Kimberly Williams vs. Syren

[The Matt]

2 of 2
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December 8th, 2025
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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Kimberly Williams had always been the sort of person who approached the world with equal parts reckless confidence and restless unease, and the long drive up the quiet, tree lined Massachusetts roads only sharpened both edges. The early evening haze hung over Boston like a soft veil, tinting everything in a gray blue melancholy. Her little red car, battered, loud, impulsive, like its owner, crunched over the perfectly manicured gravel of the mansion’s winding drive. The estate rose ahead of her like something out of an old ghost story: steep stone walls, long windows glowing pale gold, and a roofline that cut harshly through the sky. Nothing about it felt welcoming, but all of it felt intentional, which in Kimberly’s world was far more concerning. She killed the engine, the sudden silence pressing in on her like a held breath. For a few moments she stayed behind the wheel, staring up at the grand facade. The mansion looked too untouched, too still, as if it had been waiting for her specifically, clearing its throat and straightening its posture the moment her headlights touched it. A prickle crawled up the back of her neck. She could handle chaos, entropy, even the threat of violence, those were familiar companions. But anticipation, that uncanny sense that the world already knew what she was about to do? That was something else entirely.

When she finally stepped out, the air greeted her with a crisp bite, tinged with the faint scent of distant chimney smoke and wet autumn leaves. Kimberly shoved her hands into the pockets of the long emerald green coat she wore over a mismatched tangle of layers. Her hair, an unruly tangle of vibrant red curls, bounced around her shoulders with every sharp, purposeful step toward the front entrance. She moved like someone ready for a fight, though whether with a door, a person, or the building itself was anyone’s guess. The front door towered over her, tall, polished, and built to intimidate. She had already run through a mental checklist of how many kicks it might take to break in, how many seconds she would need to slip inside before security was alerted, whether she’d need to climb in through a window instead. Kimberly thrived on worst case scenarios; they made her feel grounded. So when she turned the handle and found it unlocked, swinging inward with a soft sigh, her stomach tightened with immediate suspicion. It wasn’t just unlocked. It felt… inviting. Expectant. As though someone had opened it ahead of time and stepped back, waiting for her to cross the threshold.

“Well isn’t this something…” Kim’s voice trails off “...the door is open. It should be locked but it’s open. Now if I were a smart Kimmy I would leave because this obviously means no good.” She snickers. “But no one accused me of being smart!”

Inside, the air changed. The temperature settled into something warm and perfumed, like sandalwood and old books. The floors gleamed beneath an ornate chandelier that dripped crystal droplets of light across the entryway. The silence wasn’t empty; it was curated, like a museum after closing. Every shadow seemed placed with intention. Every object seemed too precisely where it belonged. Kimberly felt herself instantly out of place, a colorful splatter of chaos dropped into a perfectly composed painting. She moved deeper into the mansion, her boots soundlessly brushing across an expensive rug that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. The hallway stretched long and elegant, lit by sconces shaped like golden torches. Along the walls, portraits of stern faced ancestors stared down with the judgmental serenity of people who had never experienced a truly bad day in their lives. Kimberly gave them only a passing glance. She wasn’t here for the dead.

“Ok now if I were a mysterious, potentially dangerous real estate agent, where would I be?”

The Woman Scorned is referring to the stranger known only as Lucian. She met him at Breakdown. He claimed he operated out of right here in Boston, her hometown, and he tracked her to Dallas where she had competed on Breakdown against Chris Lawler. That, in and of itself, raised some red flags. Why did he care about her so much that he would track her down as opposed to just waiting for her to return to Boston? Then he had a photograph of a home, this specific home that Kimberly herself now finds herself inside. Something about that home seemed familiar, all too familiar to The Queen of the Death Match. She recognized this place and it frightened her. Nothing ever frightens Kimberly but this did. Who is Lucian and what does he want with her? These are answers Kim needs.

