Glory Braddock vs. Kemal Yilmaz

[Kemal Yilmaz]

2 RP Limit for singles

3500 Word Per RP

Deadline: 11:59:59 pm ET Thursday, February 12, 2026 (NOTE DEADLINE)

[Braddock]

1 of 2
=====

==========
February 4th, 2026
Miami, Florida
Off Camera
==========

The living room of Glory Braddock’s home felt less like a place meant for rest and more like a carefully curated statement. Sunlight poured in through tall glass doors that opened toward a terrace and an unseen stretch of blue water beyond it, the light softened by sheer white curtains that barely stirred in the quiet hum of the air conditioning. The furniture was modern without being cold, all clean lines and muted tones, softened by a few deliberate touches of warmth. A low cream colored sofa sat opposite a pair of armchairs upholstered in a deep charcoal fabric, arranged around a wide wooden coffee table that bore the faintest scratches of use rather than decoration. A thick rug anchored the space, pale enough to brighten the room but textured enough to show it was meant to be lived on. Glory sat slightly forward in one of the armchairs, her posture relaxed at first glance but purposeful in a way that suggested she rarely did anything without thinking three steps ahead. Her long blonde hair fell loose around her shoulders, brushed back enough to keep it out of her eyes but otherwise unstyled in any elaborate way. She wore a simple fitted T shirt in a dark neutral color and a pair of tailored jeans, clean and sharp without trying to be fashionable for the sake of it. On her feet were sturdy flats that looked chosen for comfort and practicality rather than appearance, though they somehow still worked with the rest of her outfit.

Across from her sat the woman she was interviewing, perched near the edge of the sofa as if afraid to take up too much space or perhaps simply unable to sit still. The woman was a blonde as well, though in a very different way, her hair a bright almost shimmering shade styled into soft waves that bounced every time she moved her head. It framed a face that seemed permanently animated, eyes wide and expressive, lips glossy and quick to smile. She wore a pastel blazer over a fitted white top, the color cheerful and almost aggressively optimistic, paired with a skirt that matched just closely enough to look intentional. Her shoes were delicate heels, polished and pristine, the kind that suggested she had walked carefully from the moment she put them on. A small handbag rested at her feet, coordinated perfectly with her outfit, and every visible detail of her appearance seemed chosen to project friendliness and enthusiasm. She leaned forward as she spoke, hands fluttering lightly in the air as if her thoughts could not quite keep up with her words. Her voice filled the room with an almost fizzy energy, rising and falling rapidly as she laughed at her own comments and nodded along as if agreeing with herself. It was the kind of presence that dominated space not through authority but through sheer momentum, a bright current that threatened to sweep everything else along with it. She smiled often at Glory, seeking approval, affirmation, or perhaps just connection, and each smile came quickly and vanished just as fast, replaced by another expression equally earnest.

Glory listened without interrupting, her expression neutral but attentive. She rested one ankle over the opposite knee, fingers loosely interlaced, occasionally shifting her weight in the chair. Her eyes stayed on the woman across from her, sharp and focused, taking in every movement and inflection. There was a faint tension beneath her calm, a sense that she was testing not only the candidate but her own instincts. The contrast between them was striking. One felt grounded and immovable, like a fixture of the room itself. The other felt almost buoyant, as if she might float away if she stopped talking for too long. The woman finished a sentence with a bright laugh and clasped her hands together, clearly pleased with herself. Glory let the silence stretch for a moment, just long enough for the energy in the room to settle.

“So,” Glory said at last, her voice even and measured, “tell me what you think the hardest part of working for me would be.”

The woman blinked, then smiled wider. “Oh my gosh, probably keeping up with you,” she said, laughing softly. “But honestly, I love a challenge.” Glory’s lips curved into the faintest smile, a polite smile meant to hide the clear frustration she has endured with this particular interviewee.

“My company has its toes dipped into a variety of different fields, Jane,” Glory states clearly “professional wrestling is our biggest piece, as we have our own promotion and wrestling school. We also own a modeling agency and our employees have fully covered health insurance. If you were to get this position…”

“And I totally will!” Jane says quickly, interrupting The British Bombshell which annoys her to no end.

