David Striker vs. Kimberly Williams

[supremecw]

Underground Rules
David Striker vs. Kimberly Williams

2 RP Limit for singles
Deadline: 11:59:59 pm SATURDAY June 27, 2026

[The Matt]

1 of 2
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June 17th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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The real estate office of Kimberly Lambert sat high above the polished streets of Boston’s Financial District, a sanctuary of glass, brushed steel, and deep, charcoal gray carpets that seemed to swallow the sound of the city below. The air inside smelled of expensive espresso beans and the clean, chemical sharpness of high end furniture polish. Floor to ceiling windows offered a sweeping, panoramic view of the harbor, where tiny container ships moved sluggishly across the blue water. Everything about the space screamed institutional wealth and meticulous organization, from the minimalist abstract art on the walls to the perfectly aligned rows of glossy luxury property brochures resting on a low marble coffee table. Behind a massive desk crafted from a single, flawless slab of dark walnut sat Kimberly Lambert. Known affectionately and playfully by her most eccentric client as The Other Kim, the real estate agent was the absolute embodiment of corporate professionalism. She was dressed in an impeccable, sharply tailored navy blue pantsuit that featured crisp, structural lines and sat perfectly across her shoulders. An ivory silk blouse peeked out from beneath her blazer, fastened at the throat with a subtle, geometric gold brooch. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek, low bun without a single stray flyaway, and her manicure was a flawless, neutral shellac that tapped quietly against the glass screen of her tablet as she pulled up the latest high end market listings. She looked like a woman who could negotiate a multi million dollar commercial lease before breakfast and never break a sweat.

Sitting in the plush, cream colored leather armchair directly across from the walnut desk was “The Queen of the Death Match” Kimberly Williams, presenting a contrast so jarring it threatened to disrupt the room’s entire aesthetic. Kimberly had bypassed every conceivable rule of office etiquette with her choice of attire for the afternoon. She was currently wearing a vibrant, oversized turquoise silk bathrobe that she was apparently utilizing as a lightweight spring trench coat. Beneath the unbelted robe, she wore a black mesh athletic tank top over a neon orange sports bra, paired with bright yellow bicycle shorts that ended just above her knees. Her legs were bare, leading down to her signature, heavily scuffed black combat boots, which still carried dried remnants of the gray mortar and mud from her recent backyard structural repairs. To complete the ensemble, she had secured a thick, rhinestone encrusted pink headband across her forehead, holding back a wild, slightly untamed mane of hair. She looked less like a wealthy real estate investor and more like an eccentric character who had mistakenly wandered out of a thrift store explosion.

Resting precisely on the pristine surface of the walnut desk, right between a designer pen holder and a stack of pending closing documents, was Wasley the penguin. The oversized plush toy sat upright, his yellow felt beak pointing straight toward the real estate agent. Kimberly had placed him down with a distinct, heavy thud that had caused Kimberly Lambert’s expensive ceramic coffee mug to rattle slightly on its coaster, betraying the dense, solid core of lead fishing weights packed inside the bird’s soft exterior. Today Wasley wore a clip on black bow tie that Kimberly had carefully fastened around the penguin’s plush neck. Wasley’s black plastic bead eyes stared unblinkingly at the real estate agent, his immense weight causing the leather blotter beneath him to indent deeply.

Kimberly Williams shifted in her leather chair, the silk of her turquoise robe rustling loudly against the expensive hide. She leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees and adjusting the rhinestone headband on her forehead, her eyes locking onto her agent with an expression of intense, erratic focus. Across the desk, Kimberly Lambert closed her tablet, took a slow, measured breath, and looked from the lead filled penguin in the bow tie up to the neon clad woman sitting before her.

“Ms. Williams, I am so glad you came to see me…”

“Oh I love spending time with you, The Other Kim!” Williams remarks joyfully. “Besides, it was either this or spend time trying to capture that raccoon in my attic. The one Tim from the city wants removed?”

“Raccoon?”

“Yeah, the raccoon really doesn’t want to be removed.” Kim shakes her head. “He bites really hard. Is foaming at the mouth a sign of rabies, The Other Kim? I may or may not have foamed at the mouth on the way here.” Kimmy smirks devilishly as she watches the real estate agent get very nervous at the mere thought that Williams might actually be serious about her interaction with the raccoon.

