Kimberly Williams vs. Chris Lawler

[The Matt]

2 of 2
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June 1st, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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The wallpaper in the living room had long since given up its fight against the damp Boston air, peeling away from the plaster in long, brittle curls that resembled shaved cedar. A single overhead bulb, completely bare and coated in a fine layer of gray dust, hummed a low, irritating note that seemed to vibrate right through the floorboards. The room was cold, with rotting sill plates and windows that rattled whenever a heavy truck passed on the avenue below. It was a space that felt less like a home and more like a temporary bunker, which was exactly how Kimberly preferred it. She sat on one end of a sunken tweed sofa, her knees pulled up toward her chest. She was torn loose fitting denim jeans, her feet were bare with flip flops, presumably hers, on the floor, she was wearing a black t-shirt with the image of a penguin embroidered on the front.. On the opposite end of the sofa sat Tommy Wasley. He was a mountain of a man, his burly frame stretching the seams of a faded gray sweatshirt that looked like it had survived multiple decades and at least as many bar fights. A thick, unruly beard, dark and peppered with premature streaks of silver, covered his jaw, blending into a hairline that seemed permanently squished down by the baseball caps he usually wore. Tommy looked entirely out of place in the cramped, decaying room, like a bear that had wandered into a garden shed, yet he leaned back against the rickety frame of the couch with the total relaxation of a man who was thoroughly content with his surroundings. Resting precisely between them on the middle cushion was Wasley, the penguin. Currently, he just sat there, his plastic bead eyes staring blankly at the opposite wall, acting as a bizarre, heavily weighted buffer between the couple.

A sudden, frantic scratching sound broke the heavy silence of the room. In the corner, sitting atop a rusted metal filing cabinet that served as a makeshift end table, was a sprawling plastic hamster cage. Inside, a particularly large, aggressively golden hamster named Caligula was throwing his entire weight into a squeaky plastic exercise wheel. Caligula was a creature of pure, unadulterated malice, possessed of a temperament that perfectly matched his Roman dictator namesake. He didn't run on his wheel for exercise; he ran on it with a frantic, rhythmic desperation that sounded like a miniature factory floor in full production mode, pausing only to glare through the plastic bars with tiny, glinting black eyes before resuming his furious sprint. Tommy shifted his massive weight, the couch springs groaning in protest beneath him. He reached out a thick, calloused hand, his knuckles scarred from a lifetime of manual labor, and absentmindedly patted the top of the penguin’s head. The lead core inside the toy didn't give an inch under his palm, remaining perfectly solid. He looked over at Kimberly, and smiled.

“I still can’t believe that Shane was behind the crime spree, the break-ins, the drugs and the whole lot of it.” Tommy remarks.

“Yeah, the neighborhood watch was his idea of a cover, I guess?” Kim shrugs her shoulders. “He figured he would be able to keep out of trouble if he knew precisely where the neighborhood watch would be at all times. I would compliment him on having a great strategy were it not for one significant error.”

“What’s that?”

“Me!” She grins from ear to ear. “Who in their right minds would give me any serious responsibilities like being part of a neighborhood watch? What’s wrong with him?”

“They say that criminals have to be perfect one hundred percent of the time.” Tommy remarks. “One slip up and they’re done.”

“Who says that?”

“Dunno, to be honest.” He shrugs. “I just heard it on a true crime documentary. But uh, Kimmy?”

“Yeah?”

“Now that the brains behind the crime spree has been locked up, are you going to keep up with the neighborhood watch?”

“I honestly hadn’t thought much about it. I mean, it was created to cover up Shane’s crimes but now? Maybe now it could be put to good use. Besides, I had so much fun blasting Baldy in the face with the hot sauce! I really wanna do it again to another no good criminal! It is a far cry from taking from the community like I used to, am I right?” She winks playfully. Tommy nods his head in agreement.

“I’m glad you want to contribute to the community and all, Kimmy, but I would think you’d want to focus on what’s going down in SCW right now. Taking Hold of the Flame and all…” his voice trails off.

“Oh I will definitely Take Hold of that Flame, Tommy.” Kim says playfully. “They’re gonna have flame resistant socks this time that will make it quite easy! The only thing I gotta worry about is old…and I do mean old…Lawler Cutter himself. But despite whatever allies and buddies he may have, he still stepping into my world, my domain, the Underground, and I intend to maim him!”