“Yes, well, IF you get the position, you will be dealing with all of this and all of these are cutthroat industries. Your job will be to be the mediator between them and me. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, totally got it!” She sounds confident but the emptiness in her eyes tells Glory Braddock that Jane has no clue about what any of this means. Unfortunately, this is a failure. Braddock forces a smile on her face, another fake polite one that she hopes fools Jane.

“Well this has been wonderful, Jane, it was nice meeting you, and I will be in touch.”

“You will?” Jane seems overly pleased with what should have been an obvious tell that she did NOT get this job. Yet Jane is oblivious. “I totally nailed this interview!””

Jane gets up and turns to walk away. Glory sighs and shakes her head.

“Yeah, you sure did…” once she notices Jane is out of eyesight she calls out for the next applicant “...NEXT!”

Footsteps approached from the hallway, heavier and less deliberate than the ones before. They did not follow a straight rhythm so much as a wandering one, pausing, resuming, accompanied by the faint rustle of fabric and the dull scuff of shoes against tile. When the man appeared in the doorway, he seemed almost out of place in the room, like an object accidentally left behind after a move. He was tall enough that he had to angle his shoulders slightly to clear the frame, his posture slouched forward as though gravity had made a personal project of him. His hair was dark and unkempt, curling at the ends in a way that suggested it had not met a brush in some time. A few strands stuck out stubbornly at the crown of his head, defying any attempt at order. His face bore the shadow of stubble that looked less intentional and more forgotten, uneven along his jaw and chin. There was something about him that felt perpetually unfinished, as if he had started getting ready and simply lost interest halfway through.

His clothing only reinforced the impression. He wore a wrinkled button down shirt that had once been a light color but now appeared dulled by time and neglect. The collar sat unevenly against his neck, one side folded properly, the other bent inward at an awkward angle. The shirt was partially tucked into a pair of loose slacks that sagged slightly at the waist, held up by a belt that had seen better years. One pant leg was cuffed higher than the other, not as a fashion choice but as a quiet accident that had gone uncorrected. His shoes were scuffed and worn, practical in the most exhausted sense of the word, with laces tied hastily and unevenly. He paused just inside the room, eyes drifting around as though he were taking inventory of the space but without any obvious reaction to it. The careful design, the light, the expensive calm of the house did not seem to impress or intimidate him. If anything, he looked mildly confused by it, as though he were unsure whether he was meant to be there at all. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hands briefly disappearing into his pockets before emerging again, fingers fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve.

Without asking, he wandered farther into the living room and surveyed the seating options. The sofa seemed too formal for him, or perhaps too clean. His gaze passed over it and landed instead on one of the armchairs opposite Glory. He approached it with a casual lack of ceremony and turned it slightly as he went, the legs making a soft scraping sound against the rug. He dropped into the chair rather than sitting, the cushions compressing under his weight as he slouched back, one arm draped over the side, the other resting loosely in his lap. The chair that had earlier held Glory with quiet authority now looked faintly disheveled, as though it had already absorbed some of his habits. Glory watched him closely, her expression giving nothing away. Her eyes traced the details he did not seem to care about, the frayed edge of a cuff, the faint stain near the hem of his shirt, the way he leaned back as if settling in for a long wait rather than a professional evaluation. She adjusted her position slightly in her own chair, grounding herself again, the room now holding a very different kind of tension.

“And you are?”

“Adam.”

“Adam who?” Glory asks with an arched brow.

“Oh, uh, Adam Brown.”

“Right, ok Mr. Brown…what kind of experience do you have in the corporate world?”

“What?”

“Experience.” Glory repeats herself. “What kind of experience do you have with this sort of job?”

“Um…” it seems as if Adam is trying with great difficulty to grasp for an answer “...I worked at a McDonalds once.”

“Uh-huh,” Glory’s voice trails off as she quickly begins to realize that she has another failure on her hands “how good are you at juggling multiple responsibilities?”

“Uh, well, when I was at McDonalds there were a few times my supervisor made me work Drive-Thru AND front counter…” he says with a hint of pride on his face “...and let me tell ya, OUR ice cream machine was NEVER broke!”

