Glory Braddock vs. Kemal Yilmaz

[Braddock]

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February 4th, 2026
Miami, Florida
Off Camera
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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.