“Yes, well, the raccoon is certainly a problem, but the larger problem you have, Ms. Williams, is the fact that the city is prepared to condemn your house.”

“And I’m sure you’d love that.” Williams rolls her eyes. “But me and Wasley won’t let that happen! We’ve already arranged a battle plan! The city won’t know what hit it! And by battle plan I mean a several point list of items we need to fix in order to keep our unique home from being demolished by those fools in the city.” She points at Lambert. “You’re just like them, y’know? None of you appreciate personality!”

“That house certainly has something, I’m just not sure personality is the right word.” She sighs. “But you are my client, you pay me and you pay me well, and you do not pay me to have opinions about your…lifestyle…”

“Damn right!” Kim exclaims triumphantly.

“However, you do not have long to get the repairs finished. Am I correct?”

“Thirty days.” Kim shrugs. “So?”

“What if you do not get it complete in time? Besides, even if the city granted you an extension, these repairs will take time. Now I know you hate the place, but would you at least consider moving back into The Floreschu Estate?”

The mere mention of the mansion once occupied by the sociopath who raised her, Emma Floreschu, and Emma’s brother Lucian Floreschu, it brings painful memories back to Kimberly Williams. The most recent memory is of how Lucian tried to blackmail Kimberly and then Kimberly’s mother, Angelica Jones, put a bullet through his head, murdering him in order to protect Kim. Mother and daughter have kept that murder a secret. Still, Kimberly wants to stay as far away from the ghosts of that place and of her past. She instantly shakes her head.

“No way, Jose…wait, you’re not Jose? Sorry! Now way, Other Kim! Not moving in back there!”

“But Ms. Williams…”

“The hamster and penguin sanctuaries are already set up there, or have you already forgotten?”

“Yes, I recall your…projects.” She sighs. “But still so very much of the sprawling beautiful estate is left vacant. If you still refuse to move back in, can’t you figure out some other way to use the magnificent estate?”

“Torture chamber?” Kim suggests. Lambert shakes her head.

“Be serious.”

“Who says I’m not being serious?” Kimmy snickers.

“Ok, well how about this…you have me buy up nice homes for people who are homeless or just down on their luck. It is a noble cause but what if you used the Floreschu Estate to go another step further?”

“What are you getting at?” Kim asks, clearly intrigued.

“Use portions of the estate as a renovation training site; teach people down on their luck and in need of skills or a job, teach them how to renovate dilapidated homes.”

“Renovate homes? You mean, like, doing repairs on my home?”

“Precisely.” Lambert answers with a nod of her head. “It could even become a school to train people in other vocations. Housing people who are down on their luck is one thing, Ms. Williams, but giving them the skills necessary to be able to improve their own lives without needing your constant handouts, that is a totally different thing.”

The Woman Scorned grins from ear to ear.

“Soooo what I’m h earring is chaos with permits?”

“Supervised chaos is more like it.” Lambert corrects.

“As long as its chaos I’m in!” Kim smirks. “But I do have ONE condition!” She holds up one finger. Lambert sighs but nods her head.

“Sure, what is it?”

“I get to design one room. Completely unsupervised!”

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June 18th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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The morning sun struggled to pierce the thick layer of grime coating the living room windows, casting a weak, dusty light over the four figures huddled on the floor. The sunken tweed sofa had been pushed completely against the peeling wallpaper to make room, leaving a wide expanse of bare, warped hardwood that creaked every time someone shifted their weight. The air in the room was a familiar blend of damp plaster, stale coffee, and the faint, unmistakable scent of ghost pepper oil that still clung to the fabric of the curtains from the previous week’s alleyway encounter. Sitting cross legged in the center of the floor was Kimberly, wearing torn denim jeans, her feet were bare, and she was wearing an olive green tank top. Spread out on the floor before her was a massive sheet of brown butcher paper, weighted down at the corners by four heavily tarnished brass candlesticks to keep it from curling back up. Using a thick black marker and what appeared to be red grease pencils, Kimberly had transformed a basic layout of the house into a chaotic, highly detailed tactical map labeled in bold, aggressive lettering: Operation: Fix The Fortress. The blueprint looked less like a residential renovation plan and more like a top-secret military assault strategy for breaching a hostile compound.

