Dawn Lohan & Polly Playtime vs. Kimberly Williams & Shaun Cruze

[The Matt]

1 of 2
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April 7th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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The living room barely qualified as a room at all. It felt more like a stubborn structure that had refused to collapse for just one more year, held together by habit, grit, and whatever loyalty old wood could muster. The walls carried the faded ghosts of paint jobs that were never quite finished. Patches of discoloration climbed unevenly toward the ceiling, meeting water stains that had long ago dried into pale brown shapes. The floorboards creaked with almost every step, warped slightly from age and neglect, their varnish rubbed away in places where countless shoes had passed over them. The furniture was a mismatched collection of survivors; a sagging old couch slumped in the middle of the room, its cushions slightly uneven and its fabric worn down to a soft, fuzzy texture in the spots where people sat most often. The armrests bore faint imprints of elbows and hands, and the back cushion never seemed to stay fully upright, always drooping to one side as though exhausted. A thrift store coffee table stood in front of it, scarred with rings, chips, and scratches that told a long history of hasty meals, forgotten cups, and dropped objects. A single lamp with a crooked shade provided most of the light, its bulb humming faintly. Yet, despite the cracks and stains and mismatched everything, the room felt unmistakably lived in. It felt real, comfortable, and utterly…chaotic, just like Kimberly Williams likes it. Far removed from the life of luxury certain people had been trying to pose upon her.

Along the far wall sat a small metal hamster cage perched on an old side table. Inside, Caligula the hamster ruled his tiny kingdom with wild eyed enthusiasm. His bedding was freshly changed, though some of it had already migrated into a messy little nest tucked into one corner. The wheel squeaked loudly every time he used it, making a rhythmic chirping sound that echoed through the otherwise quiet house. A few chewed cardboard tubes and half buried pellets completed the proud chaos of his domain. Beside the couch, leaning partially against it, sat the absurd and unmistakable presence of Kimberly’s beloved, yet deadly, plushie pal Wasley. The enormous penguin plushie looked like it had once been intended for a child’s bedroom but had long ago been claimed by a grown woman with questionable priorities and even more questionable ideas about self defense. The plushie’s bright black and white body, wide eyes, and cheerful stitched beak masked the fact that it was absurdly heavy. The lead weights Kimberly had discreetly inserted gave it both a surprising heft and a comedic air of danger. Its soft flippers rested against the floor like limp arms, and its large body slouched lazily against the couch, as if also living out its days in this beat up home by choice.

Kimberly Williams fit the room perfectly, almost as if it had been designed around her spirit of chaos rather than the other way around. She wore jeans that had been through hell and back, the fabric softened with age, the knees faded and lightly frayed. Her shirt was an oversized heather gray long sleeve shirt, the kind that swallowed her frame a little and hung loosely off one shoulder with accidental charm. Her red hair was uncombed, falling around her face in disorganized waves. Her feet were bare, toes curled slightly against the cool floorboards. Her boyfriend, Tommy Wasley, stood a few feet away, surveying the room with that familiar mix of resignation, affection, and amusement that seemed to define his relationship with Kimberly’s lifestyle choices. He was taller than her by a noticeable margin, lean with a bit of wiry strength in his build. He wore old basketball shorts and a faded Boston sports tee that had clearly been washed so many times the logo barely resembled itself anymore. His dark hair was tied back in a small knot at the base of his neck, not because he cared about style but because it kept the strands out of his eyes. They both looked strangely right in the room, as if wealth and luxury had always been a costume they wore for the rest of the world. Here, Kimberly’s shoulders had dropped, her breath came easier, and even the chaotic glitter in her eyes seemed brighter. Tommy looked at ease in a quieter way, the kind of comfort that came from letting go of expectations and simply being where he was wanted.

“You certainly seem to be in a much better mood.” Tommy says as he approaches The Woman Scorned, who happens to be laid out on the sagging couch. A wild smirk is etched across her lovely face. When he reaches the couch and notices Kimmy still not moving, he chuckles. “May I?”

“Since you asked soooo nicely!” Kimberly swings her legs over the side and sits up, giving Tommy room to sit down next to her, which he does and then wraps an arm around her shoulder.

“But seriously, Kimmy, you have been in much better spirits ever since Lucian disappeared. But now you’re practically beaming.”

“Hush.” Kim states sternly. “I don’t beam. But yes, I am very happy to be back here in something more grounded. More real. More…ME!” She declares happily. Tommy chuckles.