At the end of the hall, the space opened into an opulent living room, grand enough to feel like the heart of the mansion. High ceilings arched above her, carved with designs that looked almost occult. The room was a study in contrast, dark mahogany furniture paired with pale marble floors, heavy drapes framing tall windows that offered a view of the city skyline beyond, shimmering faintly as dusk melted into night. A fire roared in the stone fireplace, casting amber light across the room and sending long, wavering shadows rolling over the furniture. And waiting within that glow, positioned as though he had been sitting there for hours without ever shifting, was the man she had come for.

Lucian.

His hair was jet black, styled with an ease that suggested either wealth or vanity, and his suit was impeccably tailored, absorbing the firelight in rich, dark tones. He sat with the sort of posture that suggested control was less a choice and more an inherent trait. Even from across the room, Kimberly could tell he had known exactly when she would arrive, exactly how she would enter, exactly what expression would flicker across her face when she saw him. The room felt smaller with him in it. Tighter. More deliberate. As if everything in the mansion had been arranged around this moment, around her stepping into the lion’s den with her heartbeat quickening and her mind racing in a dozen directions at once. Kimberly paused at the threshold of the living room, absorbing the scene, feeling the weight of whatever she had just walked into settling over her like a velvet shroud.

“Ah, there you are.” Lucian says, his voice an aura of arrogance, confidence. “You had me concerned. I thought you had lost your way. Then again, I do think you have lost your way, if you catch my drift.”

“Nah, not me.” Kim shakes her head. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“That remains to be seen.” Lucian motions to a comfortable sofa by a lovely fireplace with a marble mantle. “Please, have a seat. We have much to discuss.”

“I’d rather stay standing.” Kimberly says stoically. “It’s easier to defend myself if I’m already on my feet.”

“True but you can believe me when I say that I am not going to hurt you.” He smirks. “At least physically.”

“Forgive me for not buying that.” Kim’s usual jovial tone is not present, not in the slightest. She feels threatened and her tone reflects that. “Back in Dallas you showed me a photograph of this place, a place that is very special to me but not for the right reasons.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Kim remarks. “So tell me, do you even know where the hell we are?!”

“Of course but first you tell me, do you know who I am?”

“I know you are a realtor.” She remarks. “You are either a lousy one or a corrupt one at that if you think you’re going to sell this place because it’s not for sale.”

“You sound so sure of yourself.”

“Because I know whose home this is!” Kim snaps angrily. “This home belonged to Emma Floreschu, MY late guardian, and she left it to me in her will! So it belongs to me!” She points a finger at Lucian. “So how did you come to learn about this place? Come to think of it, how the hell did you get inside?! And tell me who are you…really?!”

“Well, Ms. Williams, you are indeed a brilliant young woman, as brilliant as advertised.” Lucian says with a sugary sweet tone. “I am a realtor, that much is true, and my real estate connections is how I found you. But I haven’t told you everything about me. You see, I was able to enter this home because your guardian was my late sister.”

Kimberly’s eyes grow wide with surprise as she takes in this information. Lucian snickers and nods his head.

“That’s right, my full name is Lucian Floreschu. Your guardian Emma, your former agent Sorinah, both of whom YOU murdered…they were my sisters.”

“So you’re a Floreschu?” Kim asks. Lucian nods his head. Kim snickers. “Wow! How many of you are running around? You people multiply like rabbits!”

“Thanks to your murderous ways I am the last.” Lucian remarks coldly.

“The last one, huh?” Kim grins evilly. “I never did wipe out an entire family line before. There’s a first time for everything though!”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” Lucian scoffs. “I doubt you have the stomach to do it.”

“Are you ready to bet your life on it?” Kim asks menacingly.

“I would, as a matter of fact. I did my homework before I dared approach you. I know of your reputation and of your body count…not only have you murdered my sisters but you murdered a Mr. Damian Toole, your twin sister’s abusive ex-boyfriend.”

“If you know how dangerous I am then why are you here?” Kim asks with a menacing grin on her face.