Her boyfriend, Tommy, sat to her right, his massive, burly frame taking up a significant portion of the floorboards. He was wearing his usual faded pocket tee, his dark beard still dusty from a quick inspection of the cellar beams he had performed before breakfast. He held a lukewarm mug of black coffee in his calloused hands, his eyes tracking the various red arrows and perimeter markers Kimberly had furiously scribbled across the paper. Next to him, acting as a silent adjutant, was Wasley the penguin. The lead-weighted plushie sat perfectly upright inside a shallow wooden tray, his black plastic eyes staring down at the map while a small, hand-drawn paper general's star was pinned precariously to his felt wing. On the other side of the butcher paper sat Marie and Sean. Marie looked exhausted, her sensible denim jacket pulled tight around her shoulders against the morning chill that always leaked up through the floorboards. She was staring at the map with a mixture of confusion and deep seated maternal resignation, her hand resting protectively on the knee of her son. Sean, dressed in his favorite gray hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, looked surprisingly engaged. The lingering adrenaline from his close call in the neighborhood weeks prior had seemingly morphed into a genuine curiosity about his aunt’s eccentric methods. He leaned forward on his elbows, his eyes wide as he tried to decipher the military shorthand.

The map itself was a masterpiece of paranoia and structural engineering. The sagging back wall they had jacked up the previous afternoon was designated as Sector Delta: The Breach, surrounded by a series of jagged red lines indicating structural failure points. The crumbling front porch was labeled Objective: Outpost Alpha, with detailed notes on reinforcing the steps to prevent "insurgent collapse." Kimberly had even drawn a perimeter around the entire property line, marking the neighboring chain-link fences as Defensive Boundaries and sketching a tiny, angry skull and crossbones over the corner where the city code enforcement officer usually parked his sedan. In the far corner of the room, completely ignoring the strategic briefing, Caligula the hamster was already awake and furious. The rhythmic, high-pitched squeak of his plastic exercise wheel provided a frantic, driving soundtrack to the meeting, the vibration of his cage echoing softly off the metal filing cabinet. Kimberly tapped the tip of her red grease pencil against the center of the butcher paper, the sharp snap of the lead drawing everyone’s immediate attention to the structural integrity of the main support beams. She looked around the circle, her face set in an expression of absolute, unyielding command as she prepared to assign their respective tactical roles for the day’s labor.

“Listen up, maggots! The enemy is trying to drive us from our native land! But will fortify our fortress and keep the enemy at the gate! We will drive the enemy into the bowels of hell! Do you understand me, maggots?!”

“Sir, yes sir!” Sean exclaims. Marie rolls her eyes.

“Don’t encourage her.”

“What?” Sean chuckles. “It’s fun!”

“This is war, private Jones!” Kim exclaims. “It is not fun! Unless you are disemboweling the enemy or stapling their ass cheeks together! Then yes, it is very much FUN!”

“Kimmy,” Tommy raises his hand “uh, I mean, General, what are we doing today?”

“Good, question, maggot!” Kim answers. “Step one, stabilize the foundation! You and the two penguins will have that job!”

“Two penguins?” Tommy asks. Kim nods and points to Marie.

“If Taking Hold of the Flame was any indication, we now have TWO penguins in this household.”

“Sorry about that.” Marie says sheepishly. “But speaking of Taking Hold of the Flame, now that we are officially into Rise To Greatness season, shouldn’t you be focusing on Breakdown? Underground Rules against David Striker. You clearly want and Underground Title shot against Asher Hayes.”

“Private David Striker will get destroyed! Do you hear me, Private Prude? DESTROYED! I will show him that I am the one true queen of the Underground! He will be obliterated! Do you understand?”

“Sure.” Marie shrugs her shoulders.

“I didn’t hear you! Sound off like you got a pair!”

“I don’t have a pair.” Marie frowns.

“Sure ya do!” Kim smirks as she pats her own chest. Marie sighs.

“Fine…Sir, yes sir…”

“Better.” Kim nods her head. “Now step two, eliminate the raccoon insurgency…”

“That better not be left up to Sean.” Marie states. Kim shakes her head.

