[SCW Staff]

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

[Dreamkiller]

Chapter 82: Open Doors

Colorado springs felt different than Denver.

Denver had noise. Movement. Edges. It felt transitional. Like a place you passed through on the way to something else. Colorado Springs, where Finn and I had built our home—felt settled. Quieter. The mountains didn’t loom here the way they did in postcards. They just existed. Steady. Ancient. Unbothered by human drama. The kind of presence that made your problems feel smaller if you let them. Snow still clung to the edges of the yard in stubborn patches, melting slowly where the sun reached it and refusing to budge where it didn’t. The sky was clearer today. Pale blue stretched thin above the peaks, the air crisp but not cruel. Inside, the house was warm. Our home. I still caught myself thinking that like it was fragile. Like if I said it too confidently, something might come along and take it from me.

I was sitting on the lounge, legs tucked beneath me, a thick blanket draped across my lap. The television was on but muted. Some daytime show flickering light across the walls without meaning. The quiet in the house wasn’t heavy. It was comfortable. Finn was at training. I had the day off. The kind of rare afternoon where nothing demanded anything from me. That should have felt peaceful. Instead, my mind kept replaying the last conversation at the restaurant. The question. Children.

Do you want them?

I stared at the window, watching condensation gather at the corners of the glass. I hadn’t expected that question to stay with me the way it had. I hadn’t expected it to settle into my chest and refuse to leave. The knock at the door pulled me from it.

Not loud. Not impatient. Just three steady raps. I blinked, then pushed the blanket aside and stood. When I opened the door, the cold air slipped in first, brushing against my skin. And then Tasmin stepped into view. She looked like me in ways that used to make people do double-takes. Pale skin. Green eyes. Tattoos curling down her arms like inked stories that didn’t need to be explained. But where my hair fell dark and sharp around my shoulders, hers cascaded in long, flowing blonde waves, catching the light even on a winter afternoon. Softer. Brighter. The kind of hair that looked like summer had claimed it permanently. “Hey,” she said, offering a small smile.

“Hey.”

There was no hesitation. No awkwardness. I stepped aside and let her in. She carried the outside in with her, the scent of cold air and faint perfume. I shut the door behind her and locked it automatically. “It’s freezing,” she muttered, rubbing her hands together.

“You live here to,” I reminded her.

“Yeah, but I don’t have to like it.”

That earned the faintest huff of amusement from me. “Tea?”

“Please.” Some things were muscle memory. When words felt unnecessary, routine filled the gaps. I moved into the kitchen, filling the kettle, clicking it on. Tasmin leaned against the counter, watching me the way siblings do, like they’re cataloguing changes without meaning to. We’d both grown up in the same house. But somehow we’d grown into different versions of survival. She’d chosen openness faster than I had. Or maybe she’d just been braver. The kettle clicked off. I poured the water, dropped the tea bags in, handed her a mug. Chamomile for her. Peppermint for me. The steam curled between us as we moved back into the lounge and sat down. She tucked one leg beneath her. I mirrored her without thinking. For a while, we didn’t talk. We just sipped. The quiet between sisters wasn’t the same as the quiet between strangers. It didn’t demand to be filled. It just existed. Tasmin broke it first. “Adam says hi,” she offered casually.

I nodded. “How is he?”

“Good. Busy. Work’s insane, but he’s good.” She paused, then added with a small grin, “Dawn’s decided she hates vegetables.”

I snorted softly. “She’s three.”

“Exactly. Everything is dramatic.” I could picture it. Dawn’s stubborn little face. The way she crossed her arms like she’d already mastered defiance.

“And you?”

Tasmin shrugged lightly. “I’m good.” But there was something behind it. Something she was building up to. I waited. She took another sip of tea, eyes lowering to the mug. “Dad’s been coming over,” she said finally. There it was. I didn’t react outwardly. Didn’t tense. Didn’t sigh. But something inside me sharpened.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Once a week. Sometimes more.” I stayed quiet. “He plays with Dawn,” she continued. “Like actually plays. Gets on the floor. Lets her climb on him. She calls him ‘Pop.’” The word lodged somewhere in my throat.

Pop.

“He brings her little things,” Tasmin went on. “Nothing crazy. Books. Stickers. Stuffed animals. He sits with Adam and talks about work. Or football. Or whatever.” Her lips curved slightly. “Adam actually likes him.” That surprised me more than anything else she’d said.

“He does?” I don’t know why I was shocked or surprised, Adam likes everybody.

“Yeah. Says he’s… different than he expected.” Different. I stared into my tea, watching the steam thin out. Tasmin shifted slightly, studying me now. “He’s been consistent,” she added gently. “That’s the weird part.”

Consistency.

That word again. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t trust my voice yet. She kept going. “I didn’t think I’d let him around Dawn. Not at first. I was angry. I was protective.” She smiled faintly. “Still am.” I understood that instinct more than she probably realized. “But he’s been good with her, He listens. He doesn’t overstep. He asks before he does anything. He respects Adam.” She paused. “And he shows up.” That one hit harder than the rest. I swallowed slowly. My mind betrayed me, offering flashes I hadn’t asked for. Empty seats at school events. Missed birthdays. Promises that evaporated into excuses. But then it layered over something newer. Garlic sliding across a table.

Do you want children?

“He’s been coming to see Amber too,” Tasmin added. “She told me he’s been helping her with some stuff around the house.” I nodded once. Both of them had opened their doors wider. I was still standing in mine, hand on the frame, unsure how far to swing it. Tasmin set her mug down on the coffee table. The ceramic clinked softly against wood. “I’m not telling you this to pressure you,” she said carefully.

I looked at her then. Her green eyes were softer than mine. Warmer. But there was steel in them too. We’d both inherited that. “I know,” I replied quietly.

“I just…” She hesitated. “I wanted you to know what it’s been like for me.”

“And?”

“And it’s not perfect,” she admitted. “It’s awkward sometimes. There’s history. But…” She exhaled slowly. “It doesn’t feel fake.”

That word mattered. Fake was worse than absence. I leaned back into the couch, folding my arms loosely, not defensively, just to hold myself steady.  “I’m glad,” I said, and I meant it.

She studied me for another moment before asking the question she’d clearly been circling. “How are things going between you and him?”

There it was. I considered lying. Not a big lie. Just something easy. Neutral. Like We’re fine. But I was tired of easy. “It’s… better,” I admitted. Tasmin waited. “We’ve been meeting. Talking.”

“About?”

“Everything. Nothing.” I gave a small, humorless smile. “The past. Work. Finn.” Her eyes flickered at Finn’s name but she didn’t comment. “He’s trying,” I added. Tasmin nodded slowly, like that confirmed something she already suspected. I leaned forward slightly, resting my elbows on my knees, fingers lacing together. “Last time we talked…” I hesitated. The words felt strange in my mouth. “He brought up children.”