“Huh? Well I guess I know which McDonalds I should go to if I want a McFlurry.”

“Damn right!” Adam reaches into his shirt pocket and produces a coupon for McDonalds. He hands it to Glory. “There. It’s on me. I hope it’s not considered bribery.”

“No, you’re fine, mate.” Glory sighs, trying very hard to hide her frustration. “Uh, Adam, this has been great, and I will be in touch.”

“So that’s it? Interview over?” He asks, clearly confused. She nods her head.

“Yes, that’s it.”

“Sweet. Best interview ever.” Just like Jane before him, Adam gets up, convinced he absolutely killed this interview, when in actuality Glory Braddock has been politely trying to let them both down easy. At least that part was easy; both of them were so ignorant that they had no clue how badly this interview was for them.

The British Bombshell buries her face in her hands, the frustration of this entire situation almost bringing her to tears. She wants a Chief of Staff, someone to help her with the minute, day to day operations of her company, minimizing Braddock’s involvement so that Glory herself can focus on her one true passion; professional wrestling. With a Chief of Staff acting as a mediator between Glory and her company, Glory would have little to fear about being corrupted yet again by the upscale corporate lifestyle. Unfortunately these two applicants are not anomalies. Glory has found that very few have met her standards. Adam and Jane were just two of the worst.

“You look like you’ve seen better days.” That is the familiar voice of her husband, Kurt Logan. Glory looks up and sees Kurt standing there in loose fitting jeans, brown cowboy boots, and a plain white t-shirt. Seeing him standing there instantly changes her mood. Instantly she starts feeling better.

“Are there any other applicants?”

“Not today.” He shakes his head. “You still have plenty of people who have applied but I made sure not to schedule any further interviews, not yet anyway. I know you have Kemal Yilmaz on Breakdown.”

“It’s funny, you know, how badly he wants to fight me?” Glory snickers. “You would think that he would have had enough of my submission skill after I beat him by submission last May. Yet he still wants me and in a submissions match no less?”

“Do you think CHBK or that Frank guy would even sign off on a submissions match?” He asks. Glory shrugs her shoulders.

“No clue. Quite honestly? I don’t really care. I’m just here to compete and I’m here to win. If they want me to beat him straight up in a standard match, fine. If they want to entertain his submissions match nonsense, that’s fine too. Either way, I am going to beat his ass all over Atlanta, Georgia and make him regret ever calling out The British Bombshell.”

“Someone sounds enthusiastic.”

“Intense is more like it.” Glory remarks. Kurt walks over and sits down on the sofa. Glory sighs and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, love, I’m just so upset right now.”

“Upset with Jane and Adam?”

“Who else?” Glory sighs. “And it isn’t just them, Kurt. This search for a Chief of Staff has been a complete and utter failure so far.”

“I think you’re exaggerating a bit.”

“No, not really.” Braddock shakes her head. “No one meets the basic qualifications and then you have some like these two brassers today who are just laughable as candidates.”

“Laughable?” Kurt asks skeptically.

“They have no clue what the job requirements are and what this job entails.” Glory states. “NO CLUE.”

“You are going to have people like that; people who apply for these jobs with no clue of what they are really doing.” Kurt says.

“If they don’t know anything about the job they are signing up for, why apply in the first place?” Glory demands.

“Because they need something, anything.” He states. “Some form of income to keep them afloat.”

“Well Adam can just go back to McDonalds. And Jane?” Glory rolls her eyes. “I have no clue what she should do.”

“Just don’t give up, ok?” Kurt says with a sweet, warm smile, the one that always gives Glory hope and confidence. “I know how badly you want this.”

“I cannot keep trying to be an active wrestler while ensuring that my company is still being managed the right way, the way I want it to be run. Sure, I have installed people in each department to keep it going so I don’t have to micromanage the bloody thing, but I’m not entirely sure I can trust any of them. Keeping those blokes in line while being an active wrestler will do one of two things? It will either exhaust me, fatigue me…or it will corrupt me, making me that arrogant, conceited monster I once was…”

“That won’t happen.” Kurt shakes his head. “I have faith in you.”