“Don’t worry, Private Prude. I’ll handle the raccoon insurgency. I will make him wish for pain and beg for death. Just like I will do to Private David Striker on Breakdown! And after I am done, both the raccoon and Striker will get rabies shots!”

“Is that really necessary?” Tommy asks curiously.

“Of course. Who knows where David Striker has been?”

“Well what about the other things the city wants you to do, Aunt Kim?” Sean asks curiously. Kim sighs and nods her head.

“Alas, we will adhere to the enemy’s wishes and remove the illegal booby traps…” she smirks “...but they said NOTHING about the legal ones…”

“There is such a thing as a legal booby trap?” Marie asks.

“Silence, Private Prude!” Kim exclaims. “Then last, but certainly not least, we shall reinforce personality! The enemy wants us to conform to THEIR idea of normal! But WE WILL NOT BEND THE KNEE TO THEIR WILL! We will maintain our own unique culture and personality! We will not be a damn melting pot!”

“I still have concerns, Kim…” Marie states. Kim ignores her. Finally Marie sighs out of frustration. “...I have concerns…General…”

“You may speak, Private Prude!”

“First of all, this is going to be an incredibly long undertaking. It will take up a lot of your time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kim scoffs “The Other Kim said the same thing. But trust me, the city will grant us an extension.”

“I’m not even talking about that because I’m sure they’ll grant you an extension if you show some progress being made.” Marie states. “I’m just saying if you insist on doing this yourself, or even with all of us, you are going to be distracted. What about your career? What about SCW?”

“Oh, that again.” Kim sighs. “Look, I get it, I’m fighting Davey Boy Striker and I look forward to it. Me and Davey Boy love to maim one another. It’s always good for a few laughs. And I will maim him again if it means earning a shot at the Underground Title. Don’t worry about that.”

“What about CEO Frank?” Marie asks. Kim’s eyes grow cold.

“I already gave him and his children the warning. Leave me alone and I’ll leave them alone. I have no desire to involve myself in some stupid power struggle. All I want is the Underground Championship.”

“Well, if you really do care about getting the title back, and if you care about defeating Striker, you need to focus on that, not this; meaning you should probably hire someone to do this work for you. God knows you have the money, Kim, even if you choose not to live like it.”

“Your sister’s right.” Tommy chimes in. “I already told you, hire some contractors to do the work for you.”

“Fine.” Kim sighs, feeling as if she has been outvoted. “But the labor won’t be some fancy contractors who obviously don’t need the work or the money. The labor will be community driven. People who need the money and need the work.”

[The Matt]

2 of 2
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June 20th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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The early morning sun cut through the city haze, striking the front of the sagging home and making Kimberly Williams’s pink glittery hard hat flare like a signal flare. The orange code violation notice on the front door was still there, but today it was flanked by a gathering of nearly twenty people crowding the sidewalk and the small, weed-choked patch of a front yard. Word traveled fast in this part of Boston, especially when it involved a wealthy, eccentric woman handing out cash wages for manual labor. The crowd was a mix of down on their luck contractors, out of work warehouse handlers, and neighborhood regulars who simply needed enough money to cover rent or a hot meal by the end of the week. They stood around in faded jeans and worn out work boots, holding thermoses of cheap coffee and murmuring quietly among themselves as they waited for instruction. Standing on the top step of the groaning wooden porch, looking down at the assembled crowd like a commander reviewing her troops before crossing a hostile border, was The Woman Scorned herself. She had gone completely tactical for the occasion. She wore a pair of authentic, heavy olive drab military fatigue trousers tucked into high top, scuffed black combat boots that looked like they had seen actual mileage in a swamp. A matching camouflage utility shirt was unbuttoned over a dark undershirt, and she had fastened a thick canvas pistol belt around her waist, packed with empty utility pouches and a heavy heavy duty flashlight. To complete the look, she had applied fresh, dark streaks of charcoal and forest green paint across her cheekbones and jawline, giving her an intense, battle hardened appearance that stood in bizarre contrast to the brilliant pink glitter of her safety helmet.

Right beside her, perched on a sturdy wooden crate that put him at knee height, was Wasley. The oversized penguin plushie sat perfectly straight, his dense core of lead fishing weights keeping him anchored against the morning breeze. Today, he was wearing his miniature yellow plastic hard hat snapped tightly under his felt chin, and Kimberly had tucked a tiny, rolled up piece of graph paper under his stubby black wing to look like a set of master blueprints. His shiny black bead eyes stared blankly out over the crowd of unemployed laborers, offering a silent, heavy authority to the entire operation.