Tasmin’s eyebrows lifted just a fraction. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” I huffed a quiet breath. “It caught me off guard.”

“I can imagine.”

I stared at the floor for a second before looking back up. “But I didn’t shut it down,”

That felt important. Tasmin’s expression shifted, subtle pride, maybe. “What did you say?” she asked gently.

“I told him I didn’t want kids before, That I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

I held her gaze. “Becoming him.” Silence settled between us.

Not sharp. Not explosive. Just real. Tasmin didn’t flinch. She didn’t rush to defend him. She just absorbed it. “That makes sense,” she said softly.

I hadn’t realized how much I needed someone to say that. “But…” I continued, voice quieter now. “I told him that after Finn… something shifted.”

Her eyes warmed immediately. “You can see it,”

I nodded once. “I can picture it. A house. Noise. Chaos. Him holding a baby like he’s terrified he’ll break it.” A small smile tugged at my lips despite myself.

“And that doesn’t scare you?”

“It does, Just not in the same way.”

The fear wasn’t about repeating history anymore. It was about vulnerability. About loving something so much it could destroy you if it disappeared. Tasmin leaned back slightly, processing. “That’s normal, You don’t have to have all the answers right now.”

“I know.”

The air shifted again. Not tense. Just… thoughtful. Tasmin glanced toward the window, then back at me. “For what it’s worth, you wouldn’t be him.” I didn’t respond immediately. “You’re not wired that way, You overthink everything. You question yourself constantly. You care too much.” A soft, almost sad smile touched her mouth.

“He didn’t.” The words settled heavy but steady. I looked down at my hands again. Maybe she was right. Maybe awareness alone changed things. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. Just full. Tasmin didn’t push further. Didn’t ask if Finn and I were trying. Didn’t pry into timelines or expectations. She let it breathe. After a while, she reached for her tea again, now lukewarm, and took a small sip anyway.

“You’ll figure it out,” I nodded. Outside, a breeze kicked up, rattling the bare branches of the tree near the driveway. The house remained warm. Still. Open doors didn’t have to mean wide open. Maybe they just meant unlocked. I glanced around the lounge, the framed photos on the wall, the blanket still crumpled beside me, the quiet evidence of a life being built piece by piece. Tasmin followed my gaze. “You’ve built something good here,”

I looked back at her. “Yeah,” I replied, and for once, the word didn’t feel fragile. It felt true. We sat there a while longer, talking about smaller things after that. Dawn’s latest obsession with dinosaurs. Amber’s new job. Adam’s attempt at cooking that had nearly set off the smoke alarm. Normal things. Little things. And as the afternoon light shifted across the room, I realized something quietly unsettling. For the first time in a long time… The idea of family didn’t feel like a threat. It felt like possibility.

The Trilogy

”Everything is right with the world. Back where it needs to be. Shifted to a time that matters. Or at least it almost has.”

Kayla chuckles and shakes her head. Her English accent a contrast to the American ones that we are used to hearing. But it’s a familiar one. Not so familiar to the people of Fort Worth, Texas, where the supercard is going to be from. But here she is, sitting in a hotel room to acclimatise and get used to the way Texas feels.

”There was a divergent point. A point where if things had been slightly different all of this could have been avoided. See, I told everyone that Crystal did not deserve to hold the SCW World Bombshells Championship. And I stand by that. I told that to her face and I will continue saying it time and time again. Her time is done. So is Mercedes Vargas’ time. They both wanted something out of their partnership. Crystal wanted to feel like she belonged. She walked away from her family, her wife, to throw in with Mercedes. And Mercedes wanted that title opportunity. She had a grand vision after Crystal took the championship from Frankie. One way they would both keep that championship. They would keep it in Crystal’s hands. That was the plan. You can’t tell me otherwise.”

“Crystal needed someone like Mercedes on her side. She needed Mercedes to keep this championship. I have never needed anyone to help me keep a championship. I have never needed anybody to have my back in a championship match. I have been the one to keep it around my waist or over my shoulder. I have been the one to step up and show the world just how good I am.”

“But, Crystal CaldwellzdunichRoseMillarWilliams was never that bitch…”

“Not like me…

“I am the one running all of this shit. I’m the one who is keeping the fucking lights on. I hold this championship and it means something. Others will come in and beat me for it and then I will have to rescue it. I had to rescue this championship from Andrea Hernandez. I had to rescue it from Juliana de Maria. And now I’ve had to rescue it from not just Crystal but also Mercedes. I just want to remind you all that this championship, a championship that is around the waist of the best female wrestler on the planet, was defended in a tag team match. Two old decrepit bitches defended the championship against two women who should not have gotten near it.”

She rolls her eyes and grabs the championship belt. She holds it in her right hand looking down at it, her eyes tracing over the centre plate, over the SCW logo and down to her name.

”And the saddest part about all of this is that you all thought I was done. You all thought that I had been ended. That Frankie Holiday had taken my championship and started a whole new dynasty for herself. The rookie who in her first year had been able to win the Blast from the Past, but then also beat me for the SCW Bombshells Championship. A woman who had one of the greats as her mentor. A woman who was going to go on and become the best of the best and have the kind of career that everyone could only dream of. That’s what you all thought, isn’t it? That’s what you all thought. Amazing. Legitimately amazing that you all thought that was what was going to happen. But what happened?”

“Where was this great run, hmm?”

“Before I talk about my opponent’s failures let me remind you all of something. When I first came into this company I was looked at as a nobody. It’s true, I was. All I kept hearing was that I would end up getting my shot. I had an opportunity in my first match. I won. I won my second match. Then nothing. Nothing. I want you all to sit back and realise how incredibly stupid that was. I won my first matches and then I sat in catering for months. And as much as you all think I’m some kind of bitch that will just go and speak her mind, I was giving SCW an opportunity. An opportunity to give me the chances that I had earned. And they didn’t. So what is a girl to do when she’s being ignored by her bosses? Well, it was very simple.”

“I kicked Mark Ward’s door down and I demanded that I get a match.”

“I was the redheaded stepchild that nobody wanted. And after they couldn’t ignore me anymore I started getting my matches. I started destroying everyone they put me in the ring with. I won Internet Championships, three of them. I won two Mixed Tag Team Championships and now I am a three-time World Bombshells Champion. You can count my losses without using all of your fingers. My singles losses are even fewer. But, even though I absolutely dominated this company with Finn by my side, we were overlooked for things like Couple of the Year. I was overlooked for Woman of the Year last year as Victoria Lyons got it. And then at the same show, High Stakes, Frankie lost the championship to Crystal. I had to watch her lose the championship to that woman while I wasn’t even on the show. Yeah, apparently Justin Smith was good enough to get a match but I wasn’t. Imagine that. Candy was on the show and I wasn’t.”

