to the arena.
You see, real power doesn’t need to announce itself. It walks in, and the room gets quiet. It’s the hush before the storm, the tension in the air when everyone knows something’s about to happen. Lilith, you can keep screaming into the void, but until you learn to let your actions do the talking, you’ll always be the background music to someone else’s main event.
But don’t get me wrong—I actually enjoy having you both around. Every queen needs her court, after all. And every story needs its supporting cast. You two play your roles beautifully. Bella, the plucky underdog who just can’t quite get it together. Lilith, the misunderstood villain who talks a big game but never quite delivers. It’s almost Shakespearean, really.
And while you’re busy rehearsing your lines, I’m out here writing the script. Because that’s what real champions do. We don’t wait for opportunities—we create them. We don’t chase trends—we set them. We don’t ask for respect—we command it.
My legacy wasn’t built overnight. I’ve built my legacy brick by brick, match by match, year after year. I’ve been the headline, the standard, the measuring stick. I’ve seen challengers come and go—some with more talent, some with more hype, but none with more staying power. And that’s the difference. That’s why, when the dust settles, my name is the first—and last—one they remember.
Because in the end, it’s not about who wants it more. It’s about who’s willing to do what it takes. And if history is any indication, that’s always been me.
So, Bella, keep practicing your poses. Lilith, keep perfecting your glare. Maybe one day, you’ll figure out that being memorable takes more than a gimmick and a good lighting crew. Until then, I’ll keep doing what I do best—winning.
I don’t need to shout to be heard. I don’t need to set anything on fire to light up the arena. When I walk in, people pay attention. That’s called presence—a word you both might want to look up. It’s something you either have or you don’t. No amount of hashtags or mood lighting can fake it.
You know, sometimes I wonder what it must be like to live in your world—a place where every setback is someone else’s fault, where every missed opportunity is a conspiracy, and where every defeat is just “bad luck.” Must be nice to have that kind of built-in excuse generator. But here’s the thing: champions don’t make excuses. We make history.
I’ve faced tougher opponents, survived harder battles, and come back from bigger setbacks than either of you can imagine. And every time, I’ve emerged stronger. That’s what separates legends from footnotes. That’s why, when the lights go out and the crowd goes home, I’m the one holding the gold. And that's exactly what's going to happen in two weeks at Summer XXXtreme.
So, go ahead—burn all the effigies you want, call me every name in the book, scream, shout, throw your little tantrums, post your cryptic messages, and tell yourself that this time will be different. Maybe it will. Maybe you’ll finally rise to the occasion. Or maybe, just maybe, you’ll do what you’ve always done—fall short, and watch as I add another chapter to my story.
At the end of the day, when the lights go out and the crowd goes home, the only thing that matters is who’s standing tall with the championship in her hands. And that’s never been either of you. That’s always been me. Because when all the noise fades and the spotlight narrows to a single point, there’s only room for one queen. And if you have to ask who that is, you haven’t been paying attention.
So when Summer XXXTreme hits, and the world is watching, I’ll be ready. Ready to silence the doubters, ready to crush the pretenders, ready to prove once again why I am the queen of this kingdom.
But don’t worry, Bella and Lilith—I’ll make sure you get a front-row seat. After all, it’s the least I can do for my biggest fans.
See you at Summer XXXTreme. Try not to blink. You might miss your moment.
Long before you knew, and long after you'll remember.~~~
SCENE: LATE NIGHT BAR – CITY LIMITS
[The group gathers around a worn wooden table in a dimly lit bar. The buzz of conversation and clinking glasses fills the air, but the mood is heavier than at the party. Irma nurses a drink, Mercedes leans back, eyes sharp, Ricardo watches everyone with a calculating gaze, Tomas fidgets with his glass, and Hugo lights a cigarette, exhaling slowly.
Irma sat quietly at the edge of the table, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. The laughter and bravado swirling around her felt distant, almost unreal. She drew in a shaky breath, her voice barely more than a whisper as she finally spoke—revealing more vulnerability than she intended.]
IRMA:
Thanks for coming tonight. I needed this… more than you know.
[Mercedes gives a tired half-smile, exhaustion in her eyes.]
MERCEDES:
We all do. But don’t think this means the pressure’s off. Summer XXXTreme is coming, and it’s not just some fun cruise. It’s a war zone.
TOMAS:
So what’s the play? How do you flip the narrative?
[Mercedes looks around the table, eyes locking with each friend.]
MERCEDES:
I lost tonight. Kayla got the better of me. But that’s not the end. It never is. I’m not done—not by a long shot.
[Hugo glances at the tense faces around the table, then suddenly stands, stretching his arms overhead. He grabs a stray cocktail napkin and starts folding it absentmindedly.]
