KNOTT'S SCARY FARM - BUENA PARK, CALIFORNIA
[Somewhere at Knott's Scary Farm. The camera pans in on Mercedes Vargas and Crystal Caldwell. Crystal is still catching her breath, visibly proud after her tournament final victory over Bella Madison. Mercedes stands beside her with the Bombshell Internet Championship resting on her shoulder.]
Crystal:
Mercedes, I can’t believe it! We did it. I’m going to High Stakes to face Frankie Holliday for the World Bombshell Championship!
Mercedes:
And they said you couldn’t do it without me. You proved them wrong. I told everyone you would. Bella Madison gave you a fight, but tonight, you proved that you’re ready for the spotlight.
[Crystal smiles, shaking her head as the moment sinks in.]
Crystal:
And speaking of spotlight, your title defense against Harper Mason is coming up too. You feeling ready for her?
[Mercedes pushes off the railing, that half-grin never fading.]
Mercedes:
Ready? Crystal, I was
born ready. Harper’s tough, sure—but this title isn’t going anywhere. I’ve got that defense locked down.
[Before Mercedes can continue, Rocky Mountains rushes into frame, clearly out of breath and holding a microphone.]
Rocky:
Mercedes, sorry to break up the celebration, but we’ve just received major news. Victoria Lyons attacked Harper Mason backstage. Harper’s hurt, but the office made the call… you’re not facing Harper alone anymore. High Stakes just became a triple threat. Harper Mason. Victoria Lyons. And you.
[The silence that follows is heavy. Crystal looks over, waiting for Mercedes’ reaction. Mercedes doesn’t flinch at first; her jaw tightens, her grip on the title stiffens.]
Crystal:
Wait, Victoria Lyons? She’s been added to your title match? What the fuck?
Mercedes:
You know what? That’s fine. Victoria and I have crossed paths before and both times, it ended without me getting the win. I’ve had two chances to beat her for the Bombshell Roulette Championship, and she’s slipped away both times. But at High Stakes? Third time changes everything, and I've got something she want this time. Harper and Victoria both want this title so badly they’re willing to tear each other apart before even getting to me. Works in my favor.
[Mercedes takes a step toward the camera, her gaze firm.]
Mercedes:
Triple threat or not, I’ve beaten Harper before, and I’ll do it again. Victoria can play mind games all she wants. At High Stakes, when the lights are brightest, I’ll finally get her in the ring with everything on the line—and this time, I walk out still champion.
[Crystal nods, her expression shifting from surprise to encouragement.]
Crystal:
That’s the energy we need going into High Stakes. You get your redemption. I get my world title shot. Two champions. Two matches. One unforgettable night.
Mercedes:
You handle your business. I’ll handle mine. Frankie Holliday, Harper Mason, Victoria Lyons—doesn’t matter. High Stakes belongs to us.
[Mercedes’ smirk returns—sharper this time. She extends her fist. Crystal bumps it without a word.
The camera lingers on the two of them standing amid flickering carnival lights—the hum of fog machines, the sound of faint screams in the distance—and then the image cuts to black.]
~~~
Almighty FireSemana del 26 de octubre al 2 de noviembre de 2025Your girl's a little spicy today, so let's get into it.
There’s a lot of noise in the wrestling world, stories told from every angle, some with more truth than others, but you know what sets a real champion apart? Perspective. And I’m here to give you mine, unfiltered and unapologetic, before High Stakes puts everything on the line.
Let’s start by clearing the air about the Bombshell Internet Championship. I didn’t just snatch that title out of nowhere; I earned it at Climax Control 436 back in August, defeating Lilith Locke in a hard-fought battle that showed why I belong at the top. Since then, I’ve defended it fiercely, overcoming threats, distractions, and yes, even the pressure of proving I’m more than a flash in the pan. They said I was done. They said I had nothing left to prove. But here I am—still standing tall while others have come and gone.
Now, the talk is all about “underdogs,” “curses,” and “destined upsets.” Let me get something straight: I’m no fairy tale, but I am no victim either. I’ve built this reign with grit, cunning, and hard work, not just luck or alliances. Crystal Caldwell has been a steadfast ally in this journey, but make no mistake, this title has been earned and maintained with sweat and skill — not handed out.
And speaking of challengers — Harper Mason. The underdog with a chip on her shoulder who’s been counting her curses instead of her victories. She loves to talk about bad luck, missed chances, and supposed “curse” around High Stakes. But here’s the reality: Harper’s struggled more with consistency than with any hex. She’s unpredictable, hungry, that’s true. But hunger alone doesn’t win championships. It takes grit. It takes focus. It takes results — something I’ve delivered over and over.
