Kimberly Williams vs. Chris Lawler

[The Matt]

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May 30th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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After sitting around backstage in catering with little to no action during the Fans Choice edition of Breakdown, “The Woman Scorned” Kimberly Williams once again finds herself in a tough situation. The more imminent problem comes from Chris Lawler. After assisting with the beating and battering of COO CHBK, another in a string of attacks on behalf of CEO Frank Delatosso, Kimberly Williams now ends up facing Lawler in an Underground Rules Match. On the one hand, the Underground is Kimberly’s domain. It is her home turf. She is the Queen of the Underground with the record of seven Underground Title victories. Very few can say that they are prolific at the Underground Match as the self-proclaimed Queen of the Death Match. Yet, on the other hand, Kimberly knows full well that with anything goes in an Underground Rules Match, that means Frank’s other stooges and allies will likely be watching Lawler’s back, perhaps even leading to Kimmy having to deal with Polly Wants A Cracker for the millionth time. Still, it is Underground Rules and it is chaos, and the one true Queen of Chaos lives, breathes, and dies chaos. She will not make excuses but she will also not let up until she puts Lawler down and puts him in his place.

The other situation in SCW Kimberly must keep in mind is coming up real soon; The Woman Scorned has officially entered the Taking Hold of the Flame battle royal. Despite never having won the event, Kimberly has always had spectacular showings in the event. Kimberly also knows that a victory in the event could get her a shot at the SCW World Championship. While her primary goal is recapturing the SCW Underground TItle, Kimmy would never look past an opportunity to possibly win her third career world title, her first ever SCW World Title, and be in the main event of Rise To Greatness.

First on the agenda, however, is another matter altogether; the neighborhood watch.

It was ironic, odd that the moment Kimberly Williams moved back into her old, run down, barely liveable home in one of the rougher, crime-ridden parts of Boston, she was approached by a neighbor named Shane Ball. He fit the stereotype of nosey neighbor, wanting to get involved in everyone’s business, and he wanted Kim of all people to join a neighborhood watch he had started. Who in their right minds would want Kimberly to participate in that? Obviously he doesn’t know The Woman Scorned that well. Still, Kimberly figured it might be fun for a good laugh or two and decided to join, declaring its ‘Commander in Chef’.

No, there were no official votes held.

The late May air in Boston’s lower-end neighborhoods didn’t cool things down so much as it just made the humidity heavy and sour, smelling of old asphalt, rotting garbage, and the distinct, metallic tang of industrial exhaust. Night had settled over the block like a damp wool blanket. The streetlamps were mostly dead, victims of either stray rocks or the city’s general reluctance to send maintenance crews into a zone where utility trucks were viewed as mobile hardware stores waiting to be stripped. The few bulbs that still flickered cast a sickly, orange glow over cracked sidewalks and the rusted skeletons of abandoned sedans. Marie adjusted the strap of her canvas crossbody bag, her sneakers crunching softly against a scattering of broken glass. She looked every bit the practical, neighborhood-watch volunteer in her dark jeans and a plain navy blue windbreaker. Next to her, her son, Sean Connor Jones, walked with the slightly awkward, long-limbed stride of a teenager who had recently shot up six inches but hadn't quite figured out where his center of gravity was anymore. He wore a gray hoodie, the hood down, and a pair of worn-out basketball shoes. He looked alert, his eyes darting toward the dark alleyways and the shadows stretching between the triple-deckers, but he also looked like he desperately wished he was anywhere else. Then there was Kimberly.

To anyone looking out a third-story window, the trio would have looked entirely absurd, primarily because Kimberly looked ready to drop out of a Huey helicopter into the Mekong Delta rather than stroll down a residential street in Massachusetts. While her identical twin sister had chosen sensible street clothes, Kimberly had gone full tactical. She wore heavy, olive-drab combat fatigues that looked authentic right down to the reinforced knees, tucked tightly into laced-up, scuffed black combat boots that clicked with an aggressive, rhythmic thud against the pavement. Her face was a masterclass in guerrilla warfare cosmetics: thick, oily streaks of forest green, muddy brown, and charcoal black paint bisected her features, obscuring the identical match to Marie’s face underneath. Even her hair was slicked back and secured tightly, ensuring not a single strand would betray her position in the shadows of this alley. Kimberly was, by any traditional metric, a very wealthy woman. She had the kind of bank account that could easily secure a sprawling estate. Instead, she chose to live right here, in the thick of the squalor, renting a place where the plumbing hissed like an angry cat and the neighbors routinely threw furniture out of the windows. To Kimberly, luxury was a trap that softened the mind and rotted the spirit. She insisted that living among the cracked pavement and the sirens kept her grounded, forcing her to look reality in the eye every single morning. If that meant she had to occasionally dodge a stray shopping cart or a sketchy character on her way to the corner store, she considered it a fair price to pay for maintaining her edge.