HUGO:
You know what? I’m starving. Anyone else actually eat at Irma’s, or did we all just survive on nerves and cheap wine?
[He waves down the bartender, signaling for a menu, his tone lighter, trying to cut through the tension.]
HUGO:
Seriously, if I don’t get some fries in me, I’m going to start hallucinating. Remember that time at the old place, Mercedes, when you tried to deep-fry a Snickers bar?
[Irma lets out a surprised laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing a little. Tomas grins, shaking his head.]
TOMAS:
And you nearly set the kitchen on fire. I thought Ricardo was going to call the fire department.
[Mercedes rolls her eyes, but a reluctant smile tugs at her lips.]
MERCEDES:
Hey, it almost worked. “Almost” being the key word.
[The mood at the table shifts, the heavy conversation giving way—at least for a moment—to shared memories and laughter as the group orders food and reminisces, the storm outside fading into the background.]
[The bartender drops off a stack of menus with a practiced smile. Hugo snatches one, scanning it with exaggerated seriousness.]
HUGO:
All right, what’s everyone’s poison? I’m thinking nachos the size of my head and, if we’re brave, the “Inferno Wings.” Anyone?
[Irma giggles, finally letting herself relax. She picks up a menu, her fingers no longer trembling.]
IRMA:
I’ll split the nachos, but someone else is taking the wings. I still remember what happened to Tomas last time.
[Tomas groans, rubbing his stomach with mock pain.]
TOMAS:
Don’t remind me. I thought I was going to breathe fire for a week.
[Mercedes leans back, folding her arms, her earlier intensity softened.]
MERCEDES:
Just get me fries. And maybe a milkshake—chocolate, extra thick. If I’m going to survive Summer XXXTreme, I need to start carb-loading now.
[The group laughs, the sound mingling with the low music and clatter of the bar. Ricardo, who’s been quietly watching, finally chimes in, his expression playful.]
[Ricardo leans in with a sky grin on his face.]
RICARDO:
Speaking of carb-loading, you all realize we’re about to spend a week trapped on a boat, right? I hope you packed more than just sunscreen.
[Irma smiles nervously.]
IRMA
I keep telling myself it’s just a cruise. Sun, ocean, maybe a little drama. But Mercedes is right—it’s going to be a battlefield.
[Hugo raises his menu like a shield, holding it between himself and the table as if warding off the tension in the air, his eyes peeking over the top with a playful glint.]
HUGO
I’m just hoping the buffet survives. Last year, I saw grown adults fight over shrimp cocktails. This year, we might have to dodge flying elbows and sabotage.
[Suddenly, Tomas leans forward, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.]
TOMAS:
You know, if the food war gets too intense, we could always start our own rebellion. I call dibs on the captain’s hat.
[Mercedes snorts.]
MERCEDES:
Yeah, good luck with that. The captain’s probably got a black belt in passive-aggressive glares.
[Irma laughs, the sound light and genuine.]
IRMA:
Imagine the chaos if Hugo actually tried to lead a mutiny. He’d probably negotiate peace by offering everyone free fries.
[Hugo pretends to be offended, clutching his chest.]
HUGO:
Hey! I’m a man of principles. But I won’t say no to fries as a peace treaty.
[Ricardo chuckles.]
RICARDO:
At this rate, the biggest threat on the boat won’t be the competition—it’ll be Hugo’s snack demands.
[The group bursts into laughter, the earlier tension dissolving completely. Irma leans back, feeling the warmth of friendship and the comfort of shared humor.]
IRMA:
Well, whatever happens, at least we’ll survive on fries, laughter, and maybe a little chaos.
[Hugo raises his menu one last time, mock-saluting the group.]
HUGO:
To fries, friends, and fiery wings—may the best snack win.
END
Present Day ♦ L O S A N G E L E S • C A L I F O R N I A[REC•]Location: Paul Smith Pink Wall, Melrose Avenue, Los Angeles
Time: Golden hour, just before sunset.
[Camera opens with a wide shot of Mercedes standing confidently in front of the iconic pink wall. Bold, stylish, and confident — the vibrant pink wall contrasts sharply with Mercedes Vargas’s sleek black leather jacket and chic dress. The atmosphere is urban, trendy, and unapologetically fierce. The light hits her sharply, emphasizing her commanding presence. As the camera zooms in, Mercedes removes her sunglasses and addresses the lens, her tone smooth and polished, laced with cool sarcasm.]
“Well, well, well… Bella and Lilith really went all out, didn’t they? Burning effigies, calling my BFF a ‘coat tail riding leech’—oh, the drama! I was backstage, watching their little circus. The mannequin, the fire—such passion! I loved it, I loved it. Almost adorable, really. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were auditioning for a daytime soap. But this? This is Sin City Wrestling. Here, you don’t play dress-up and call yourself a contender. You earn your place. You fight for your crown. And you keep it. In this company, it takes more than smoke and mirrors—or a little pyrotechnics on a mannequin—to shake someone who’s built this from the ground up.”