“I am glad you have faith, love.” Glory sighs. “I just need this…this Chief of Staff, a buffer to keep me as far away from the rest of that noise as possible…so I can just focus on what I am truly passionate about; my wrestling career. I KNOW I have more championships in me, Kurt. I just need to earn the opportunities.”

“And you will earn them, beginning with Kemal.” Kurt insists. “Like I said, you have no further interviews today or the next several days. Just focus on Kemal. Focus your attention on him. Like you said, ignore the other noise out there.”

“You’re right, as always…” Glory says, her voice trails off. Kurt snickers.

“I’m right? As always?”

“You better have recorded that because I will NOT say it again.” Glory smirks. “But seriously, I do need to ignore the outside noise and focus on the immediate threat; Kemal Yilmaz and European Fiery pals.”

“You think they would get involved” Kurt asks. Glory shrugs.

“Who knows with them? Still, I want to be ready for anything. And with Kemal, it doesn’t matter that I beat him once already. A guy like him is dangerous. I have to take him, and all of my opponents, like a serious threat.” Braddock stands up. “With that said, I should probably arrange for a sparring session.”

“Say no more.” Kurt stands up as well. “I’m game.”

“You?”

“Of course me.” Kurt says. “Who else did you have in mind?”

“I was gonna fly Sophie in.” Glory says, referring to her half-sister Sophie O’Brian. “She’s more technically proficient and the better submission wrestler than you. She’s also super aggressive like Kemal. She fits the bill as a better sparring partner here than you would.”

“Gee, thanks.” Kurt winks playfully. “I can feel the love.”

“Oh I offended you.” Glory kisses him. “Tell you what, I’ll make it up you? Next time I face an angry Texan looking for a fight, I’ll spar with you?”

“Deal.”

Glory Braddock fought long and hard to reclaim her true self, her real identity, and she doesn’t want to risk losing it to the corruption of the white collar world of corrupt corporate politics. She needs someone, a person she will call Chief of Staff, to stand between her and those corruptive elements in her life. The hiring process is proving far more difficult than she imagined, especially today with these two lackluster (at best) applicants. Still, not all is lost; there are other applicants ready to be heard. Perhaps one of them will fit Glory Braddock’s lofty standards?

In the meantime, The British Bombshell has Kemal Yilmaz to deal with. He is itching for another fight with Glory Braddock. She is already familiar with him. She defeated him once before and she is prepared to do so again. Still, even the slightest of distractions can prove to be fatal in professional wrestling; this is a lesson taught to her by her father, Glenn Braddock. Despite her success against Kemal and The European Fiery Nation, Glory knows that on any given night they could potentially take her down. Braddock will be ready for whatever Yilmaz and his pals have prepared to throw at her when Breakdown rolls into Atlanta, Georgia.

[Braddock]

2 of 2
======

==========
February 7th, 2026
Miami, Florida
Off Camera
==========

The private workout area beneath Glory Braddock’s Miami home felt cut off from the rest of the house. The basement ceiling was higher than expected, reinforced with exposed beams that gave the space an industrial honesty, as if this room had never pretended to be anything other than what it was. The lighting was bright but warm, set into recessed fixtures that eliminated shadows without making the room feel clinical. One wall was mirrored from floor to ceiling, streaked faintly with the marks of hands and shoulders that had brushed against it over time. Another wall was lined with shelves holding neatly organized equipment, resistance bands, taped wrists guards, water bottles, towels; the air carried the unmistakable smell of effort, sweat mixed with rubber mats and the faint metallic tang of iron. At the center of the room stood a wrestling ring scaled slightly smaller than regulation size but no less serious. The canvas was worn and scuffed, its surface bearing the subtle discolorations that came from years of hard landings and repeated drills. The ropes were taut, wrapped in clean white tape that contrasted sharply with the darker padding on the turnbuckles. The mat beneath the ring extended outward in all directions, thick and forgiving, evidence that this was a place designed not just for performance but for survival.