“I won’t try to pretend that this is my first choice and I gotta admit, this is a rather rough neighborhood, but I’ll adapt, because I just want to be wherever you are.”

“Awwww how sweet!” Kimberly exclaims. “But you are making Caligula jealous. Right, Caligula?”

“Shaddup ya hot piece of ass!” ‘Caligula’ says, but in reality it is Kimmy speaking on behalf of the hamster. Kim feigns shock.

“How rude of you, Caligula!”

“Yeah, right, I’m sorry….ya moron.” ‘Caligula’ remarks…but again, it’s just Kimmy. Tommy can’t hold back his laughter.

“Yep, you’re definitely back to normal.”

“Hey!” Kim shakes her head. “Never EVER accuse me of being normal. That is insulting.”

“Ok, you got me there.” Tommy smirks. “I mean, most people would think choosing to live here rather than that enormous Floreschu estate is crazy. And come to think of it, attacking both Dawn Lohan and Selena Frost on the same night might be pretty insane too.”

“See? Now you’re getting it!” Kim says, grinning from ear to ear. “But seriously, they asked for it.”

“Becase of Deanna?”

“Deanna Frost is my fellow Revenger and we Revengers gotta stick together! Revengers Resemble!”

“Isn’t that Revengers Assemble?”

“Nah,” she shakes her head “it’s like I told Dawnie on social media, I can’t risk being sued. I can’t afford to pay the royalties to you know who.” She winks playfully.

“You probably could…”

“Yeah but I don’t want to. Just like I don’t really want to have to maim Dawnie on Breakdown.” She sighs. “I mean, it’s fun when her sister Abi and I maim each other. But Dawnie is different. I don’t think she likes that kind of fun. And then of course I have to listen to Polly for the umpteen-millionth time try to explain that I’m a nepo baby despite the fact that I had already broke into the business on my own under a different name and won titles while my mom still thought I was dead.” She grins from ear to ear. “May I murder her please?”

“Polly?!”

“Yes!”

“No.” Tommy shakes his head. “I can’t have you going to prison, babe. Just win the match, ok?”

“Awww you’re no fun.” She sighs. “Oh well…maybe Shaun Cruiserweight will let me murder them?”

“You can talk with Cruze about that when the time comes.” Tommy says. “But maybe avoid all the murder talk, eh? For now let’s just focus on the good. The positives. You are happy again. You are yourself again.”

“I am.”

Kimmy sighs with a sense of relief. The entire situation involving Lucian Floreschu had been getting to her. As much as she tries to hide it, the pressure was getting to her. Lucian had been slowly but surely influencing her. She needed to get rid of him but she didn’t want to murder him. Despite her tough talk, she does not want to murder ever again. Lucky for Kimberly, her mother did the deed for her. Angelica Jones got rid of Lucian Floreschu and hid the body where no one will ever find it. They concocted the story that he returned to Romania. Lucian already partially set himself up for this fall; he had already legally named Kimberly as his heir so nothing would look suspicious if and when he ever disappeared, so that she could take over everything from him, including control over the Floreschu Estate.

“I’m glad you found a good use for that great big mansion, though.” Tommy says, referring to the Floreschu Estate. “I mean, I know you didn’t care for it very much, but it was a beautiful place and it would have been a shame to see it go to waste.”

“Uh-huh, but if I’m being totally honest here, I’m just doing it to keep The Other Kim happy.”

“The Other Kim…” Tommy looks confused for a very brief moment before the sense of realization hits him “...oh, you mean the real estate agent?”

“Yeah, her.” Kim nods her head. She was all panicky about losing it and…”

Before The Queen of the Death Match can even finish her thought, a knocking at the door interrupts. Both Tommy and Kimberly turn towards the sound and they frown, both look confused. Tommy speaks first.

“Were you expecting anyone?”

“Nope…” she shakes her head “...but it’s probably my family.”

“How do you know?”

“Because none of the booby traps were set off and they are the only ones who know where they are located.”

“Wait…you put the traps back up?” Tommy asks. Kim snickers and nods her head.

“Yep!”

Tommy sighs with disbelief. Kimberly leaps to her feet first, eager to go see who she expects to be one of her sisters, or maybe her mother. She quickly speeds away while Tommy rushes, but fails, to keep up. The Woman Scorned is already out of the living room, down the short hall, and to the front door and has the door opened before Tommy can even catch up. Kimberly is shocked at what, or rather who, she sees. It isn’t a sister and it isn’t her mother. It isn’t family of any sort.