Sean shifted his weight, his eyes lingering on the weapon his aunt was currently cradling in her right hand. It wasn't a firearm, nor was it a standard-issue nightstick. It was a heavy-duty, commercial-grade plastic spray bottle, the kind usually filled with window cleaner or industrial degreaser. Inside, however, was a thick, viscous, aggressively red liquid that seemed to cling to the plastic walls of the bottle. Kimberly had spent the previous afternoon cooking down a batch of ghost peppers, straining the seeds, and mixing the volatile capsicum juice with a dash of vinegar and oil to make it stick. The faint, stinging aroma of the concoction actually seemed to radiate through the nozzle, a silent warning of absolute agony for anyone foolish enough to cross her line of sight. The three of them turned the corner onto a particularly grim stretch of the avenue. A neon sign for a long-abandoned dry cleaner buzzed erratically, casting a rhythmic, pale blue light over a pile of discarded mattresses. A stray dog scavenged through an overturned plastic bin a few yards away, its ribs showing through its mangy coat before it caught wind of Kimberly’s ghost pepper blend and quickly trotted off into the darkness. Kimberly slowed her pace, dropping into a slight, knees-bent crouch that she must have seen in a tactical manual. She raised a hand, flat and firm, signaling Marie and Sean to halt behind a rusted chain-link fence. Marie just sighed, putting her hands in her pockets, while Sean looked around nervously, his teenage bravado warring with the very real atmosphere of a Boston neighborhood that did not take kindly to strangers, let alone strangers dressed like commando operatives.

“Follow my lead, maggots!” Kim growls under breath. “The enemy is right up ahead, I can smell their fear…or their deodorant, I’m not sure which…”

“Pretty sure this is just a neighborhood watch, not war games.” Marie says.

“War is NOT a game, maggot!” Kim declares. “Our enemy is real and our enemy fights in the shadows! Our enemy fights in mysterious ways! We must be ready for anything!”

“Whatever you say, Kimmy.” Marie smirks. “I’m just proud of you for being part of a neighborhood watch. This is a great way to give back to the community, to contribute to its safety.”

“That’s me, alright! I’m a damn saint!” Kim winks playfully. “In fact, I hear the Vatican is already planning to canonize me.”

“You can’t be canonized until after you’re dead.”

“Oh.” Kim shrugs her shoulders. “Well after seeing that ol’ Lawler Cutter clearly has the backing of Franky, it is highly possible that I might die on Breakdown.”

“Don’t you dare say that.” Marie states. Kim snickers.

“Don’t worry, this is Underground Rules and I am The Queen of the Death Match. If I go down, I will certainly take Lawler Cutter with me.”

“Normally I don’t condone your kind of violence, Kimmy, but this is different. Give them hell. Give Lawler hell. Send a message to that group of thugs. I may not be CHBK’s biggest fan but he didn’t deserve that.”

“Awwww,” Kim hugs Marie tightly “you are so sweet when you are righteously indignant!”

“And you are so sweet for doing good deeds like like helping Deanna and wanting to avenge CHBK.” Marie points out. “Even this neighborhood watch, such a good deed. Although I have to admit, being a part of a neighborhood watch in such a rough part of the city is rather dangerous. You’re either crazy or seriously brave if you’re not afraid right now.”

“Maybe a little of both?” Kim smirks knowingly. “I mean, I am insane, but c’mon, Marie, you know me better than anyone. I have murdered people before. The criminals out here should be afraid of ME, not the other way around.”

“You make a good point.” Marie laughs. “You’re right, though, I do know you, and I know how you love to come packing with a weapon. Do you have any?”

“Of course!” Kim proudly declares. Marie sighs and rolls here eyes.

“Just try not to kill anyone. This is a neighborhood watch, we don’t need to get involved. If we see something, we report it to the police.”

“Party pooper.” Kim sticks her tongue out at Marie. “But don’t worry your prudish little head off. I did bring a weapon but it’s entirely non-lethal. But they’ll be in serious pain.”

“Oh?” Marie asks. Kim produces the can of ghost pepper hot sauce and waves it in front of Marie’s face.

“Ghost pepper hot sauce!” Kim laughs nastily. “They won’t know what hit them! Right Sean?”

Kim waits for Sean to answer but hears nothing. It is at that moment that Marie starts to panic. Kim looks around for Sean but finds nothing and no one. Kim looks at Marie’s face, which has gone pale.

“He wandered off…” she says quietly “...my son wondered off in this neighborhood…alone…”

“It’ll be fine, Marie.”

“Like hell it will!” Marie exclaims. “You said it yourself, this place is crime ridden! How can he be safe?!”

“Don’t be like our mother right now, all overprotective and shit. We’ll find him and take care of him. Trust me.”

Trust me doesn’t work for the overprotective Marie Jones. Panic hit Marie like a physical blow, a sudden tightness in her chest that made the sour smell of the neighborhood feel suffocating. She spun around, her eyes frantically sweeping the dark recesses between the triple-deckers, but the shadows here were deep and unforgiving. Beside her, Kimberly instantly shifted into high alert. The tactical paint on her face hardened as her jaw set, her eyes narrowing into slits as she scanned the avenue like a hawk hunting in the brush. She didn't waste time with frantic whispers; she simply gripped the handle of her heavy-duty spray bottle a little tighter, her combat boots making zero sound as she pivoted on her heel to track the most likely path a teenager might carelessly wander down.