The neighborhood outside was beginning its usual afternoon routine. A car sped down the street, its broken muffler roaring like a jet engine before fading into the distance, followed shortly by the distinct, sharp pop of a firecracker, or perhaps something less innocent, a few blocks over. Neither Tommy nor Kimberly even blinked at the sound. They were entirely insulated in their shared, bizarre reality, surrounded by peeling paint, a weaponized stuffed animal, and a tiny rodent harborer of rage, perfectly at peace in the middle of the chaos. But their peace is interrupted by a knocking at the door, an unexpected knocking. Who could be visiting them? The last time they had any visitors it was Shane Ball, the mastermind behind the crime spree in their neighborhood.

“We have guests…”

“Kimmy…” before Tommy can get any further words out, Kimberly has sprung to her feet and bolted towards the front door. She takes the doorknob and yanks on it, pulling it open. Tommy eventually joins her in time to see an overweight man with graying hair. He is wearing khaki pants, nice shoes, and a button up navy blue shirt. He certainly looks out of place for this area of Boston. The Woman Scorned tilts her head to one side and frowns.

“And who might you be?”

“Tim.” He says extending a hand. “I am from Boston’s Central Permitting and Zoning.”

Kimberly studies his hand skeptically, curiously, unwilling to shake it. Something about him seems off. She doesn’t trust this Tim. After all, look at the last random visitor they had? Tommy, always the diplomat, takes the handshake on behalf of them both.

“Tommy.” He says. “And this is my girlfriend Kimberly.”

“Is this your home?” Tim asks curiously.

“Well it’s…”

“Mine!” Kim exclaims with a gleeful grin, interrupting Tommy. “It’s my home. Tommy is just my baby daddy and that penguin over there is the baby.”

Tim looks on befuddled and confused. Tommy chuckles.

“Ignore her, she’s just having fun.” Tommy says. “But, uh, what can we do for you, Tim?”

“Well I hate to be the bearer of bad news but I come on behalf of the city.” Tim begins. “We have found several problems with your property.”

“Nothing is wrong with my property!” Kim folds her arms over her chest, feigning anger. “It’s just misunderstood.”

“The city disagrees.” Tim states. “Severe black mold infestation…”

“Mold has rights!”

“Rat and cockroach infestation…”

“That is not a rat, his name is Caligula and he is a hamster!”

“Accumulation of hazardous junk.”

“Junk, no, hazardous…” Kim sighs “...ok, I’ll grant that it is hazardous. But it was by design! I like having booby traps in my yard. It keeps the human pests away.”

“Lastly, it is an attractive nuisance.”

“Awwww, you think I’m attractive!” Kim winks playfully.

“Uh, Kimmy,” Tommy says quietly “I think he’s being serious.”

“I am being serious.” Tim remarks. “This property needs a serious overhaul. If these issues are not addressed quickly, the city will be forced to condemn it.”

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June 2nd, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
On Camera
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The late afternoon chill of Boston bites sharp against the brick facades. Standing in an alleyway just off the street, Kimberly Williams leans casually against a rusted iron fire escape, completely unfazed by the damp breeze rolling in off the harbor. Her vivid red hair is tied back loosely, a few defiant strands framing her face as the fading New England sun catches the copper tones. She is dressed comfortably for the elements in a distressed, oversized denim jacket over a black t shirt with a penguin embroided on the front, dark skinny jeans, and a pair of worn-in combat boots that look like they’ve kicked a few doors down in their time. Tucked securely under her left arm, as if it’s the most natural accessory in the world for the self-proclaimed Queen of the Death Match, is Wasley. The plush penguin looks slightly weathered from travel but sits snug against her side, its bead eyes staring blankly at the camera lens. Kimberly adjusts her grip on the stuffed animal with an easy, almost chilling familiarity before locking her eyes directly onto the camera.

“I have begged and I have pleaded with people that I want just one little itsy bitsy teeny weeny thing. It isn’t a hard wish to grant, and I think it is very reasonable wish to grant considering. Everyone else on this roster wants the world handed to them on a silver platter. Syren and Selena run around concocting plots and evil plans to become World Champion. Then you have Amelia Nevado selling her soul to be World Champion. You even have Polly Wants a Cracker and Lawler Cutter selling their souls just to remain relevant in SCW.” She winks playfully. “I’ll get back to you later, Lawler.” She then motions to herself.

“But what does moi want? What do I need? It’s quite simple really; other than a shot at the SCW Underground Championship, I just want to be left alone. After dealing with the political warfare between Sasha and Katya D, fighting with then commissioner Shaun Cruiserweight, and ultimately trying to behave around CHBKLMNOP, all I have ever wanted is to be left alone. I really am sick and damn tired of getting caught up in the crossfire of an internal civil war over who runs this damn ship. People seem to insist on me taking a side.” The Woman Scorned shakes her head.