Her voice is filled with venom and anger, her eyes burn too. The emerald green looking like green fire as her hands clap together as she leans forward.

”But now, I’m the champion again, Frankie. All is almost right with the world. And this match was always going to happen. If you had your opportunity first, I have a feeling that you would have avenged your loss to Crystal and then you would be the one going into this match as champion. But I was the one who got my match first. So I ended her reign. I was the one who took this title back. And from that moment I knew that you and I were going to end up facing each other. I told Mercedes Vargas that I was going to give her some time to surrender the championship to me but she ended up doing it later that night because she knew damn well that I was going to end her if she didn’t give me the championship.”

“So, at Blaze of Glory you and I are going to meet again. And it’s funny because I look at how this match is being framed, even by the company. And my stomach starts to churn and gargle and I start to feel angry, anxious even.”

“See, they are talking about this as if I’m trying to simply avenge something. This company is talking about you beating me like it was some kind of foregone conclusion. You beat me at Violent Conduct. That is where you ended my championship reign. This is true, it’s a matter of fact. But what people seem to forget is that on the cruise ship at Summer XXXTreme I beat you. But you wouldn’t know that, would you? You wouldn’t know that by any of the marketing that has been released before this show. In fact the official website makes it sound like you faced me once and it was done. You dethroned me, you took my championship and it somehow exposed me.”

“I’m not even making that up. It says it exposed a crack in the myth of who I am. It’s amazing how people tend to forget.”

“See, this match is the end of a trilogy. I beat you, you won the Blast from the Past and you came back and beat me. Now I’ve been able to beat the crap out of the woman who took the championship from you and you have your chance at it going against me. Three matches, three supercards. You and I seem destined to do this, Frankie. But instead of the company leaning into the fact that this is a trilogy, instead of the company building this up as an epic showdown between two women who have been able to go on an absolute tear through the entire division and are now looking at settling it for the third time, all of the marketing, all of the hype, everything is built around the fact that you beat me once. Built around the fact that you took that championship from me and then before I could have my rematch against you, you went and lost it to fucking Crystal fucking Caldwell.”

“I can handle you beating me. I can handle you taking that championship from me. But what I can’t handle, Frankie, is you disappointing me.”

Kayla takes a deep breath and sits back, the venom from her voice changing. She looks and sounds like she is legitimately disappointed. Her shoulders slumping down as her body language changes.

”You were supposed to be my successor. Not just my successor but also your mentor’s successor. You were supposed to be the next big thing, the next woman that was going to rule this division with an iron fist. That’s what you were supposed to do. For over a year, over two separate championship runs, I held this company’s women’s division up over my head. I carried it on my back, and I did so with a smile on my face. People can think everything negative they want to about me, but at the end of the day I love this business, I love this championship and I love this company and I have done everything I can to make sure that this company and this division reached heights and success that it had never seen before.”

“And I was tired. I was exhausted. Defending the Mixed Tag Team Championships as well as the Bombshells Championship was wearing me down. Physically, mentally, emotionally. I was beaten down and I was beaten up and when you beat me a weight lifted off of my shoulders. I felt like I was going to be able to breathe again. To step back and let you take that torch and lead the division into the future.”

“But now? Well Frankie, I’m not tired anymore. Now I’m angry. I’m angry because you failed. I’m angry because after you lost to me you then lost to Kate Steele, you picked yourself up, you won the Blast from the Past and got another opportunity at me. You were able to beat me and then you let it all fall apart. You let Crystal beat you and now here you are stepping in front of me to get your championship opportunity when you should’ve never gotten one in the first place. The reason why I have a championship opportunity against Crystal is because I had earned it through my last run. I held it for over 160 days and I defended it against anyone they put me in the ring with. Remind me again, how long did you hold that championship? Less than two months?”

“What a joke…”

“But I can’t help but wonder where you are going to go. Are you going to own up to your failures or are you going to use the “I’m still just a rookie” line that you have used time and time again to explain away your failures? When are you going to step up and try and be the champion that we all thought you were going to be? Because you look at our track records, you look at what I’ve been able to accomplish and what you’ve been able to accomplish and it’s not even close. 51 wins, eight losses, think about that. Think about the monumental effort that I’ve had to go through to win all of those matches and be the champion that this company and this division deserved.”

“And now think about what you failed with. How you dropped the ball.”

“Take all of that anger that I have, all of that frustration in not only watching you fail but also knowing that I could’ve prevented it if I had just beaten you at Violent Conduct. Then throw in the fact that this company seems to refuse to acknowledge that I already beat you and that you beating me means that you are holding it over my head and that you are somehow in there stopping me from going forward. That is frustrating, that is annoying. I know what it takes to beat you, Frankie. I could’ve taken my opportunity at that championship the first time. I could’ve taken it right there and then and snatched that championship back off of you after Violent Conduct because now I see that you weren’t ready….”

“And you still aren’t. So at Blaze of Glory I’m gonna take all that responsibility that you dropped the first time and I’m going to take it off your shoulders. Because you don’t deserve the pressure of being a champion. You haven’t earned it, so I’m going to end you.”

[Frankie Holliday]

I have to tell you, I've been waiting for this.

I have been giddy with anticipation. I have a new journey to go on and it starts at High Stakes.
But I'm no stranger to have to adjust course.

Because somehow or another, I always end up at my intended destination.

It will be fun to see the Captain again.

My eyes are closed.
My lips are wet with anticipation.
My fingers are sticky.
My body is ready.

Let's fucking go.

As the days went on, we became more and more apathetic to the night time stalkings, bangings at the door and general chaos of the situation. I found myself tuning it out most of the time. It was just commonplace that Mal was going to have an episode. It really was more of a shock when he didn’t. And then the next day I’d hear more stories about Levi’s family and his upbringing.  Mal was a veteran from the 2nd Iraq war. Or the first, technically. And he clearly saw some shit.

I really got invested in his war stories and how war crimes he committed pretty much because he wanted to and because he knew he wasn’t going to get into trouble. Of course, I can’t actually verify any of these things since I was a toddler when all this was going down. But Mal said he would be part of something he called “free-fire zones” where they would set up and then shoot at anybody who entered the area, no matter who they were.

Because as he put it… “They didn’t have a fucking uniform.”

Most of the time I busied myself with his books. He had books about history which I wasn’t much of a fan of, but they helped pass the time. What really sparked my interest was the Anarchist’s Cookbook which detailed how to make shit like DMT and barbiturates. It detailed how to set up proper surveillance and then how to literally make bombs.

Levi saw me reading it one day and got curious.

“You know how old some of that stuff is?”

“Hmmm?” I looked up from the book

“I said, do you know how old some of that stuff is? That’s from like Vietnam."