The volunteers looked up at the porch with a mixture of desperate hope and profound confusion. They were used to sketchy foremen and strict city contractors, but they had never been managed by a woman dressed for jungle warfare who treated a weighted stuffed animal as her primary site surveyor. Still, the sight of a thick stack of twenty dollar bills peeking out of Kimberly’s upper fatigue pocket kept everyone perfectly respectful and attentive. Up in the first floor window, the rhythmic, metallic squeak of Caligula’s exercise wheel began to pick up speed. The golden hamster was running with his usual frantic malice, the vibration humming through the old window frame and adding a strange, driving cadence to the morning. Kimberly took a deep, commanding breath, her chest expanding under the military canvas. She adjusted the brim of her pink glittery helmet, her eyes sweeping over the faces of the men and women gathered on the cracked pavement below. She raised her right hand, holding a heavy framing hammer like a ceremonial baton, and waited for the low murmur of the crowd to die down completely before she laid out their tactical objectives for the day.

“Welcome maggots!” Kim snaps angrily, resuming her army general impersonation. “I assume all of you are here because you saw my loyal operative, code named ‘The Other Kim’, also known as Kimberly Lambert, posting on social media about my newest venture codenamed: Community Restoration Initiative!”

The crowd murmurs quietly amongst itself while Kimberly begins to walk amongst them, as if she were a drill instructor. Most normal people would leave right about now. But these people are desperate for cash and hope. They are not sure that The Woman Scorned has hope but they know she has cash and they are willing to endure whatever eccentric adventures she has planned in order to get their hands on some of it.

“Now the enemy would have you believe that you have no chance in society. The enemy would have you believe that you are forgotten. But I do not give a damn what the enemy thinks! I believe in you! I believe that each and every one of you has a spark of great power within you and with great power comes great responsibility…wait, sorry, that’s from Spider-Man…” she snickers, then she points to her own home “...the enemy is also trying to attack me, your great benefactor of the evening. Your general is under attack from the enemy. The enemy wants to destroy this great home! But we won’t let them! What do you say?”

The crowd remains silent for a moment. Kim sighs and pulls out a wad of cash.

“Who is with me?!”

“Sir, yes sir!” The crowd roars in unison. Kim smirks knowingly.

“Right! I will have a permanent home for my Community Restoration Initiative, one where you and anyone else can learn about skills and other vocations that will make you valuable assets in society, skills such as helping to repair and remodel homes for instance, skills that will help you get jobs.”

The crowd again murmurs amongst themselves. A few recognize her from SCW. Others recognize her as the eccentric wealthy woman who hosted the Pajama Ball at the Floreschu Estate months ago.

“This morning you will begin the great task of restoring this home to its former glory…well, maybe not glory, but at least to an acceptable degree so that the enemy will not condemn and destroy it!”

“Aren’t you that professional wrestler?” One guy asks. “Kimberly Williams?”

“Yes, that’s me!” She takes a bow. “Queen of the Death Match! The Woman Scorned! The Wild Card! The One True Queen of Chaos! Future SCW Underground Champion once I get my hands on Asher Hayes but apparently I must get through Davey Boy Striker first.” She winks playfully. “If you do a good job today I might even get you free tickets next time Breakdown comes to Boston.” She pauses momentarily. “Actually, I don’t know how many tickets SCW will let me give out for free, probably not enough for all of you, so let’s just say whoever can get that raccoon out of my attic will get tickets to Breakdown. How’s that sound?”

The crowd mostly cheers, at least those who are fans of hers cheer. Kim nods appreciatively.

“Striker and I shall meet on the field of combat in Houston! I shall fight the enemy on the beaches, I shall not surrender…” she smirks “...sorry, that was Winston Churchill…but point is, yours truly has an Underground maiming session to prepare for, which is why I need all of you to help repair my lovely home! You will be paid handsomely. And remember this is just the beginning. Community Restoration Initiative is my plan to help the entire community, especially the ones society overlooks, abandons, and rejects!”