And then there’s Victoria Lyons. Halloween was yesterday, I know, but this woman has haunted me longer than I’m willing to admit. Make no mistake: Victoria is a threat. She’s cunning and chaotic, a wild card who never backs down. But don’t let the rumors fool you — Victoria hasn’t exactly been lighting this division on fire since losing the Bombshell Roulette Championship. Some might say she lost the spark she once had after she and Harper lost to Song and Lilith Locke in a tag match back in May. Her attack on Harper at Climax Control 440 was desperation, pure and simple, an attempt to claw her way back into relevance at the biggest show of the year.
I’ve faced Victoria twice before, and though she may have the bragging rights on paper, I know exactly what it will take to finally put her away for good. My reign isn’t about grudges or unfinished business. It’s about proving who truly rules this division.
This triple threat match isn’t some convenient storyline. It’s a reckoning. Harper brings fire, Victoria brings chaos, and I bring the unshakable confidence of a champion who refuses to lose what she’s fought so damn hard to keep. They should consider themselves lucky — they get to be part of history when I become the all-time leader in career wins and PPV victories in SCW history.
Some call me the thorn in their sides, the glass ceiling, the lucky champ. Good. That means their ambition is real. Their hunger is sharp. Without worthy challengers, where’s the glory?
At High Stakes, I’m not just defending a title. I’m defending a legacy. A legacy built on blood, sweat, and victories that none of my opponents could ever dream of achieving. Mercedes Vargas doesn’t bow, doesn’t break, never backs down. Whether it’s Harper’s fire or Victoria’s fury, I will stand tall when the final bell rings.
And with everything I’ve accomplished this year, I’m in the running for top honors at the SCW Year-End Awards, including Woman of the Year. It’s not just about the hardware in my hands; it’s about the respect, the dominance, and the mark I’m leaving on this company.
Bring your curses, doubts, and desperation. I live the reality that counts — a champion still rising, reigning, and ready to prove why this championship is mine.
The question isn’t who’s going to let me; it’s who’s dumb enough to try and stop me. Watch closely, because High Stakes is where history will be made. And I’m ready to make mine.~~~
KNOTT'S SCARY FARM – LATE NIGHT
[The carnival noise is gone now. All is quiet except for the steady hum of the overhead lights. Backstage corridor away from the active scare zones. Mercedes Vargas sits on a weathered bench, half in shadow, cleaning her Bombshell Internet Championship with a towel. Her reflection in the metal plate is weary but focused. Crystal Caldwell enters, her hair still damp from a post-match shower, a hoodie thrown over her gear.]
[Crystal finds a spot near her.]
Crystal:
You didn’t have to wait around this long.
[Mercedes smirks faintly.]
Mercedes:
Couldn’t sleep. Still hearing the crowd. Still seeing Victoria’s name flashing on the monitor.
[Crystal exhales, sitting across from her, elbows on her knees.]
Crystal:
You’ll handle her. You always do.
Mercedes:
No. That’s the problem. I haven’t.
[The weight in her voice lands heavy. Mercedes sets the belt down between them with care, fingertips tracing the worn center plate as if searching for answers.]
Mercedes:
She gets in my head. Always has. Every time we cross paths, it’s like she’s already halfway there before the bell even rings. And Harper—she’s another story. She’s got fire. She’s hungry. That makes her unpredictable. This time, I can’t afford to be just good. I have to be unbreakable.
[Crystal looks at her, studying her expression. The energy between them has shifted—more somber than celebratory now.]
Crystal:
You talk about being unbreakable like you haven’t already proved it a hundred times. You’ve carried this company when half the roster was just trying to stay visible. You earned everything you’ve got.
[Mercedes smiles a little.]
Mercedes:
You sound like a motivational poster.
Crystal:
Maybe. But I mean it.
[She leans forward.]
Crystal:
You think I don’t have my own doubts? Frankie Holliday’s been the face of this division for how long now? Half the fans already see me as another name on her list. But that’s what fuels me. That’s why I fight.
Mercedes:
That’s what makes you dangerous, Crystal. You don’t need validation. You just want the fight.
[They share a quiet laugh, broken by the dull clang of a locker slamming somewhere down the hall. Both women glance toward the sound, then back at each other.]
Mercedes:
You ever stop and think how strange this all is? We give so much of ourselves to moments—titles, storylines, chances at glory. And at the end of it, we’re just hoping someone in the seats remembers the feeling.
Crystal:
Maybe that’s all it ever is. Moments. Good ones. Bad ones. But if we can make people feel something, even for a heartbeat, then maybe it’s all worth it.
[Mercedes studies her for a long moment, then finally nods. She stands, slinging the Bombshell Internet Championship over her shoulder. The dim light catches the gold plate for just a second before it disappears into shadow again.]