“Newsflash, I am an agent of chaos and I do not intend to take a side in this latest of the never ending civil wars that seem to arise in this promotion. I just want to be left alone to pursue what I really want and what I want at the end of the day, more than anything else, is another shot at the SCW Underground Championship.” Williams points a finger at the camera.

“That brings me to you, Lawler Cutter. You have taken a side in this silly little war; you are firmly on the side of Franky. That’s fine, your prerogative. You are free to do that and I really don’t care. I don’t even care that you choose to associate with Polly Wants A Cracker. But let’s be real, Lawler Cutter. The reason you have cast your lot in with Franky is due to desperation. Ever since you returned to SCW you have tried again and again to prove to the world that you can still go at the level you once did, you have tried to make a lasting impact upon this new generation of SCW talent. And each and every single time you have tried you have failed. You have been struggling to the point that you were on the verge of becoming irrelevant. Your return was being looked at as a joke.” She snickers nastily.

“So in order to salvage your return, you are aligning yourself with CEO Franky Poo. Hell, maybe it will work out for you. I mean, look at you! You already helped take out CHBKLMNOP! But he was an old man, a dinosaur, a relic of a forgotten era. And it took two of you to beat him down. Three if you count Gavin Taylor providing the distraction. How impactful of you! But you have to know that everything won’t work out as perfectly as that; you and I both know CHBKLMNOP will be back at some point and if he doesn’t return, someone will step up to take his place. If you think this gives your new buddy CEO Franky Poo unchecked power in the long term then you are sadly mistaken. What you did was win ONE battle. This war you have put YOURSELF into, all just to make yourself relevant again, that war is far from over. And what happens if your side loses that war? What happens if your pal CEO Franky loses that war?” Kimmy shakes her head. “Your career will be practically over. You will be forgotten again. You will be irrelevant again. Back to catering for you, Lawler Cutter!”

“But it’s like I said, I don’t care about this silly little war you have gotten involved with. I really don’t care who wins. I want to be left alone so I can pursue the SCW Underground Championship and, quite honestly, I can see this match at Breakdown as an opportunity to advance my cause. And don’t think your new pals will be able to help; this is the Underground. The Underground is my domain, my turf, my rules. You can bring an army of ass kissers and beat me down but I keep getting back up and coming for more because you just can’t keep a good psychopath down. I have proven over seven reigns that this Underground Division belongs to me regardless of who has the title!” She points a finger at the camera.

“Oh but you, Lawler Cutter, I remember the last time we met in an Underground Rules Match. I remember telling you that were desperate for validation, desperate to prove that you still belonged. After having failed to capture any other gold you thought the Underground Division would be your path to a championship. I told you right then and there that you had to prove you were worthy of being in my Underground Division but that night at Retribution you proved absolutely nothing to me. You proved that, despite everything you have done, you are still an absolute failure. And I look at you and your pathetic attempts now, and I still see a pathetic failure, I see someone completely unworthy of MY Underground.” She holds up four fingers then puts two of them down, leaving just two fingers remaining.

“This time it’s different. It’s not a four way. It’s just me and you, Lawler Cutter. And I am not acting as a gatekeeper to see if you belong in the Underground. I definitely don’t see you as some ridiculous saturday morning cartoon villain that I have to vanquish on behalf of poor CHBKLMNOP. Like I said, I don’t give a damn about any of that. I am acting as your executioner. You are merely an obstacle in my way. I want a shot at the Underground Title and if maiming and crippling you is what I have to do to get to that spot then by God I’ll do it. Hell, it might even prove to be the end of your career.” She snickers and shakes her head.

“I’m not even exaggerating! Think about it, when I beat your ass, even with outside interference from Polly Wants A Cracker or Dawnie or one of your other pals, because face it, there’s no creativity left here, it’s gonna happen. After I bury you six feet under, CEO Franky will realize just how pathetic you are and he will ditch you. He will get rid of you. He will cast you out. Maybe CEO Franky will become my friend? Because I actually can get things done. Unlike you, Lawler Cutter.”

With a final, mocking smirk, Kimberly delivers her parting shot, the camera holding on her face as her sharp words hang in the crisp Boston air. She doesn't wait for the camera to stop rolling; instead, she turns on her heel and begins to walk away, her combat boots clicking rhythmically against the damp cobblestones of the alley. She adjusts Wasley under her arm, pulling the denim jacket tighter against her as the evening shadows stretch across the brickwork.