Glory leaned forward near one corner of the ring, hands resting on her knees as she caught her breath. Her long blonde hair had come loose during the session and now hung in damp strands around her face and down her back, clinging slightly to her skin. She wore a black sports tank that was darkened with sweat along the collar and spine, paired with compression shorts that allowed full movement without distraction. Her boots were unlaced now, the tongues folded outward, and her wrists were still taped, the white wrap smudged and fraying from repeated contact. There was a solid heaviness to her stance even in rest, the kind that came from years of training and instinctively knowing where her weight belonged. Her shoulders rose and fell steadily as her breathing slowed, muscles still taut as though they had not yet received permission to relax. Across from her, Sophie O’Brian stood upright, rolling one shoulder slowly as she stretched it out. She was Glory’s half-sister and mirror in some ways and her opposite in others. Her dark brunette hair was pulled back into a low ponytail that had loosened over the course of the match, strands escaping to frame her face and stick to her neck. She wore a deep green athletic top that clung to her torso, the fabric creased and damp, paired with black leggings that showed faint chalk marks from the mat. Her boots were a different style than Glory’s, more streamlined, with thinner soles that suggested speed over power. The tape around her hands was darker with sweat, molded to her knuckles like a second skin.

The space between them carried the quiet aftermath of controlled violence. The echoes of movement still seemed to hang in the air, the memory of bodies colliding, boots hitting canvas, the dull thud of practiced impacts. A towel lay abandoned near the ropes where it had been tossed aside mid session, and a water bottle had rolled onto its side, slowly leaking onto the mat in a thin spreading line. The mirror reflected the scene back at them, two women marked by exertion and familiarity, standing in a room that knew them intimately. Despite the heat of the workout, the basement remained cool, the temperature carefully regulated to prevent fatigue from becoming carelessness. A ventilation system hummed softly overhead, its steady rhythm blending with the sound of their breathing. From somewhere above, faint and distant, came the muted noise of the house settling, a reminder that this intense private world existed beneath a polished and public one. There was an ease between Glory and Sophie that came only from shared history and repeated trust. The sparring session had not been gentle, but it had been precise, each move delivered with intent and restraint. Bruises would bloom later, inevitable and familiar, but neither woman showed any concern for them now. Their bodies bore the language of their profession openly, the stiffening muscles, the reddened skin, the small abrasions that would fade only to be replaced by new ones.

“Thanks for the workout, mate.” Glory says as she wipes some sweat from her brow with a towel. “You always do seem to test me to my limits and bring out the best in me.”

“Every coin has two sides. Every mountain has a valley. For every strength there is a weakness. Every up has a down.”

“That doesn’t sound like Sun Tzu.” Glory says with a smirk. Sophie shakes her head.

“That’s because it was LR Knost. The point is, Gloria, your strengths are my weaknesses. My strengths are your weaknesses. We are complimentary. Together we make a formidable duo. You represent the goodness that I am capable of…whereas I represent the inner darkness you always feared would emerge.”

“I love you, Sophie, truly I do,” Glory chuckles “but I could do without the philosophy lessons right now.”

“Is that so?” Sophie grins. “Did you really bring me all the way from Belfast just to help you prepare for a wrestling match against Kemal Yilmaz, an individual you already beat rather decisively once before?”

“Anything can happen.” Glory states. “Anyone can beat anyone else on any given day. I am not going to get caught sleeping on Yilmaz. He seems hell bent on submitting me. So I wanted to spar with someone who could match me in submissions.” She points at Sophie. “You are my equal in the ring in terms of technical expertise and submission wrestling.”

“It does bring pride to my heart to finally hear you say that.” Sophie shakes her head. “But believe me, your fear of Yilmaz ‘catching you’ on an off day are unfounded. I tested you and you passed with flying colors just like I knew you would, just I suspect YOU knew you would. So tell me, dear Gloria, what is your agenda? What is on your mind?”

“I have no agenda, Sophie.” Glory sighs out of frustration as she walks past Sophie and sits down on the mat. Sophie grins as she walks over and then joins her, sitting down next to The British Bombshell.

“Very well. You leave me no choice.”

“What?”