“I don’t think the ingredients to make anything change. They don’t change the basic recipe for cakes, Levi. You still need flour and baking soda and eggs.”

“Anything good in there?”

I looked up at him and smirked.

“You wanna make tear gas?”

Mal’s backyard was wide open. There was nothing but forest for miles around. So, we had to get some kind of shelter. But then, I realized that we didn’t need that. Mal owned the fucking book in the first place. And he was extremely anti-government. He lived on land in the middle of fucking nowhere and during many of our conversations he would repeat his staunch stances on everything.

It was like Thanksgiving with that one uncle who’s really really into politics and starts a fight and stuff.

So finally, during the day, I asked.

“Hey Mal, can we use your basement?”

Issac was not thrilled about this idea, and really, neither was Levi, but the moment Mal saw that I was interested and had the book in my hand. He was all for it.

“Oh, I started doing some of that shit at one point or another.”

Now I was intrigued. Was Mal like a guy who sent letter bombs? Trying to mess up Government workers and stuff? I needed to know. This was too good to pass up.

“We’re trying to make the tear gas.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Mal was very excited by this. “A lot of the stuff you need is already in the basement, but it’s probably old. I haven’t touched it in many years.”

“Thanks, we’ll check it out.”

Levi and I explored the basement, and pretty much confirmed the chemicals were most likely no good. Glycerin and Sodium Bisulfate would be easy enough to replace, and some of the actual equipment was showing signs of rust. I doubt Mal actually tried to make anything with them for a long time. So they’d probably have to be replaced as well.

Ordering chemicals might seem like it’s really sketchy or suspicious, but shit, you can order chemicals in bulk if you want to. Sodium Bisulfate you can order from fucking Wal-Mart or any pool supply store. Glycerin you can get at any drug store. We would need to buy in bulk, so… we simply used a local libraries computer to order the stuff and have it sent to Mal’s house. Ordering from two different places also helps.

The only thing missing were gas masks. The one thing you would think Mal would actually have. He had ring stands, alcohol lamps, glass and rubber tubing, everything we needed, just not gas masks.

But, luckily, the cookbook told us where to find them.

Those wonderful Army-Navy surplus stores. Only $40 each. I bought three since Mal was very much into the experiment. Once we got that, Mal was really, really excited. He actually bought a mini-shelter for us to use. Now we had a place to test it.

“You sure you know what you’re doing, babe?” Levi asked.

“It’s just chemistry. I took it in high school. It can’t be that hard.”

Following the instructions of the cookbook, we got the mixtures as close as possible. The warning was to don’t make too much at one time, so for about a week, we would make the maximum amount.

 And then it was finally time to test it.

We went to the shelter and released most of the glass containers we had. And then, we went in, gas masks on. And then we took them off.

And for a few seconds, seemingly nothing happened. My eyes itched and the air smelled weird, but it wasn’t the end of the world…
Until that first inhale. All of sudden, we were coughing. My eyes were burning and mucus was coming from my face. Not just my nose, but holy shit my face. It burned.

We ran out, coughing, gagging, spitting and rubbing our faces. Luckingly Mal had the hose and the water made it a little better. And after 15 minutes, we were pretty much okay.

“I think the tear gas was successful.” I said after we had all cleaned up.”

“Gonna have to air out that shelter though. I mean, we really just made a gas chamber.” Levi added.

We really had, but we weren’t planning to use it.

Yet.

But it was a good thing for us to know how to make it.


But it couldn’t be all fun and games. While we stayed there, we had to come up with some way to make money. And to do that, I kinda needed to have my G.E.D. I wasn’t going to get far for long without one. So, I began going to the library and studying and taking multiple practice G.E.D. tests.

It’s amazing how much you forget in a short amount of time.

For really the first time when it came to school work, I had forgotten a lot of the math portions. I never liked math anyway, but like, basic ass algebra was kicking my ass for a little bit. But eventually, being able to read up and actually practice helped. Soon enough I was acing the practice tests. I would be ready. All of it was coming back to me now. I always loved science so that was never an issue. English was always whatever, I was never going to write a fucking paper in feminist lens, and I liked history enough. So this became normal again after 4 practice tests.

Levi though thought of something different.

Again, there was a shit-ton of land where Mal lived. So… why not use it. We were in a big open field about a mile away from the house. Levi was looking at it and I was kind of confused as to what we actually wanted to do with it.

“Well, what do we do?’

“Farm it.” Levi said with a smirk.

“Farm it?” I asked. I never pictured Levi as a farmer, but hey, the thought of him shirtless and bailing hay crossed my mind and that was hot. But that was not what Levi meant.

“Yeah, let’s grow some weed. We can sell it.”

“You want to run a weed farm? Levi… that’s a terrible idea. There’s actually like… companies who grow weed on highly sophisticated farms. We have the two of us and nothing. We don’t have the equipment or means to do that.”

“Who says we need them?” Levi said with a shrug. “We grow it, we sell it.” Just to people who want to buy some weed.”

“Levi, the shit is basically legal, and probably better from the fucking neighborhood weed man!”

Levi was kind of crushed that I shot this down, but the mere idea would have been cool in like the early ‘90’s or even the early 2000’s or whatever, but not 2020. Things were different. I explained this to him, but he just didn’t want to give up on it. But I wore him down enough to where he finally conceded. We would have to find some other way.

Isaac of course wanted nothing to do with our experiments and really disapproved when we started reading the cookbook to make explosives. We really only blew up some land that Mal owned, but he was certain someone was going to complain. We just thought it was harmless fun. The only thing we managed to hurt were a few birds and what looked like a coyote but it was blown to bits so… I dunno.

So, we were kind of running out of ideas. Working normally wasn’t going to really work. The fact was, we were criminals. Maybe nobody knew that. But we did and the whole idea of working a 9-5 job somewhere wasn’t really appealing.

“You know, I stole some coke from that one guy’s house. We could sell that.”

“Uh, yeah… I guess. That’s at least going to get us some money.”

It wasn’t a lot of coke, but hey, somebody would buy it and somebody would give us some money for it. Also having a brick of cocaine to sell got it out of our hands and that way, nobody could put the finger on us.

We went out late at night, and it was a weekend. There were many people out, and we had to look like the two biggest idiots. We were just standing around, looking fucking suspicious as all hell offering people cocaine for whatever they wanted to give us. For hours we stood out there, walking back and forth, pacing, checking our phones. And once in a while, someone would roll up and wonder what we were doing, and then… maybe buy.

We were not professionals in the slightest.

“How come this always looks so cool in the movies?” I asked, growing impatient. We were pretty much alone and it was nearly 3am.

“What? It doesn’t.” Levi answered.