A low murmur of genuine approval rippled through the gathered crowd. The sheer audacity of the speech, shifting seamlessly from a drill instructor’s bark to comic book references, historical quotes, and professional wrestling promos, had somehow worked. For these men and women, it didn’t matter that their new boss was a millionaire wearing face paint and a glittery safety helmet in the middle of a Boston slum. What mattered was the weight of the twenty dollar bills peeking out of her fatigue pocket, and the rare, intoxicating feeling of being looked at by someone who actually saw them as human beings rather than statistical nuisances. Kimberly turned sharply on the heel of her scuffed combat boot, gesturing toward the wooden crate where Wasley sat. She scooped up the lead-weighted penguin with a grunt of exertion that she quickly masked as a tactical flex, tucking his heavy, solid mass under her arm like a prized quarterback cradling a football.

“General Wasley and I will now conduct a secondary perimeter sweep to coordinate supply logistics! In the meantime, my chief of engineering, Tommy Wasley, will distribute your operational assignments. You take his orders as if they came directly from the high command!”

On cue, Tommy stepped forward from the shadows of the porch. He looked entirely in his element, a massive, comforting presence holding a clipboard and a handful of heavily detailed carpentry pencils. He gave the crowd a slow, reassuring nod, his quiet, working-class authority instantly grounding the high-octane energy Kimberly had just whipped up. The volunteers instinctively gravitated toward him, pulling their tool belts tight and readying their crowbars as he began breaking them down into specialized squads for the foundation, the roofing, and the precarious task of dealing with the attic raccoon.

To anyone watching from the windows of the neighboring apartment buildings, the scene was pure theater. A camo-painted woman walking a heavy plush penguin down a garbage-strewn alleyway while a small army of unemployed laborers dismantled a rotting house behind her. But as Kimberly looked out over the fractured asphalt of her neighborhood, her eyes narrowed with a very real, very human determination. The Community Restoration Initiative was chaotic, highly unconstitutional by city management standards, and completely unhinged in its execution, but it was hers. It was the only way she knew how to fight back against a world that preferred to sweep people like her neighbors under the rug.

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June 26th, 2026
Houston, Texas
On Camera
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A full shot captures a lone woman standing centered in the foreground of a wide, paved plaza outside the Toyota Center in Houston, Texas. The woman is none other than the self-proclaimed Queen of the Death Match herself Kimberly Williams. Kimmy stands centered in the foreground, facing the camera with a cheerful, direct gaze and a slight smile. She is dressed in stylish Western-inspired attire: a brown felt cowboy hat sits on her long red hair, and she wears a brown leather jacket with extensive fringe details along the front seams and sleeves. Underneath the jacket is a dark button-down shirt with Western embroidery and snaps, tucked into dark blue denim jeans held by a brown belt with a visible metal buckle. On her feet are tall, detailed leather cowboy boots with traditional stitching. The Woman Scorned holds a large, plush penguin, her beloved Wasley, firmly against her torso with both hands. The plushie has a black back and wings, a soft white belly, a bright yellow beak, and matching yellow feet that extend outward at the bottom. In the background, the modern architectural facade of the Toyota Center curves gracefully across the frame. The concrete ground of the plaza is marked by faint lines and scattered dark specks, stretching out toward the building. A low concrete barrier wall, a few silver metal crowd control railings, and several short concrete bollards are positioned near the entrance area in the mid-ground.

“Yee Haw, Kimmmaniacs! We’re right here in Houston, Texas, the lone star state, and supposedly everything is bigger in Texas. That’s what I’ve been told, at least. And hell, I think it’s true. I do feel a lot more violent and prone to bloodthirsty destruction right about now. In fact, tomorrow night me and Wasley get to put that whole ‘bigger in Texas’ thing to a test when me and Davey Striker get to see if our Underground Rules Match is far more violent in Texas!” She winks playfully at the camera.