They moved quickly and silently, cutting through a narrow gap between two apartment buildings where the scent of stale beer and damp brick was overwhelming. Marie’s heart hammered against her ribs, her practical windbreaker swishing softly with every urgent step. She kept her eyes low, looking for the familiar gray hoodie, while Kimberly kept her gaze elevated, watching the corners and the blind spots. It was Kimberly who saw them first.

At the mouth of a dimly lit alleyway half a block ahead, the weak orange glow of a streetlamp cut through the gloom just enough to illuminate two figures. One was undeniably Sean. His tall, lanky frame was tense, his shoulders hunched in a defensive posture that Marie recognized instantly. Standing far too close to him was a shorter, broader man enveloped in an oversized black hoodie, the fabric swallowing his features beneath a deep shadow. Sean was backing away, his hands held up in front of his chest in a universal gesture of rejection. He was trying to create distance, his sneakers twisting on the gravel as he shook his head emphatically, but the man in the hoodie was persistent, stepping forward to match Sean’s retreats and reaching out a hand to grab at the boy's sleeve.

“Hey! Get away from me!” Sean exclaims, fear clearly evident in his voice.

Kimberly didn't hesitate. The eccentric wealth and odd habits vanished, replaced entirely by the fierce protectiveness of an aunt who spent her free time preparing for worst-case scenarios. With a sudden, explosive burst of speed, she launched herself forward. The heavy combat boots struck the asphalt with powerful, rhythmic thuds as she broke into a full sprint, her olive-drab fatigues cutting through the night. The sound of her approach echoed off the brick walls. The man in the hoodie snapped his head around, his eyes widening as he took in the terrifying sight of a woman in full Vietnam-era jungle camouflage and war paint charging directly at him. Sensing an immediate and bizarre threat, the man abandoned his pursuit of Sean, spun on his heel, and bolted down the alleyway.

“Get away from my nephew, creep!” Kim exclaims. “You messed with the wrong psychopath!”

He was fast, but he was wearing baggy clothes and running in the dark. Kimberly, fueled by pure adrenaline and the bizarre thrill of the chase, closed the gap with alarming speed. She didn't yell; she saved her breath for the pavement, her eyes locked onto the retreating back of the oversized black hoodie. The alley ended in a rusted chain-link fence, forcing the man to make a sharp, desperate right turn into a dead-end alcove lined with overflowing industrial dumpsters. Realizing he was trapped, he spun around to face his pursuer, his hands coming up to either fight or push his way past. He never got the chance.

Kimberly planted her left combat boot, skidding slightly on a patch of loose gravel to bring her momentum to a sudden, controlled halt. In one fluid, practiced motion, she raised the commercial spray bottle, aligning the nozzle directly with the open front of the man's hood. Her finger squeezed the heavy trigger twice in rapid succession. A fine, violent mist of pure capsicum devastation erupted from the bottle. The thick, reddish-orange spray caught the man squarely across the eyes, nose, and open mouth just as he gasped in exertion.

The effect was instantaneous. The man let out a strangled, choked shriek that was abruptly cut off as the volatile ghost pepper oils bound to his skin and mucous membranes. He collapsed to his knees, his hands flying to his face as the agonizing, chemical heat took hold. He began to thrash blindly against the brick wall, coughing violently and groaning in absolute defeat, completely incapacitated by a weapon cooked up in a high-end kitchen a few miles away. Marie and Sean quickly rush over to Kimberly.

“He was trying to sell me drugs!” Sean says, pointing an accusatory finger at the hooded man now writhing in pain.

“No drugs for you. Either of you.” Kim smirks. She turns her attention to the hooded man. “But you, you must be the guy who has been selling drugs in the neighborhood, poking around in people’s houses.”

“Just call the police, Kimmy.” Marie insists. “Let them handle this.”

“No way!” She shakes her head. “I have a rare opportunity right now, I can say something I have always wanted to say…to quote that great philosopher scooby do…let’s find out who the monster really is!”

Marie rolls her eyes. Kim grabs hold of the hood and jerks it down off of his face, revealing his identity. Marie and Sean don’t look bothered for they have not seen this man before. Kimberly, however, she is taken by surprise because she has seen him before. This is Shane Ball, the same Shane Ball who had initially created this neighborhood watch and even recruited Kimberly Williams to participate.

“Baldy?!” Kim exclaims. “It’s really you?!”

“Wait, you know this creep Aunt Kim?” Sean asks. Kim nods her head.

“Yup, this guy is the one who started this neighborhood watch in the first place! He is the one who recruited me to join!” She waves her squirt bottle full of hot sauce. “Bet you regret that decision, huh?”

Shane cannot say anything. He is still writhing in pain and agony from the hot sauce to the face. Marie sighs as she pulls out her cell phone.

“I’m going to call the police.”

“Yes, you do that. I’m gonna play with Baldy for a moment.”

Kimberly Williams kneels down next to Shane Ball, who is still in pain. She grins with a hint of mischief on her lovely face.

“Say it, Baldy.”

“Say what?!”

“Say the phrase! The other famous scooby doo phrase…I woulda got away with it too if hadn’t been for you pesky kids!”

“Go to hell!”