It is a man who looks like he belongs in a neighborhood like this; rough and sketchy with a stained green army t-shirt, denim jeans that have been torn and faded over time, and simple plain sneakers. He has short brown hair and despite appearing to be young, perhaps in his thirties, his hair is already thinning on top.

“Good afternoon.” He says politely. Kimberly tilts her head to one side and frowns.

“Ok, I admit, I am impressed because you are the first crook to get past my booby traps.”

“I am not a crook…” he pauses “...wait, traps?”

“Yes, traps, and you are a crook. I can see it in your crooked eyes.”

“I had several eye surgeries as a kid.”

“Oh.” Kim shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. I have a penguin inside and I know how to use it!”

“Uh, maybe I should come back later…” the man laughs uncomfortably. But before he can leave, Tommy steps forward to be an intermediary of sorts.

“Don’t mind my girlfriend. Kimmy here is fun once you get to know her.”

“I’m a barrel of laughs!” Kim insists, grinning from ear to ear.

“My name is Tommy. Tommy Wasley.” He extends his hand and the man reluctantly accepts the handshake. “And this is Kimberly Williams.”

“It is nice to meet you both.” He says. “My name is Shane Ball.”

“Baldy!” Kim exclaims randomly.

“I am not bald!” Shane insists, placing a hand on top of his head self-conciously.

“I never said you were.” Kimmy snickers. “It’s just a nickname I gave you. You are Baldy now.” She winks playfully.

“Oh…” again Shane laughs uncomfortably.

“So what can we do for you, Shane?” Tommy asks.

“Well, for starters will you…either of you…answer this question; why would someone as wealthy as you want to live in a rough crime ridden neighborhood like this?”

“Who said we were rich?” Kim asks curiously.

“I’m not as dumb as you think.” Shane says. “I know you, Kimberly, and not just from your career as a professional wrestler. Your story is an incredible one…no outside help from your family, hell, you were practically abandoned by your family, yet despite it all you managed to make a successful career for yourself. You are now using real estate to help provide nicer housing to poor people who need it. It’s a noble thing you are doing and, let’s face it, you two can easily afford better than this neighborhood.”

“You’re right, I could afford to live somewhere else.” She nods her head. “And I tried. I tried living in an upper scale yet still somewhat modest place in a nice little community. I ended up going to war with the Homeowner’s Association. Most recently I tried living in a mansion. It made me feel like a fake, like a fraud.”

“So what brings you here?” Shane asks.

“This place keeps me grounded. It reminds me of the reality of what most people have to live with outside of the protection of wealth.”

“Wow, that’s deep.” Tommy says.

“Thanks, babe!” Kim exclaims happily.

“Anyway…” Shane chimes in “...unlike you, who CHOOSE to be here, I live here because I have no choice. I cannot afford to live anywhere else.”

“Oh. Well I could help with that.” Kim states. “I could talk to my partner in real estate and…”

“No.” Shane shakes his head. “I’m not asking for charity. I’m fine living here. But it IS a high crime area and despite what you may think, you may not be ready for life in this tough area.”

“I used to live here, Baldy.” Kim winks playfully. “I’m ready. Besides, I have tons of traps out here in my yard. I dare anyone try to break in. They likely won’t make it out alive.”

“She doesn’t mean that.” Tommy says, laughing lightly. He then turns to Kim. “You DON’T mean that, right?”

“Maybe we should let Baldy test that theory?”

“I don’t want to test your traps.” Shane says nervously. “I’m sure they are quite…impressive. I just stopped by because I want to form a neighborhood watch and I think both of you would be great for it.”

“You want me? Crazy Kim? To be part of a neighborhood watch?” Kim snickers knowingly. Tommy rolls his eyes.

“Oh Lord…”

“You got it!” Kimmy jumps up and down playfully. “Kimlock Holmes, the world’s greatest detective, is back on the case!”

“Kimlock Holmes?” Shane asks nervously. Tommy chuckles.

“You really did it, Shane-O.”