“But I’ll get back to you later, Davey. First I need to address the elephant in the room. No, I’m not referring to Syren’s massive ego. I’m referring to Taking Hold of the Flame! I need to congratulate two people…first, and most obviously, my fellow Revenger, Deann Frost!” She claps her hands furiously. “Congratulations, Deanna! Secondly, I want to congratulate my identical twin sister Marie Jones. The Phoenix has indeed risen and apparently she’s no longer as prudish! I can admit when I’ve been fooled and you legitimately fooled me with that penguin outfit. Congrats, Marie, it’s great to have you back on the team.” Her face grows slightly grim. “Oh and I guess I should congratulate CEO Franky Poo. Your children are doing so well. Your kids might not have won Taking Hold of the Flame but at least you still have the SCW World Championship. Just remember what I said, Franky, I’m not here to declare war on you or your children. If you children leave me alone, I will leave you alone. I don’t particularly have any feelings positive or negative about your little New Order. You leave me alone in the Underground. Let me pursue my goal, my prize, and we will have no problems. Capiche? Speaking of the Underground Title, that brings me to you, Asher…” Kimmy snickers.

“Yeah, yeah, you got me. You eliminated me. Congrats, I suppose. But you had better believe that you are still my number one target. You are still on my radar. I will stalk you…perhaps litterally…until that Underground Title is back in my possession. You may be the Underground Champion but you are not Underground Royalty. I am the Queen of the Underground and going forward I am going to prove it.” She points a finger at the camera.

“Which brings me back to where it all began…you, Davey!” The Woman Scorned playfully waves. “Hi, Davey! I am so looking forward to this bloodbath we are about to engage in tomorrow night in Houston! You and I create beautiful, glorious carnage together! Every single time we step into a ring against one another, we have made Underground history. Hell, Taking Hold of the Flame was no different. We started the battle royal and we made it one of the most violent event in the history of the Flame…at least until some party poopers got in our way…” she shakes her head.

“But no fear, Davey! No one will get in our way on Breakdown! It’s just you and me like old times! You remember, right? I mean, I certainly remember. Breakdown on February 15th, I was the Underground Champion then and you managed to beat me in a non-title Underground war. That earned you my respect and friendship but, more importantly, it earned you a title shot at Retribution. But you couldn’t repeat. I beat you that night to retain my championship. That made us tied up, dead even, so of course that meant we needed a tie breaker. And I even let YOU pick the match. Taking The Leap 2024, The Long Road Out Of Hell. Remember it, Davey?” She nods her head. “I certainly do because that was the night I beat you in your own match to retain my Underground Championship.” She pats Wasley on his head.

“Wasley says that means I got your number. Wasley says that means I beat you twice, back to back, once in your own match, and that means I have nothing to fear from you except for a few more bumps, bruises, bloodshed, and maybe a broken bone or two. But that’s Wasley. He’s a penguin, what does he know, right? You haven’t fought a penguin before, have you Davey? Neither have I.” Kimmy points a finger at the camera again. “But I have fought you before. And Wasley is right to a certain degree; I have beaten you twice. I beat you at your own game. I do know how to beat you in the Underground.” She snickers knowingly.

“But I’m not going to let hubris cloud my judgment…that’s the word of the day, Kimmymaniacs, it means pride…I am not going to let hubris cloud my judgment. I know that you also know how to beat me because you did it once before. Now I could do like all the other cookie cutter wrestlers like to do and argue numbers and math. I beat you twice, you only beat me once, that somehow means something. Numbers mean nothing. Chaos is the ruler of the day. I believe in chaos and chaos means on any given night anyone can beat anybody especially in this case where we both own victories over the other. So no, math doesn’t matter. What does matter is focus.” She grins nastily.

“How focused are you, Davey? Are you focused on me? Or are you distracted by outside tension? Is Gavin and the Gavin Groupies bothering you? Better yet, are you distracted with the CEO and his new pals? If the answer is yes, which I think it is, then you are doomed. Your focus will be split while mine is not. You heard me state it earlier. Hell, I said it in the lead up to the battle royal and in the lead up to my match against Lawler Cutter. I truly have no beef with Franky. None. I don’t care to get involved in whatever power struggle is going on in SCW right now. I only care about one thing right now and that is winning back the SCW Underground Championship.” She snickers.

“You are in my way, Davey. Which means you are my current focus on Breakdown. No one else. Just you.” She playfully waves. “See you soon, Davey! I can’t wait to maim you!”

[Thunderhorse]

(Striker) "The Darkness of You"

OOC: Sorry about this being late, apologies also for dipping into David's darkness just a bit... among other aspects.