“You are dangerous, my sister Emma is responsible for turning you into the psychotic monster you are today. But ever since you reunited with your biological family…the Jones family…ever since you have had that strong desire to fit in with them, to be beloved by society and by the fans, your desire to find love with your boyfriend Tommy, all of this has tamed the beast my sister had created. You are capable of killing me but you won’t because you know that, in doing so, you will let all of those people down. But while you cannot threaten me, I can most certainly threaten you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There is no statute of limitations on murder.” He smiles devilishly. “And I have the evidence to prove that you murdered Damian Tool, my sister Sorinah, and my sister Emma. If that evidence were to see the light of day, it would be enough not just to convict you but you would likely get the death penalty.” He chuckles. “The Trump Administration does enjoy the death penalty.”

There is a long tense pause as Kimberly Williams and Lucian Floreschu stare each other down intensely. The Woman Scorned isn’t sure what to do. She isn’t even sure if there is anything she can do. Finally Kim just sighs, as if admitting defeat.

“So is that what this is about?” Kim asks curiously. “Is this about ruining me?”

“I do not want to ruin you.” Lucian shakes his head. “Quite the opposite. I am here to fulfill my deceased sister's dying wish.”

“Oh God…” Kim rolls her eyes.

“Don’t fret, Ms. Williams. Both of my sisters saw in you as the rightful heir to their legacy. Especially Emma.” He smiles coldly. “Emma forged you into a psychotic beast with the skills to destroy anyone. You were so dark and cruel that you kidnapped your own twin and took her place.”

“Not exactly my best memory.” Kim remarks. “That landed me time in the loony bin.”

“Be that as it may, you were my sister’s favorite to the bitter end. She and Sorinah both wanted you to follow in their footsteps. Thus I shall ensure that you do.”

“And how exactly is that going to happen?” Kim asks.

“You will take your place as my niece. You will work with me to continue Emma and Sorinah’s mission. As long as you play your role and do exactly as I say, I will not turn you over to the authorities.”

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December 12th, 2025
Boston, Massachusetts
On Camera
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The December wind cut across the Boston Common. Most of the leaves had already given up and lay in damp, bruised heaps along the paths, the ones still clinging to the branches rattling like loose teeth. The city had emptied out for the afternoon. The Common, for once, belonged to the gulls and the squirrels and the occasional jogger who looked like he was running from something he couldn’t name.

Kimberly Williams stood alone near the Parkman Bandstand, the weak sunlight catching the copper in her hair and turning it into something dangerously close to fire. She had dressed that morning the way some people armor up for battle: a Boston Red sox road jersey, gray and faded just enough to prove it was real, layered under an old New England Patriots hoodie that had lost its drawstring years ago. Over that, a Bruins winter classic scarf looped twice around her neck. On her head, a slightly crooked Boston Celtics cap. The whole outfit should have looked like a yard sale exploded on her body, but somehow, on Kim, it just looked inevitable, like she’d been born wearing it and the clothes had simply grown with her. In her arms she cradled Wasley, a three-foot emperor penguin plushie who was just as deadly as he was adorable.

“Greetings Kimmymaniacs! I welcome you to my home of Boston, Massachusetts!” She grins from ear to ear. “Do you think I’m overdoing it? I mean, Wasley thinks I might be overdoing the whole hometown hero shtick a bit but I don’t think so. The city of Boston is a city of champions! Just ask the Celtics and the Patriots! Ask Tom Terrific! Drake Maye! We are a city of winners and when the pressure is at its greatest, we always rise to the occasion! It isn’t often that I get to compete in front of my hometown in a match that means so much to me. It isn’t often I get to show my hometown people in person that I am a champion, that I am a winner, just like each and every one of them, that I deserve the right to be called CHAMPION just like the Red Sox, the Celtics, The Bruins, and The Patriots! My match could have landed on either night of Shattered Reality but it happened to land on the night where we will be right here in Boston so you had better believe that I am absolutely ecstatic!”

“The last time I was here in Boston for a match of this magnitude was at Body Heart and Soul 2024, I was stepping up to the plate to challenge James Evans and on that night in Boston I drove an explosive into his eye, beat him to reclaim MY SCW Underground Championship, and helped to bring an end to his little cult The House of James. Tomorrow night at Shattered Reality will be almost as important but for different reasons.” The Woman Scorned pats herself on the chest.