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April 8th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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Night had settled unevenly over the rough edge of Boston, casting the streets in a patchwork of shadows that stretched long and uneasy across cracked pavement. The neighborhood always felt different after dark. Old streetlights flickered in half hearted attempts to stay alive, their cones of light weak and trembling, leaving most of the sidewalks in a murky haze. Trash bins were lined along the curb, many dented or missing lids entirely. Amid all of this, Kimberly Williams walked with the kind of chaotic confidence that belonged only to her. She moved down the sidewalk with a bounce in her step, as if she were strolling through a theme park rather than a neighborhood with more crime reports than streetlights that actually worked. She wore a pair of loose cargo pants with frayed pockets, the fabric faded from years of use. Her boots were scuffed and sturdy, the soles thick enough to handle whatever the streets threw at her. On top she wore a sleeveless dark hoodie, the hood down and the zipper partially undone to reveal an old tank top beneath it. Her red hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail that swayed behind her with each step, wild strands escaping to frame her face. But the most unmistakable part of her ensemble was snug on her right hand. A thick dark brown glove, reinforced at the knuckles, each finger tipped with a sharp metal blade that glinted in the faint streetlight. Kimberly had named this nightmare creation Betty White for reasons known only to her. Each movement caused the blades to flash in quick silver arcs, delicate and deadly at the same time, and she flexed her fingers periodically as if warming up her unusual companion. There was no malice in her expression, only an amused anticipation, the kind of mischievous spark that made it hard to tell whether she was ready to stop trouble or cause it.

Tommy Wasley walked beside her, a steady contrast to her unpredictable energy. His build was broader, more solid, like someone who could hold his ground even when everything around him fell apart. His thick beard framed his jaw, giving him a rugged look that fit the neighborhood better than he ever admitted. He wore a simple pair of dark jeans and an old hooded sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hands were tucked into the pockets, though the swing of his shoulders and the slow way he scanned their surroundings made it clear he was alert. His gait was calm but deliberate, a quiet guardian presence at Kimberly’s side. A black knit beanie covered most of his hair, and the dim glow of the streetlights revealed lines of worry etched faintly into his expression. He was not nervous in a fearful way. It was the kind of concern that came from watching someone you cared about wield sharp objects with enthusiasm while wandering into places where sharp objects were sometimes a necessity.

“I’m still surprised you wanted to be a part of this neighborhood watch, Kimmy.”

“You should know better than to be surprised at anything I do.” Kim says with a wicked grin on her face.

“Good point. But still, wouldn’t you rather be training for your tag match on Breakdown? Maybe even reach out to Cruze? I mean, you and him are tag partners and yet you don’t have great history with him.”

“Now you sound like my mom.”

“Hey, it’s sound advice.”

“Trust me, Shaun Cruiserweight and I will get along wonderfully!” Kim insists. “Besides, this is sorta like training…”

“How?” Tommy asks incredulously. “How is any of this like training for a match against Dawn and Polly?”

“If we see someone sneaky or shady, I’ll fight them first and ask questions later!” Kim declares joyfully. Tommy sighs.

“You DO realize that is NOT what a neighborhood watch does, right Kimmy?”

“I know but I don’t really care.”

Their breath formed faint clouds in the cool night air as they walked, their footsteps echoing in the empty street. Occasionally they passed a house with a porch light on, the glow soft and tired, illuminating rails with peeling paint and steps that had not been repaired in years. In other yards, barking dogs announced their presence from behind chain link fences. Despite the roughness of it all, Kimberly seemed completely at ease. This was her comfort zone, far from polished walls and expensive floors. She thrived in chaos, and the dark streets of her neighborhood felt almost welcoming to her. Tommy stayed close, ever the grounding force, the quiet one keeping pace with the storm beside him. Together they made an unusual pair for a neighborhood watch. But in this part of Boston, unusual was exactly what worked.

“Wait…” Tommy says, pointing “...see that?”

“Huh?” Kim looks. She spots a figure in the shadows sneaking around in someone’s yard. “Yeah! A crook! He’s trying to break in!” The noise Kimberly makes accidentally startles the would-be-thief, sending him running for the hills.

“We should call the police.” Tommy says.

“Yeah, YOU do that.” Kim says, a wicked grin forming on her face. “I’m gonna take a more direct approach!”

“Kimmy, don’t…”

His cries fall upon deaf ears. Kimberly runs off, chasing after the mystery man, all the while waving Betty White menacingly. The Woman Scorned cackles nastily.

“Run, run, as fast as you can! I’ll catch you I’m the Gingerbread man!” She waves her razor glove in the air. “I’ll get you my little pretty, and your little dog too!”