Finally a man in a brown jacket walked up to us. He certainly didn’t look any different from any of the other people we tried to sell to, wouldn’t be able to pick his face out of a crowd or anything. But something was just off. He looked… too clean. He certainly wasn’t homeless looking, or perhaps he cleaned up pretty well. But I was still kind of on edge from it.

“What ‘cha got?” The man asked, looking around, fidgeting nervously.

“What do you need?” Levi

“I need some… uh… sugar.” The man said, the verbal wink and nod thrown out there.

“Yeah? Well let’s take a look at what we got here.”

The man followed Levi to the car, where Levi opened the trunk, just like in a movie. We had actually taken the cocaine out of the brick form and put it in smaller baggies. But… still not the most professional. They were in an actual sugar bag so as to not arouse too much suspicion. Levi let him have a baggie and a sample of its contents.

The man seemed to enjoy, smacking his lips as he licked the powder off his fingers.

“Damn, that’s good shit. How much?”

“Well, I tell you what, right now, it’s $100 for one of these baggies.”

“Shit, alright.”

The man hurriedly opened his wallet and handed Levi a crisp Ben Franklin. Levi looked it at and nodded.

“Maybe you can come back next week?”

“Maybe.”

And then… we left. I was sort of expecting that to be a cop or something. But it wasn’t. We drove away having sold 10 baggies, making a smooth thousand bucks.

“Maybe there’s something to this.” I said, kind of relieved, but my adrenaline was wearing off from the sales.

“Every little bit helps.” He said.

Yeah. Every little bit helps.



Well hey there Captain!

Fancy seeing you here again. Small world and all that, you know?

How does it feel, Captain?

Do you feel like some kind of conquering hero? Like you’ve taken your rightful place back at the top? I mean, you must be very proud. I am proud of you, in fact. We are right back where we fucking started. I’m sure for you, that must feel great. You did it. You worked hard, fought your back up and won the Bombshell’s championship yet again. Hooray for you, my dear Captain. Back where you belong.

I just have… one little question.

What the fuck took you so long?

What happened? I took that title from you in…. September of last year or something. Why did it take you six months to get the title back? I don’t get it. You’re supposed to be the best. Shouldn’t you have mowed through the competition? Shouldn’t you have been first in line after I lost? What happened?

Oh, wait, wait I get it. This is the part where you tell me you took a step back and you were just observing, right? Waiting for the perfect time to strike, right? Biding you time, and making the most impact. Or some horseshit resembling that right?

We’ve been intimate, Captain. You might be able to fool all the others, but you can’t fool me.

You can try and tell people that you were “ready to move on” and “let someone else have the spotlight.” But you and I both know better. You were right there, at the bottom, and you were in the very tournament that Crystal won. That was you. You were facing Victoria Lyons and…

You fucking lost.
In the 1st round.

You were out of the picture, and that… that right there is when you could say that. That’s when you could have said “Yup, taking a vacation.” But you didn’t. You stuck around. You had every opportunity to leave and move on and do everything you said you were going to do, but you didn’t. Not because you “needed to” stick around, but because you know what defines you.

That championship belt.

You need it, you need it for validation. You need it because it makes you feel secure. It defines you as a person. Without the title belt, you are just another face in the crowd. I said it before, and I’ll say it again. Had you left, things would have continued and you would have been long since forgotten about. So, you need this place. You need that title belt. And when you got your chance you poured your heart out.

 Because you wanted this moment to try and make yourself out like you’re John fucking Wick. You’re feeling like you're back now, right?

Where were you when I was champion, Captain? Why did you not come after me?

Oh, that’s right…. Because you knew better.

I know that you knew better because you didn’t think I was paying attention and you just happened to mention my name like you were going to not get a rebuttal. And then I mentioned your name and you promptly shut the fuck up. Only to then walk it back.

Now all I’m hearing is excuses.

“I allowed Frankie Holiday to have a grace period to prove herself.”
“They’re protecting Frankie from me!”
“I wanted to leave, but I’m going to save the division because it’s the worst it’s ever been.”
“I’ve got to come back to put this division where it used to be!”

No. No you fucking don’t. Don’t you even try to slip this weak shit past me. You called me a “prodigy” in the same breath as saying I wasn’t legitimate. You don’t get to play that game. You really don’t.

You came back, and scratched and clawed your way to the top again for two big reasons.

The first, is because the company needs you there. Not because you’re special, or a big name, or some kind of a franchise player. No, it’s because you play the game.

You are their pawn.

You are the person they trust the most.
And they obviously want you to get rid of me. They want me as far away from the top of the division as possible.

Because I am the biggest threat to the status quo there is. And you are the ultimate status quo.

You see, when I lost the title, I was out of the way. I played by the same rules I set. I don’t just get automatic title shots or rematches. I put myself at the bottom. And then, I clawed my way back to the top.

Because as I’ve already told you, Captain:
I am inevitable.

But, because for some reason this company likes to think they are owed one because they hand out championship matches like fucking candy… that I was indebted to them.

I tweet the truth about Crystal using the title to prop up her family, like I said she would from the fucking jump, and they threaten to…take a title shot I earned away from me.

“Well I can just take this title shot I have scheduled for you away.”
“Cool, I’ll earn another one.”
“Well, you earned this one.”

So if I earned it, taking it away seems like a shitty thing to do. Don’t you agree, Captain?

So now, they’re very happy you’ve got the title belt back. Because they are banking on you.

They need things to be controllable. Stale. Boring. That’s why you and Crystal were in the middle of the title picture. Things that are familiar and comfortable. Think about it. How the fuck do you figure Seleana was in the title picture as this point? They want safe. They want familiarity. Crystal did the exact same story arc she’s been doing for nearly 20 years. And that’s why you’re here as well. Same story. Kayla Richards: big scary woman grrr! And then by proxy, you get to sling the title on your shoulder and proclaim you’ve saved the division again, and you’re back where you belong and yada yada yada.

At least, now, right?

I mean, you got the belt back and everything. Old lady Mercedes was nice enough to give it back to you. Do you feel like a champion now? Is everything all perfect for you? Do you feel safe? Do you feel in charge of things now? At face value, you might. And maybe you are trying to convince yourself of everything being okay.

But we both know that’s just not true.

There’s something different isn’t there?

Well, there is, but even they’re trying to hide it and help you out.

I’m fucking insulted that whomever is writing up the previews to these matches on the SCW website that sit there and write that I am your… “most infamous stumble”

Stumble.

FUCKING STUMBLE?

I lit you on fire.
I took your title.
I BEAT you.

No excuses, no questions. It fucking happened.

No, Kayla, you did not stumble. I knocked your ass off the god-damn mountain and you know it.

And both you, and the SCW brass got very nervous and scared when they saw what I was trying to do. So, rather than accept it, and because you had already failed…

They sent Crystal.