“People look at me and they see one of two things…either a death match psycho or a fun loving entertaining clown…maybe a little bit of both? And y’know, I don’t deny that I am both of those things. I am the Queen of the Death Match. I do love to entertain each and every one of my fans, the Kimmymaniacs. They brought me to the dance, they have stuck by my side through the good times and the bad, when I was at my lowest they brought me back up and reminded me why I do not ever give up. So entertaining the great people who support me is the least I can do. But if you sit there and think that enjoying a little bloodshed and carrying around a stuffed penguin somehow disqualifies me from being worthy of being recognized as one of the best to ever do it then you are wrong. You are dead wrong. And unlike some self-conscious narcissists who need the spotlight, I do not need to prove myself to anyone. I have already proven just how good I am and how I can hang in any damn situation SCW puts me in. I am a former Trios Tournament Winner. I have won every championship this company has to offer except for one and that is the SCW World Championship.” A sinister grin forms across her face.

“Yeah, I think its about time I won THAT particular title and complete the Supreme Championship. I would love to be the one to maim and cripple Cid Turner. I would love to have a lovely reunion with Jimbo Evans! Maybe this time we actually can kill each other? But whether its Cid or whether its Jimbo, I will beat either one of them and become SCW World Champion.” Kimberly frowns. She shakes her head. “But winning a coveted prestigious title belt isn’t the only motivation I have; I have one other driving force that motivates me tomorrow night at Shattered Reality.” The Woman Scorned holds up one finger.

“Syren…” she laughs nastily “...you think the whole damn world revolves around you, don’t you? All you have to do is whine and cry enough, shout loudly enough, remind anyone who will listen that your name is Syren and you think you will eventually get what you want. I suppose it works sometimes. I mean, how is it that SCW forgot all about that agreement you had with Xander that you would have to win ten straight matches before you were to ever be back in the world title conversation? I seriously doubt that I am magical opponent number ten and yet here we are, where you can earn a title shot by just beating me. Your egregious sense of entitlement makes me want to puke but what pisses me off even more about you is how the rest of the world is just supposed to forgive and or forget all about the crimes you committed in the past! We’re supposed to just believe you are a changed person! You are good Syren now!” She shakes her head.

“Bullshit.”

“Unlike you I am no hypocrite. I do not run from my past, I do not try to hide it, I do not try to make people forget about my past. I know I am a monster but I do not pretend to be anything else. You are just a wolf in sheep’s clothing. You have lied, cheated, and stole your way to the top too many times to count. But your biggest mistake ever was manipulating my family, specifically my sister. I do not like entitled brats like you, I do not hypocrites like you, and I do not like a wolf in sheep’s clothing like you. You may have a lot of people fooled but not me. I see right through you, Syren. Monsters can see other monsters and I can see the monster that you are.”

“My motivation tomorrow night isn’t just to earn a shot at the SCW World Title and get that chance to earn Supreme Title status. Tomorrow night is my duty, my obligation to SCW and every single one of my Kimmymaniacs to make sure that you get nowhere near the SCW World Title. CHBK, out of obvious bias and favoritism towards you, is gifting you an opportunity that you do not deserve. So I have to do everything within my power to make sure you do not get the chance.”

“Do you want to know how serious I am, Syren? Do you want to know how badly that I want this title shot, not just for myself but also to make sure you don’t get it? I am so god damn serious that I am going to bring out that dark side of my soul. I am going to dig down deep and unleash that devil inside of me, that devil incarnate. Because the happy go lucky fan friendly Kimmy isn’t willing to do what is necessary. The devil, however, she is willing to do whatever it takes to make sure TWO very specific things happen tomorrow night at Shattered Reality…” she holds up two fingers.

“One, I will beat you and become the number one contender to the SCW World Title. And TWO, I will maim you, break your god damn neck if I have to, just to make sure you never again threaten SCW.”