[She smirks, slowly removing her sunglasses and locking eyes with the camera.]
"Let’s get one thing straight: I don’t have to prove anything to anyone. I don’t need to show up every week, waving my arms and yelling to get attention. That’s not how a champion carries herself. A champion commands respect by being unshakable, by making every move count, by knowing when to speak and when to let our actions do the talking."
[She pauses, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips as the city lights begin to flicker on behind her.]
"I’m not here to entertain your little vendettas. I’m here to remind you—and everyone watching—that I’m the champion for a reason. I didn’t just stumble into this title. I didn’t get handed it because I was pretty or popular or because I had some ‘leech’ whispering sweet nothings in my ear. No, I earned it. Blood, sweat, and tears. Every single damn day.
I didn’t get to the top by underestimating anyone. I know what both of you are capable of. That’s why I’m always three steps ahead. While you’re busy plotting your little upsets, I’m planning my next celebration."
[Mercedes stops, looks directly into the camera, her eyes sharp and unwavering.)
“Bella, Lilith, I almost wish you two would team up. Maybe then you’d stand a chance. But let’s be honest, alliances never last long when gold is on the line. I’ve seen it before—best friends, bitter rivals, it all ends the same: with me holding this title. After I beat you both, I’ll send you a postcard from the top—wish you were here.”
[Mercedes steps forward, the city lights reflecting off her jacket as she gestures with controlled confidence.]
"You want a real conversation? Here it is: I’m not running from either of you. I’m just busy building my empire—on and off the ring. While you’re busy playing dress-up with mannequins, I’m out here making moves. So come Summer XXXTreme, I’m not just defending a title—I’m defending everything I’ve built. My legacy. My name. My reign."
[She pauses, a sly smile curling her lips.]
“Now, about that little ‘leech’ you keep talking about—Crystal. Let me tell you something about loyalty. It’s not about clinging to someone’s coattails or riding their wave. It’s about standing shoulder to shoulder, knowing when to lead and when to follow. Crystal isn’t a leech. She’s smart. She’s savvy. And she’s got my back because she knows what real strength looks like.”
[Mercedes reaches into her jacket pocket, pulling out a small photo of herself and Crystal, smiling and confident.]
“See this? This isn’t just a partnership. This is a bond forged in the trenches. And anyone who thinks they can come between us is in for a rude awakening.”
[She tucks the photo away and turns back to the camera, her expression hardening.]
"You can call us whatever you want, but you can’t rewrite history. Crystal and I— we’ve survived every storm, every ambush, every rumor. You want to test that? Be my guest. But don’t be surprised when loyalty outlasts your little alliances and your fleeting grudges."
[She laughs softly, shaking her head.]
"You know what really gets me? The way you two act like you’re the only ones hungry for this. Like you’re the only ones who know what it means to sacrifice. Newsflash: I built this legacy from the ground up, while you were still trying to figure out which side of the ring to stand on. I’ve been breaking records and breaking barriers before you even thought about stepping up. So spare me the sob stories and the cheap shots."
[She steps forward, voice low and commanding.]
"This city? It’s seen legends rise and fall. It’s seen champions crowned and dethroned. But through it all, the ones who last are the ones who adapt, who evolve, who never let the noise drown out their purpose. That’s why I’m still here. That’s why I’m still the one to beat."
[Mercedes pauses for a moment, letting the words sink in. The camera cuts to a slow zoom on her face, capturing the subtle smirk that hints at her confidence.]
“Lilith, I respect your fire. I see your hunger. You want to make a name for yourself, and I get it. We all want to leave a legacy. But here’s the tea: I’m not just some placeholder for your little power struggle. I’m the champion. The one who’s been carrying this title with more grace and grit than either of you ever could. Here's a little advice—don’t mistake ambition for readiness. You came at me once, and it didn't end well for you."
[Mercedes steps forward, lowering her voice slightly, adding weight to her words.]
“Bella, Lilith, you want to send a message? Go ahead. Burn your little effigy. Throw your matches and your threats. But remember this—when the smoke clears and the ashes settle, the one who earned it will still be standing—title in hand.”
[Mercedes turns to face the pink wall, then looks back to the camera, voice dropping to a confident whisper.]
"So, Bella, Lilith—bring your chaos, bring your fire. I’ve faced it all before. When the lights are brightest and the stakes are highest, I don’t just show up—I show out. And when the final bell rings, you’ll remember exactly why I am one of one."
[The camera slowly zooms out as Mercedes walks away along Melrose Avenue, the pink wall glowing behind her, the city alive and buzzing.]