Mercedes:
High Stakes. You go make Frankie remember your name. I’ll make Victoria wish she never showed up.
Crystal:
And after that?
Mercedes:
After that… we go find what’s next.
[Crystal nods in agreement. Mercedes walks toward the exit, the sound of her boots echoing down the hall. Crystal lingers for a moment, staring at the empty locker opposite her. Her voice falls into a whisper.]
Crystal:
One night at High Stakes. Everything changes.
[END]
~~~
Present Day ♦ L O S A N G E L E S • C A L I F O R N I A[REC•][Sunset. A Los Angeles rooftop. The Bombshell Roulette Championship glimmers on a table nearby. Mercedes Vargas sits, silk robe sliding from her shoulder, golden light painting her silhouette. The city hums below, and she doesn’t look at it—she lets it look at her.]
"You can tell a lot about a city by which side the sun sets on. Los Angeles—everyone here desperate for a little starlight, like fame is perfume they can rub on their wrists and call it ‘legacy.’ I don’t chase spotlights. I built my own. And while most of these tourists mistake traffic for movement, I already own every lane."
[She glides closer to the camera, drapes the Bombshell Roulette Championship over her shoulder. The metal catches a bleed of copper sunlight.]
"Harper Mason, you finally get a taste of altitude sickness. See, High Stakes isn’t about you climbing a mountain. It’s about you realizing how thin the air gets when you finally reach the summit—only to find someone already sitting in first class, and the view’s reserved."
[Her fingers trace the gold plate, a smile hovering just between mockery and meaning.]
"You remind me of every right-now girl in this city—so busy turning validation into performance that you forget legacy isn’t rehearsed. Willing to do anything for a headline—so desperate for a crown you end up wearing plastic. You call yourself the future? Every future needs a past to study. Too bad the only history they’ll remember is the night you learned why legends aren’t made—they’re born stubborn. Like me."
[Mercedes rises, the cityscape spreading behind her in quiet reverence.]
"Inexperienced girls always think surprise is strategy. But after a decade of mastering this game, surprise just looks like a beginner’s mistake from here. You want to “break through”? The only thing breaking is your carefully curated confidence. They say every match is a story. Let’s just call this one an overdue correction."
[She steps toward the edge, voice dropping lower, precise.]
"You’ll have your moments, Harper. The near falls. The crowd convinced they’re moments away from something historic. But come next Sunday, inevitability’s wearing red, gold, and that trademark Vargas grin. You grew up chasing rebellion. I became its definition. There’s a difference."
[She glances down at the belt, then back at the lens—measured, indifferent.]
"Let’s be clear, Harper. High Stakes is more than a main event, it’s a reminder that “potential” is just an excuse people use when they haven’t delivered. I don’t trade in excuses. Only receipts."
[She adjusts the title’s strap across her shoulder.]
"And you? You’ll be one more ‘almost’ who thought destiny owed her something. Sorry, mamita. Destiny and I have an exclusive arrangement."
[Mercedes walks closer until only her expression fills the shot: fierce, still, almost kind.]
"Here’s your gift, Harper. Next Sunday, you’ll know the true weight of a crown. Maybe you’ll thank me one day—when you’re wiser, humbler, and no longer under the illusion that a lucky night rewrites the book I authored. Because while everyone else is busy dreaming in Los Angeles, I never had to wake up.
"This reign? It’s real. It’s earned. It’s untouchable."
[Pause, then softer.]
"So when the sun sets and the only thing left on your side is disappointment, remember—This view from the top is breathtaking. Just not for you."
[Mercedes continues, now turning attention to her other opponent.]
"Funny thing about climbing, Victoria—it’s only impressive if you stop falling."
[Pause. A faint smirk.]
“I admire the effort. You’ve finally realized that dragging excuses behind you doesn’t look flattering under bright lights. So congratulations — you’ve discovered accountability. Late, but better late than never, right?"
[She tilts her head, amused.]
“But that wasn’t what caught my attention. No, what made me stop… what made me laugh, honestly… was hearing you talk about your brother being deadweight. Sweetheart, come on. That’s not shadow work, that’s projection. You spent most of 2025 blaming circumstance for every stumble, every oversight, every match you couldn’t close. You wore setback like it was a personality trait and now you want applause for shedding the skin you outgrew six months too late?
How about the fact that Vincent is holding a championship right now while you're not?”
[The smirk widens slightly — restrained, yet cutting.]
“I’ve seen talent like yours before, Victoria. Ambitious. Emotional. Fragile. Always eager to talk about rising, but allergic to staying consistent once the spotlight tilts elsewhere. You’re not reinventing yourself, Victoria. You’re recycling your same story under new packaging.”