Just understand Captain, you are replaceable. With Crystal Whateverherlastnameisthisweek. Just let that sink in.

A bigger name. A bigger star. And you just can’t stand that. That’s what really drives you up a wall. That you don’t get looked at like that. This is why you keep mentioning people like you do. You keep bringing up names from the past like “I’m better than them, love me! Pay attention to me!”

But at the end of the day, no matter how hard you try, or how many titles you win… you’re just a stooge for a company that loves to make you feel important because you play the game. It’s not because you are special. It’s because you are who you are.

How many times do we have to have this talk, Captain? You’re boring. You’re white bread. You are Kayla Richards: good wrestler and that’s it. You’re a charisma vacuum that even old lady Mercedes didn’t even want to play a game with. She took the belt. And you pouted and said “give it back” and she did. Like, you took all the fun out of it. 

That’s who you are. We need to just give you a belt, because that’s what makes you happy.

Oh my god.
Oh my god, wait.

That’s fucking perfect.

You know what we should do? We should make you your own title! Yes! The “Kayla Richards memorial” title or something. Or the “Kayla Richards super mega bad ass” title. Then you can be a champion forever! We can solve all these confidence and insecurity issues you have. We can give you a security title. You can carry it around, and every match you have can be a “title defense”

Come on, you gotta admit that would be so you. You can be the forever champion and everything. You can be the forever captain with your own belt and everything! Just think about it, that’s all I’m saying. You know it's a good idea!

I want to give you something for all the things I’ve taken away from you, Captain. I feel almost like a bully for coming onto your turf, coming into your domain, and then just beating you and taking away the things that make you feel special.

The aura.
The mystique.
The title.
The spot.

I took it all away and it’s one of the driving forces behind you not walking away.

That’s what’s different. There is no aura of Kayla Richards. I fucking took that away. I shattered it. I beat the unbeatable, unstoppable ruler of the division and I did it without massaging your fucking pussy like this company does. This match is just to ensure that you understand where you stand in this game.

I destroyed the myth that you are some kind of boogeyman of this division. All you did was maintain a drab, boring status quo. You Captain, much like Crystal, are a nostalgia act at this point. A woman trying to cling to one of the few things that makes you feel important. While you were in the background, nobody was clamoring for you to get back to the top. No one was thinking about you. The air was clean. The mood was brighter and there was a sense of freedom.

And that’s the second reason you stayed around.

You’re trying to get that old feeling back.

But, I’m sorry, there’s no putting the air back in the balloon. The levee already fucking broke. We can’t put the genie back in the bottle. It’s gone, and you will NEVER get that shit back. You can win whatever match you want, you scream it from the top of your lungs for here until the end of time. It will not change the fact:

 I beat you.

You never seemed to understand this point despite how many times I tried to tell you and explain it to you. The title belt was not what I was after. I liked carrying it and I understand its uses as a prop. It’s a tool. Much like I wouldn’t expect a teacher to show up to a school without their curriculum, the title has its uses.

But that was secondary to simply beating you.

I beat you at your best, Kayla. I did that and there’s nothing you can say or do about it.

I beat you, at your peak. And took everything away from the “best wrestler in the world.”

So… what’s that gonna make me when I beat you again?

Because I suppose I could then say… I’m better than you. Right? I am better than the “best wrestler in the world.” Not even a year into my career, and I can lay claim to being the better than the best. And I’ll be champion again, but again, we can get you your own belt.

But make no mistake, I saw what it did to you, Kayla. I saw the doubt. I saw the confidence drop. I saw it all because I was the one who did that to you. And now that I know that I’m that deep under your skin, I just wonder what this loss will do to you.

Will it drive you to retire?
Will you break down and cry?
Will you hang your head in shame for the rest of time?

Holy shit…

I just realized that I no longer want to just beat you, Kayla. No no no no.

I want to break you.

I saw the crack after I beat you the first time. Now… now I want all the fucking walls to come down. I want to take everything from you, a second time and leave you with nothing. I want to take the very essence of what you are and destroy it. I want you to be a god damn shell of what you are today.

And the best part?

You know I can do it.

Oh, I can’t wait. I’m all giddy now. Just thinking about the scene of your mental breakdown afterward? Fuck that would be so good. Well shit. Now I have so many ideas! The possibilities are fucking endless, Captain! This is going to be historic!

We are going to have so much fun at Blaze Of Glory.

Trust me.

[Dreamkiller]

Chapter 83: Quiet Things

Finn was already home when I heard the front door open.

I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. The afternoon light had thinned into something dusky and uncertain, the kind that stretches shadows long across the floor before finally surrendering to night. The house felt different in the evenings. Smaller. More enclosed. Like the walls leaned in slightly once the sun disappeared. His boots hit the mat by the door. The sound grounded me more than I expected.

Leather scraping. A muted thud. The soft exhale that always followed when he stepped inside, like he allowed himself to decompress only once the door was shut behind him. I was still on the couch, blanket pulled back over my legs, but the television was off now. The silence wasn’t empty. Just layered, heater humming softly, pipes ticking faintly as they adjusted to temperature changes, wind brushing against the windows in uneven strokes. “Hey,” he called out, voice roughened slightly from training. There was always gravel in it after a long session. Like friction lived in his throat.

“In here.”

His footsteps were steady. Measured. Finn never rushed into rooms. He occupied them deliberately,  aware of space, aware of presence. When he appeared in the doorway, his hair was soaked in sweat, dark strands damp at the temples. A faint bruise had begun forming high on his cheekbone, purpling under pale skin. His knuckles were reddened. Raw. He leaned against the doorframe for a second before stepping in fully. “You okay?” he asked.

Not suspicion. Not interrogation. Just observation. He’d gotten good at reading shifts in my breathing. “Yeah,” I replied. “Tasmin stopped by.” He nodded once, crossing the room and sitting on the edge of the coffee table in front of me. Close,  but not crowding. His forearms rested loosely on his thighs. His hands hung between them, relaxed but strong, veins faintly visible beneath skin that carried too many old scars.

“How is she?”

“Good. Dawn’s declared war on vegetables.”

A corner of his mouth lifted faintly. “Brave kid.” I smiled slightly at that. Silence followed, but not uncomfortable. Just breathing space. Finn was never threatened by quiet. He treated it like something that deserved respect. He studied me for another moment. “And?” he asked quietly.

That was it. That was him probing. Never digging. Just opening a door and letting me decide whether to walk through it. I watched his hands instead of his eyes. “She’s been seeing Dad,” I said. His expression didn’t change. But something in his posture stilled further. Listening more closely now. “Consistently,” I added. “He’s been showing up.”

Finn nodded slowly, once. “That good?”

“I think so.”

“You think,” he repeated gently, not correcting, just clarifying.