“Face it…sister,” she smirks “you still fear the darkness, the corruption that twisted you once before taking hold of you once again. So while yes, you did wish to take advantage of my wrestling skills to help you prepare for this match against Mr. Yilmaz, your underlying agenda is that you wanted to pick the brain of the Yin to your Yang, the darkness to your light.”

“Bloody hell…” Glory chuckles “...fine, I admit that I am a little nervous. When I spent a few months back home, in London, living a far more simplistic lifestyle, it really got me back in touch with my roots. It reminded me of who I am and why I wanted to do this job. It reminded me that right and wrong are not arbitrary, they are not subjective, and that right IS worth fighting for.”

“You always did have a strong moral compass.” Sophie states. “That annoyed me to no end, once upon a time.”

“And those months being back home helped me to relax. It helped me realize that I do not need to take everything so bloody serious…”

“Ah yes, the jovial prankster Glory. I remember her quite well from our childhood.” Sophie shakes her head. “You never did prank me.”

“I was afraid of how you’d react.” Glory smirks. She pauses and sighs. “But Sophie, after that time back home, living a simplistic life, it made me feel like MYSELF again, not like the fake, the fraud that this luxurious lifestyle created.”

“A fraud? A fake?” Sophie arches a brow out of curiosity. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Obviously you were not listening closely to the words of LR Knost. The two sides to every coin, it doesn’t just refer to you and I, dear sister. It means each of us are capable of good and bad, right and wrong. No one individual is a flat one dimensional character. We all have multiple layers to our personalities. I once thought like you, that I WAS one dimensional, that I was ONLY capable of darkness. It took me quite a long time to realize the flaw in my thinking. Only recently did I finally accept that I am capable of being good, of being just as heroic as you.” Sophie chuckles softly. “You wish to believe that the period when you displayed ruthlessness, arrogance, and your own darkness was due to corruption; you blame it on this life of luxury, you even blamed it on your association with one Aphrodite Noel, but you are wrong.” She shakes her head. “That capacity for darkness always existed within you. That version of Glory Braddock always existed. The trick is learning how to control that darkness.”

“You think I can control it?” Glory asks.

“I am learning how to control mine, it isn’t easy but I am managing. I am quite certain that you will control it, because you are and always have been stronger than me. And you do not need a bloody chief of staff to help you.”

“It just makes more sense.” Glory remarks. “Sure, maybe I always had the potential to be that monster, but you cannot deny that certain outside influences nudged me in that direction. If I had someone in place to keep me AWAY from those outside influences, that would help.”

“Your logic is sound.” Sophie admits with a nod of her head. “I am simply saying that you do not need it. Furthermore, you may be creating yet another crutch you will have to lean on for support rather than learn how to manage it by yourself.”

“Its easy for you to say, mate. I have witnessed what my own dark side is capable of and, honestly? I am afraid of it.”

“Yes, you are correct, it is easy for me to say because I have lived my darkness all my life. There is nothing it can do to frighten me. Believe me, Gloria, you ARE stronger than you give yourself credit for. There is no need to fear your inner darkness. You CAN control it.”

==========
February 7th, 2026
Miami, Florida
On Camera
==========

The basement workout area had grown quieter as the evening settled in, its earlier intensity softened into something almost reflective. The lights were dimmed slightly now, no longer blazing with the same purposeful brightness they had during sparring. The ring stood empty and still at the center of the room, its ropes slack with rest, the canvas marked by impressions that would fade by morning. The air felt cooler, cleaner, carrying only a faint trace of sweat and rubber, as if the room itself were slowly exhaling after the work it had witnessed. Glory Braddock remained there alone, occupying the space in a very different way than she had earlier. She had shed her training gear and with it the aggressive readiness that came from physical combat. In its place was something more subdued, more personal. She wore a loose fitted long sleeve royal purple top, the fabric worn thin in a way that spoke of comfort rather than neglect. The shirt draped naturally over her frame. Her jeans were dark and practical, sitting low on her hips and fitting comfortably through the legs. On her feet were simple white sneakers.