[Mercedes’ tone stays even, conversational, like she’s explaining simple math to someone who insists two plus two equals five out of pride.]
“If you truly were a different woman now, you wouldn’t need to announce it. Real change is quiet. It’s done in the dark when no one’s watching, not shouted across timelines begging for validation.”
[There’s a certain rhythm to Mercedes’ words, the cadence of someone who doesn’t shout because she doesn’t have to. Every sentence lands with precise weight, deliberate, unhurried, scalpel-sharp. She continues.]
“You called me out as if your newfound self-awareness gives you license to stand at my level. That’s cute. Truly. Reminds me of when rookies still believed confidence alone could bridge experience. You want to talk about rising out of a pit? I’ve lived long enough in this business to know when someone’s simply decorating the walls of theirs.”
[A subtle jab, delivered with such poise that the insult glides by like perfume in the air — sweet but unmistakably pointed.]
“You think your transformation makes you dangerous. But what it really makes you is predictable. Every woman who reinvented herself in the last decade has tried the same storyline. Mass-marketed enlightenment looks good for press, but it never survives pressure.”
[She leans forward, elbows on knees, voice low but firm.]
“You see, the thing about someone like me isn’t that I’ve stayed the same. I’ve simply remained true. I don’t need to burn things down to know my worth. I build on foundations I laid years ago. You? You keep starting over every time your story doesn’t test well.”
[For a brief moment, Mercedes looks away, almost contemplative. Then her voice softens further — not out of empathy, but precision.]
"I could’ve stayed quiet, let you talk yourself into irrelevance. But then again, it’s not in my nature to watch someone make a fool of themselves publicly when I can make it educational instead.”
[Another pause, then a sigh that sounds too faintly pleased to be genuine.]
“I said 2024 Victoria Lyons isn’t the same as 2025 Victoria Lyons, and I still believe it. The difference is that last year, at least, you still knew where you stood — behind the line of relevance, waiting for your moment. This year? You still haven’t caught up. You’ve just convinced yourself that louder footsteps mean faster progress.”
[She leans back again, expression calm, unbothered.]
“And yet, here you are — mentioning me by name. That tells me everything I need to know. Every time a woman like you feels the need to prove she’s changed, it’s because deep down, she knows she hasn’t. She just changed the reflection — not the reality.”
[Camera pans closer. Mercedes tilts her head, gaze unwavering.]
“You brought up family. You pointed fingers. You said your brother dragged you down. And yet, the common denominator between every misstep, every failure, every burnt bridge — is you. You’re the gravity you try to outrun.”
[Then, with just enough venom to sting.]
“So tell me, Victoria, what happens when you run out of people to blame? When there’s nowhere left to climb because you tore down every rung yourself?”
[This is where Mercedes' influence shines through most clearly — that quiet cruelty wrapped in elegance, the ability to disarm through calmness rather than chaos. Mercedes doesn’t yell. She never needs to. Every word feels measured, rehearsed, intentional. The aesthetic of authority.]
“Rising out of the pit, you say. Funny. From up here, it still looks like you’re digging.”
[Mercedes shifts her tone now — smooth, professional, detached — the kind of demeanor someone adopts when discussing a legacy too established to question.]
“You should study me, Victoria. Seriously. Not because I’m your opponent — but because I’m your future if you ever get your story straight.”
[She holds up a single finger.]
“One. You’ll need one reinvention. Just one. Because the moment you find the identity that was meant for you, you won’t have to keep rewriting the prologue. The fact that you’re still workshopping your persona halfway through the year tells me you’re not living your rise — you’re rehearsing it.”
[Two fingers now.]
“Two. You’ll learn that control isn’t loud. I don’t flaunt victories. I let history archive them. When you’ve spent as much time dominating this industry as I have, you don’t crave eyes — eyes crave you.”
[And finally, a third.]
“Three. You’ll stop pretending you’re misunderstood when the truth is simple: you’re just not respected yet. There’s a difference.”
[Another slight smile — poised, knowing, confident.]
“You’ll figure that out… eventually. Maybe you thought this would be a story about redemption. Maybe you envisioned me as the wall you crash through to declare your rebirth. But I’m not your obstacle, Victoria. I’m the reminder.”
[She stands now, voice still calm but colder.]
“I remind the naïve of their limits. I remind the ambitious that confidence without calculation is chaos. And I remind women like you that the spotlight is not a wish — it’s a responsibility.”
[Mercedes smooths the sleeve of her jacket with deliberate care, then glances back at the camera.]
“I don’t need to shout I’m better. Time does that on its own.”
[A heartbeat. The faintest smirk.]
“So keep rising, Victoria. Burn as bright as you like. Just remember — the higher your flame, the easier it is to see the smoke."