I exhaled softly through my nose. “I don’t know what to do with it yet.”

He shifted slightly, elbows bracing on his thighs now. “You don’t have to.”

“I feel like I should.”

“Why?”

I hesitated. “Because it’s different.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Different doesn’t mean immediate.” That was such a Finn answer. No emotional rush. No dramatic reaction. Just grounded logic wrapped in patience. “He asked you something?” Finn said after a moment.

I looked up at him then. He wasn’t accusing. Just… aware. He knew my father didn’t visit without leaving something behind. “Yeah,” I admitted. He waited. “He asked if I wanted children.” The air shifted. Subtle. Quiet. But real. Finn’s jaw tightened,  almost imperceptibly, before he forced it to relax. His tongue pressed briefly against the inside of his cheek. A small tell. One I’d learned to notice.

“And?” he asked. I swallowed.

“I told him I wasn’t sure.” He nodded once. “But,” I added. His eyes flicked back to mine. “But with you… it feels different.” The words felt fragile once spoken. Not because they were weak,  but because they were honest. “I used to think I didn’t want them,” I continued, voice steady but softer now. “Because I was scared I’d repeat things. That I’d mess someone up the way we were messed up.” I hesitated. “That I’d disappear emotionally. Or shut down. Or… become him in ways I wouldn’t even notice.” Finn didn’t interrupt. Didn’t rush to contradict.

“But when I picture it now, I don’t see that.” His gaze held mine carefully. Like he was bracing for impact but refusing to look away. “I see this house, I see mornings with too much noise. I see toys in places they shouldn’t be. I see you trying to assemble something without instructions and pretending you’re not frustrated.” A faint breath of a smile. “I see something stable.” He looked away first. Not sharply. Not coldly. Just… inward. “I don’t know when that changed,” I admitted. “But it did.” The silence stretched longer this time. His shoulders rose with a slow inhale. Fell with an even slower exhale.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” he said.

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“A while.” His fingers interlocked loosely between his knees now. He stared at them like they might offer answers. Then he went quiet. Not dismissive. Not angry. Just quiet in a way that felt heavier than before. I shifted forward slightly, blanket slipping from my knees to the floor unnoticed. “Finn,” I said softly. He dragged a hand down his face briefly, fingers pressing into his eyes before lowering again.

“I don’t know if I want kids,” he said finally. The words weren’t sharp. They were tired. I let them land without flinching. He looked at me again then, and there was something raw behind his eyes. Something exposed. “You have to remember,” he said carefully, “what I’ve been through.” I did. Not in detail. He didn’t share those. But I remembered hospital hallways. The way he shut down for weeks after certain anniversaries. The way grief sat in his chest like a permanent resident. “They weren’t ideas,” he continued, voice quieter now. “They weren’t hypotheticals. They were here.” His throat tightened slightly. “I held them.” The room felt smaller. “And then they weren’t.” Silence pressed in. “And I don’t know, if I could survive that again.”

There it was. Not rejection. Not refusal. Fear wrapped in memory. I reached forward slowly, placing my hand over his. His skin was warm, calloused, familiar. “I’m not trying to replace anything,” I said gently.

“I know.” Immediate. Firm. He meant it. His fingers shifted beneath mine, turning so our hands laced together naturally. “I just…” He exhaled shakily. “I don’t know if I’m built to risk that again. To open that door and wonder every day if it’s going to be taken from me.”

His honesty didn’t feel like distance. It felt like standing at the edge of something fragile and choosing not to pretend it wasn’t cracked. “I understand,” And I did. Because this wasn’t about willingness. It was about survival. “You don’t have to decide now,” I added.

“That’s not fair to you.”

“It’s not about fair.”

His eyes searched mine like he expected resentment hiding there. “I’m not saying never,” he clarified. “I just can’t promise I’ll get there.”

“That’s okay.”

The words didn’t taste bitter. They tasted steady. “I don’t want to take that from you,” he said.

“You’re not.” I’d rather have you,” I continued quietly, “than an idea of something that might not even exist yet.” That made something shift in his expression. Relief. Pain. Gratitude. “You don’t have to shut it down just because it’s complicated,” I told him. “I won’t push.”[/color]

“It is complicated,” he said.

“We are complicated.”

That pulled a faint breath of a laugh from him. Small. Real. His thumb brushed across the back of my hand absently. “You’d be a good mother,” he said suddenly. The statement hit harder than I expected.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” No hesitation this time. “You question everything. You’d never ignore a problem. You’d never disappear.” His voice softened further. “You’d fight for them.”

Emotion pressed tight in my chest. “Thank you.”

He nodded once. “But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to be someone’s father again.”

Again. That word carried everything. I didn’t ask what would make him ready. Didn’t ask if time healed it. Some wounds don’t respond to schedules. So I squeezed his hand instead. “We don’t have to solve the future tonight,” I said.

He leaned back slightly, tension easing a fraction. “No,” he agreed quietly. After a moment, he shifted from the coffee table to the couch beside me. The cushion dipped under his weight. I tucked back into the blanket automatically and he pulled part of it over his lap too. His arm came around my shoulders. Not possessive. Protective. I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm beneath my ear. His heartbeat was slower than mine. Grounded. Anchoring. “You okay?” he asked again, softer this time.

“Yeah.” I was. The conversation hadn’t given us answers. It hadn’t built a plan or drawn a timeline. But it had stayed honest. And that mattered more. I didn’t bring it up again that night. Didn’t circle back. Didn’t push him into the past he’d barely opened. He wasn’t closing a door. He was guarding a scar. And loving someone means knowing the difference. Outside, the mountains stood unmoved. Ancient. Steady. Inside, we were quieter than that. More fragile. But still here. Still choosing each other. And for now. That was enough.

The Difference Between a Moment and a Legacy

“You know something, Captain… I listened to everything you had to say. Every insult. Every accusation. Every little fantasy you spun about how you supposedly broke me, exposed me, shattered the myth of Kayla Richards. And the entire time I kept waiting for the part where you actually said something new.”

Kayla’s voice is calm, steady, and almost amused.

“But it never came. Because the truth is, for someone who loves to talk about how boring I am… you’ve been repeating the exact same story for months now. ‘I beat Kayla Richards.’ ‘I lit the myth on fire.’ ‘I exposed the unbeatable champion.’ That’s your entire identity, Captain. That one moment. That one victory. That one night where everything lined up for you and suddenly you convinced yourself that it rewrote the entire history of this division. And that’s where the difference between you and me begins. Because when you beat me, I didn’t spend the next six months crying about it. I didn’t run around telling everyone the universe had collapsed. I didn’t create conspiracy theories about the company, or management, or how the world was against me. I did something much simpler than that. I accepted it. I took the loss, I stepped back, and I continued doing what I’ve done my entire career… building a legacy.”