She stood near the mirrored wall, though she was not looking directly at her reflection. Instead, her gaze drifted across the room, taking in the familiar outlines of equipment and memory. One hand rested absently at her side while the other hooked a thumb into her pocket, her posture relaxed but never careless. Even at rest, there was a sense of weight to her presence, a solidity that came from years of discipline and responsibility.

“I am not very pleased right now.” Glory shakes her head. “Not even going to try to hide it. I am a competitor at heart. I want to get in the ring and take on the very best in this business. I want to prove myself against the very best in the world. So do you really think I would be happy about sitting on the sidelines and having to watch everyone else compete at A Taste of Things To Come? So much happened that night I would have killed to have been involved with. Shot of Adrenaline? Two of the semi-finalists, Kimmy and Dexter, throughout most of the tournament didn’t even want to be a part of it. Yet they were semi-finalists. But someone like me? The British Bombshell? A woman who prides herself of being one of the best wrestlers in the world today? A former two time Adrenaline Champion in my own right? I would have LOVED to have been a part of that tournament. And a big congratulations to Deanna Frost for managing to run the gauntlet and win the whole thing without taking even one loss.” Braddock chuckles lightly.

“Then there’s the SCW World Championship. Congratulations to Syren for ending a desperate, broken down Cinderella’s World Title run.” Braddock shakes her head. “You think you have everyone fooled but not me. You may have won that title on your own but you have NOT changed. You are still the same corrupt, awful human being you always have been. You are a snake in the grass and I look forward to the day I finally earn my next shot at the SCW World Championship and I can be the one to expose you as the fraud that you are and END your reign.”

“La Pequina Luz retained the United States Championship. Colleen retained the Television Title. We have new World Tag Team Champions. So much went down at A Taste of Things To Come but me? Nothing.” The British Bombshell shakes her head. “I don’t like sitting on the sidelines watching opportunities pass me by, watching championship opportunities handed out like candy. Last year I promised that I would EARN a world championship rematch the old fashioned way, by beating anyone SCW puts in front of me, and I did just that. I promised that I would do so again if necessary. I promised I would go another tear, going through the roster again to earn a title match, and I will, because I don’t need to beg for a title match, I don’t need to whine until I get a title match. I EARN title matches by defeating the very best this company has to offer.” Braddock points a finger at the camera.

“Which brings me to YOU, Kemal Yilmaz.” She smirks knowingly. “I want opportunities, but you want something too; you want a piece of The British Bombshell. You seem obsessed with getting your hands on yours truly. You know what? I admire that kind of fighting spirit. We are a lot alike in that respects. I want to fight the very best and so do you. You want to take on the best and YOU KNOW, you HAVE TO KNOW, that you will be facing the very best in the world by taking me on. You want to test your submission skills against the best submission wrestler in this company. That takes guts, Kemal, so fair play to you.” Braddock nods her head.

“I admire that you are willing to step up and call your shot, Kemal; I admire that you don’t want to take the easy way, that you don’t want to take shortcuts, I admire that you want to prove yourself by wrestling only the best and let’s face it, you can’t find many out there better than me, a former Supreme Champion. That’s what makes us alike, mate, we want to test ourselves, we want to take on the best. So yes, there is some respect, but make no mistake about it my European Fiery Friend, we have been here before. We have had this dance before. Believe me, Kemal, this dance will end in the exact same way it ended the last time.” Glory nods her head.

“Do you remember? In case you forgot let me enlighten you and everyone else who may have forgotten what happened in our very first encounter. It was May 8th of 2025, you and I went to war and it ended with me putting you in Shekhinah Glory. It ended with me choking you out. It ended with you passed out on the mat and me standing tall announced as the winner. You see, mate, you already had your shot at The British Bombshell and you couldn’t get the job done. In fairness, you never tapped out, so I’ll give you that, and I’ll give you credit for coming back for more despite me choking you unconscious in front of the whole damn world. Most would slink away in embarrassment not wanting another taste of that kind of humiliation. But you want to redeem yourself. You still want to fight with me. You still want this grand submission war against the best to do it. Lucky for you, I am not known for backing down from any challenge. Lucky for you, I really do want to fight my way back into championship contention and proving to the powers that be that yours truly deserves an opportunity at gold, whatever gold that may be.”