“Meanwhile you… you built a personality out of beating me once. That’s the part you don’t seem to understand, Captain. In this business, anybody can have a moment. Anybody can catch lightning in a bottle for one night. Anybody can beat the champion on the right night under the right circumstances. That doesn’t make you the future. That doesn’t make you inevitable. That doesn’t make you the woman who runs the division. It just means you had a moment. And the problem with building your entire identity around a moment… is that eventually you have to prove it wasn’t a fluke.”

Kayla inhale sharply before chuckling and grabbing hold of the championship,

“Which brings us to your favorite little question. What took me so long to get the title back? Six months, right? Six whole months where apparently I was lost, broken, wandering around without purpose because I didn’t have a championship belt to validate my existence. That’s the story you want people to believe. That I’m nothing without this title. That I need it to feel important. That I need it to be relevant. But if that were actually true… then explain something to me. Why are you still obsessed with proving you’re better than me? You spent an entire promo talking about how boring I am. How replaceable I am. How I’m just a pawn for the company. How I’m white bread, safe, predictable, stale. And yet somehow, despite all of that, the single greatest accomplishment of your career is still beating Kayla Richards. Doesn’t that seem a little contradictory to you?”

“Because if I’m everything you claim I am… then beating me shouldn’t mean anything.”

“But you don’t treat it like it means nothing. You treat it like it’s the defining moment of your life. You built your entire reputation on it. Your entire aura on it. Your entire identity on it. Which means whether you like it or not… Kayla Richards is the foundation of your career. And that must drive you absolutely insane. You also love talking about how the company protects me. How I’m the safe choice. The reliable champion. The status quo they want to keep at the top of the division. That’s your favorite conspiracy theory, isn’t it? The idea that management is terrified of you. That you’re the revolutionary force they can’t control.”

“But here’s the funny part about that narrative. If the company was so desperate to protect me… you never would have beaten me in the first place You never would have taken the title from me. You never would have had that moment you’re so proud of. The very existence of that victory completely destroys the story you’re trying to tell. Because if I’m their chosen golden child… if I’m the protected pawn… then how exactly did you ‘burn the myth to the ground’ in the first place? You can’t have it both ways, Either I’m the unstoppable system favorite who gets everything handed to her… or you beat me fair and square and proved you were better that night.”

her words are filled with venom. She takes a step forward clutching the championship. There’s now over her shoulder a little harder.

“But if you beat me fair and square… then the company clearly isn’t protecting me the way you claim. Which means your entire rebellion narrative collapses. And suddenly you’re not the fearless revolutionary anymore. You’re just another challenger trying to take my championship. And that brings us to the part of your promo where things really start to fall apart. You say you’re inevitable. You say you clawed your way back from the bottom. You say you’re the unstoppable future of this division. And yet here we are… and I’m the one holding the championship again. Not you. Me. Which means despite all that talk about inevitability… despite all that talk about how you changed the division… despite all that talk about how you destroyed the myth of Kayla Richards…you’re still chasing me. And that’s the part you can’t stand.”

“You don’t want to just beat me again. You need to beat me again. Because if you don’t… then the entire story you’ve built about yourself starts to crumble. If you lose at Blaze of Glory, suddenly that legendary victory becomes just another upset. Just another moment where someone caught lightning in a bottle. Just another night where a challenger got lucky against the champion. And that terrifies you. Because deep down you know something. Moments are fragile. They don’t last forever. Legacies do. That’s why you keep talking about breaking me. Destroying me. Taking everything away from me. You want to see me collapse. You want to see the aura disappear. You want to prove that the woman everyone called the best wrestler in the world was just an illusion.”

“But the truth is much simpler than that.”

“You didn’t destroy the myth of Kayla Richards. You challenged it. And now you have to do it again. Because that’s how this works. If you want to replace someone like me… if you want to claim you’re the future… if you want to stand here and tell the world you’re better than the best wrestler in the world…then you don’t get to do it once. You have to do it every time. That’s the pressure of being at the top of this division. That’s the reality of holding this championship. And it’s something you haven’t had to live with yet. But you’re about to find out exactly what it feels like.”

she slightly smiles trying to relax herself. Now she clears her throat before continuing.

“Because at Blaze of Glory you’re not walking into the ring with the woman you beat months ago. You’re stepping into the ring with the champion. With the woman who has spent years proving she belongs at the top of this industry. With the woman whose entire career has been built on doing the same thing over and over again…proving people wrong. So if you really believe everything you said… if you really believe you broke me… if you really believe the myth of Kayla Richards is dead…Then come prove it again.” Because one victory makes a moment. But two? Two starts to make a legacy. And right now, Captain…”

“…you’re still living off a moment.”

“But the more I listened to you talk, the more something became painfully obvious. You’re not actually trying to prove you’re better than me anymore. You’re trying to convince yourself that beating me once actually meant what you hoped it meant. Because if that victory truly shattered the myth of Kayla Richards the way you claim it did… we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. Think about that for a second. You say you destroyed the aura. You say you broke the unbeatable champion. You say you knocked the queen off the mountain. Yet here we are again, standing in the exact same place, with the exact same championship sitting on my shoulder.”

“That doesn’t sound like someone who was broken to me. That sounds like someone who got back up. And that’s the part of this story you can’t stand. Because the entire mythology you’ve built around yourself depends on the idea that beating me permanently changed everything. You need people to believe that moment rewrote the hierarchy of this division.That it exposed the truth. That it revealed the emperor had no clothes. But the problem with myths like that is they have a nasty habit of collapsing the moment reality steps back in. Reality looks a lot like this championship.”

she looks to her right clutching the championship that’s on her shoulder before looking forward with a smile

“Reality looks like the same woman you claim to have destroyed standing right back at the top of the division again. Reality looks like the supposed ‘status quo pawn’ you keep whining about being the one every challenger still has to go through if they want to call themselves the best. And that’s why you’re so angry. Because if I really was everything you say I am, boring, replaceable, stale, irrelevant,  then beating me wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t define your career. It wouldn’t be the story you repeat over and over again like it’s the single greatest accomplishment of your life. But it does define you. And that’s the truth you’re trying to run from.”

“You can scream about revolutions and inevitability all you want, but at the end of the day the foundation of your reputation still rests on one thing: you beat Kayla Richards.”

“Which means no matter how much you pretend otherwise, no matter how loudly you try to rewrite the narrative… career still revolves around me. And if you fail at Blaze of Glory? If you walk into that ring with all this confidence and all this rage and all this certainty… and you walk out without this championship? Then that ‘historic victory’ you keep bragging about stops looking like the birth of a new era. It starts looking like exactly what it really was. A great night for a challenger… against a champion who came back and proved it was only a moment. “And moments fade, Captain.”

“Legends don’t.”