“So if it’s a fight you want, Yilmaz, you got one. It will be you and me in Atlanta at the State Farm Arena and I will do to you what I did to you back in May…I will lock in the Shekhinah Glory and you will once again have that same choice I gave you back then…you can either tap out or get choked out. Those are your ONLY options when you go face to face with Glory Braddock. So congratulations are in store for you too, Kemal. Your entire reason for being thus far has been to go one on one with The British Bombshell and now you get to do it not just once but for a second time. Your goal has been achieved. But I have goals too and my goals go beyond just one wrestling match. I have goals to get championship gold back around my waist and right now you are just ONE obstacle standing between me and my goals. So in Atlanta we will clash again and AGAIN I will put your lights out with Shekhinah Glory. Then you will be in my rearview mirror as I continue to advance forward along my path to being champion again.” Braddock shuts her eyes.

“Sic Semper Tyrannis.”

[Kemal Yilmaz]

Hey now, I wanted this submissions match with Glory youtube.com shoot.

"Hey Glory, I will never ever give up on wanting matches against submission and techincal artists even if I lose because I don't give up. If I gave up, then I might as well have died in the earthquake. I'm begging to wrestle you in submissions rules, although I wanted ultimate submissions match because there's not a single champion currently who has a submission and techincal style and there's nobody on this roster like you that is on par with me on submission and techincal skills.

Hey, I can show some respect when it's warrented and when I think people deserve it, I refuse to show respect to everyone, especially those who consistantly demand it and you don't and I admire that. What I don't admire is you being mad about me wanting to wrestle you again. I will always wrestle you in submissions style over and over again because I crave for this kind of wrestling and most importantly, I crave to beat you in your own style. I will never give up because giving up is for cowards.

So Glory, I know I'm a pain in the butt, but I just want to test my skills and I want to become the top techincal and submissions wrestler in wrestling because lets be honest and you may not want to admit this, but you're time is slowly coming to an end in the wrestling business, while mine is still going to be continued for ten or twenty years time since i'm only twenty two years old. I still got a lot left to give to this business when it comes to my submission skills.

When it comes to standing out compared to you, I certainly fit that rule because how many techincal and submission wrestlers do you know that wear a mask while locking on a submission hold? I can answer that for you, nobody, there's nobody like me and there's no muslim wrestlers like me in this business, I'm the only one and the only muslim wrestler that wouldn't force my religion onto you guys because I have morals on that.

But Glory, I want to be the guy that yeah, I want to be brutal and hardcore with wrestling because it makes me feel better with anger, but I crave submissions and techincal wrestling way more. Like Federico, he craves wrestling heavyweight wrestlers way more and Oskar, he craves wrestling high flyers way more, although it might not seem it. So you see, we are all unquiely talented in many ways that there's certain things that we are good at and not so good at.

So no way are we the same people and I actually happen to be the most calmest of the five EFN members as I don't swear, I don't be like other muslim wrestlers would on forcing people to convert to musllim religion, I don't break anything that goes against my muslim religion. Fact is I'm going to do absolotely everything to beat you and if I don't I won't quit to get another submissions match with you until I get that win because that's what I want to win all of my matches by.

Also I support Ludvig and Dakon saying to take opportunties than waiting to earn your chance because you'd be waiting forever and you might as well quit as there's too many deserving people for title shots these days, you and nearly the entire roster have to learn to lay off the earn title shots stuff and force yourself to take opportunities away from other people that deserve it because life is unfair and I know that better than anyone that my family life was taken from me. That's why I support Dakon and Ludvig's idea because you never know when you're going to be injured or have some illness that can take your life just like that and wish you took opportunities from others because life waits for nobody.

I'm just speaking from personal experience here Glory and I want to see that aggression and bite from you and I want to test my metal and I don't want you going into the match thinking you'll win without knowing that anything can happen. I can pull an upset and shock the world by beating the best submission and techincal artist in the company. That's what I expect and I will do everything I can to make you tap out in the ring to say I'm the top submission and techincal wrestler. I will still want to wrestle you because I don't know anyone else in this company that is a submission and techincal wrestler like you. That's the truth."