David Striker vs. Kimberly Williams

[The Matt]

2 of 2
=====

==========
June 20th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
==========

The early morning sun cut through the city haze, striking the front of the sagging home and making Kimberly Williams’s pink glittery hard hat flare like a signal flare. The orange code violation notice on the front door was still there, but today it was flanked by a gathering of nearly twenty people crowding the sidewalk and the small, weed-choked patch of a front yard. Word traveled fast in this part of Boston, especially when it involved a wealthy, eccentric woman handing out cash wages for manual labor. The crowd was a mix of down on their luck contractors, out of work warehouse handlers, and neighborhood regulars who simply needed enough money to cover rent or a hot meal by the end of the week. They stood around in faded jeans and worn out work boots, holding thermoses of cheap coffee and murmuring quietly among themselves as they waited for instruction. Standing on the top step of the groaning wooden porch, looking down at the assembled crowd like a commander reviewing her troops before crossing a hostile border, was The Woman Scorned herself. She had gone completely tactical for the occasion. She wore a pair of authentic, heavy olive drab military fatigue trousers tucked into high top, scuffed black combat boots that looked like they had seen actual mileage in a swamp. A matching camouflage utility shirt was unbuttoned over a dark undershirt, and she had fastened a thick canvas pistol belt around her waist, packed with empty utility pouches and a heavy heavy duty flashlight. To complete the look, she had applied fresh, dark streaks of charcoal and forest green paint across her cheekbones and jawline, giving her an intense, battle hardened appearance that stood in bizarre contrast to the brilliant pink glitter of her safety helmet.

Right beside her, perched on a sturdy wooden crate that put him at knee height, was Wasley. The oversized penguin plushie sat perfectly straight, his dense core of lead fishing weights keeping him anchored against the morning breeze. Today, he was wearing his miniature yellow plastic hard hat snapped tightly under his felt chin, and Kimberly had tucked a tiny, rolled up piece of graph paper under his stubby black wing to look like a set of master blueprints. His shiny black bead eyes stared blankly out over the crowd of unemployed laborers, offering a silent, heavy authority to the entire operation.

The volunteers looked up at the porch with a mixture of desperate hope and profound confusion. They were used to sketchy foremen and strict city contractors, but they had never been managed by a woman dressed for jungle warfare who treated a weighted stuffed animal as her primary site surveyor. Still, the sight of a thick stack of twenty dollar bills peeking out of Kimberly’s upper fatigue pocket kept everyone perfectly respectful and attentive. Up in the first floor window, the rhythmic, metallic squeak of Caligula’s exercise wheel began to pick up speed. The golden hamster was running with his usual frantic malice, the vibration humming through the old window frame and adding a strange, driving cadence to the morning. Kimberly took a deep, commanding breath, her chest expanding under the military canvas. She adjusted the brim of her pink glittery helmet, her eyes sweeping over the faces of the men and women gathered on the cracked pavement below. She raised her right hand, holding a heavy framing hammer like a ceremonial baton, and waited for the low murmur of the crowd to die down completely before she laid out their tactical objectives for the day.

“Welcome maggots!” Kim snaps angrily, resuming her army general impersonation. “I assume all of you are here because you saw my loyal operative, code named ‘The Other Kim’, also known as Kimberly Lambert, posting on social media about my newest venture codenamed: Community Restoration Initiative!”

The crowd murmurs quietly amongst itself while Kimberly begins to walk amongst them, as if she were a drill instructor. Most normal people would leave right about now. But these people are desperate for cash and hope. They are not sure that The Woman Scorned has hope but they know she has cash and they are willing to endure whatever eccentric adventures she has planned in order to get their hands on some of it.

“Now the enemy would have you believe that you have no chance in society. The enemy would have you believe that you are forgotten. But I do not give a damn what the enemy thinks! I believe in you! I believe that each and every one of you has a spark of great power within you and with great power comes great responsibility…wait, sorry, that’s from Spider-Man…” she snickers, then she points to her own home “...the enemy is also trying to attack me, your great benefactor of the evening. Your general is under attack from the enemy. The enemy wants to destroy this great home! But we won’t let them! What do you say?”

The crowd remains silent for a moment. Kim sighs and pulls out a wad of cash.

“Who is with me?!”

“Sir, yes sir!” The crowd roars in unison. Kim smirks knowingly.

“Right! I will have a permanent home for my Community Restoration Initiative, one where you and anyone else can learn about skills and other vocations that will make you valuable assets in society, skills such as helping to repair and remodel homes for instance, skills that will help you get jobs.”

The crowd again murmurs amongst themselves. A few recognize her from SCW. Others recognize her as the eccentric wealthy woman who hosted the Pajama Ball at the Floreschu Estate months ago.

“This morning you will begin the great task of restoring this home to its former glory…well, maybe not glory, but at least to an acceptable degree so that the enemy will not condemn and destroy it!”

“Aren’t you that professional wrestler?” One guy asks. “Kimberly Williams?”

“Yes, that’s me!” She takes a bow. “Queen of the Death Match! The Woman Scorned! The Wild Card! The One True Queen of Chaos! Future SCW Underground Champion once I get my hands on Asher Hayes but apparently I must get through Davey Boy Striker first.” She winks playfully. “If you do a good job today I might even get you free tickets next time Breakdown comes to Boston.” She pauses momentarily. “Actually, I don’t know how many tickets SCW will let me give out for free, probably not enough for all of you, so let’s just say whoever can get that raccoon out of my attic will get tickets to Breakdown. How’s that sound?”

The crowd mostly cheers, at least those who are fans of hers cheer. Kim nods appreciatively.

“Striker and I shall meet on the field of combat in Houston! I shall fight the enemy on the beaches, I shall not surrender…” she smirks “...sorry, that was Winston Churchill…but point is, yours truly has an Underground maiming session to prepare for, which is why I need all of you to help repair my lovely home! You will be paid handsomely. And remember this is just the beginning. Community Restoration Initiative is my plan to help the entire community, especially the ones society overlooks, abandons, and rejects!”

A low murmur of genuine approval rippled through the gathered crowd. The sheer audacity of the speech, shifting seamlessly from a drill instructor’s bark to comic book references, historical quotes, and professional wrestling promos, had somehow worked. For these men and women, it didn’t matter that their new boss was a millionaire wearing face paint and a glittery safety helmet in the middle of a Boston slum. What mattered was the weight of the twenty dollar bills peeking out of her fatigue pocket, and the rare, intoxicating feeling of being looked at by someone who actually saw them as human beings rather than statistical nuisances. Kimberly turned sharply on the heel of her scuffed combat boot, gesturing toward the wooden crate where Wasley sat. She scooped up the lead-weighted penguin with a grunt of exertion that she quickly masked as a tactical flex, tucking his heavy, solid mass under her arm like a prized quarterback cradling a football.

“General Wasley and I will now conduct a secondary perimeter sweep to coordinate supply logistics! In the meantime, my chief of engineering, Tommy Wasley, will distribute your operational assignments. You take his orders as if they came directly from the high command!”

On cue, Tommy stepped forward from the shadows of the porch. He looked entirely in his element, a massive, comforting presence holding a clipboard and a handful of heavily detailed carpentry pencils. He gave the crowd a slow, reassuring nod, his quiet, working-class authority instantly grounding the high-octane energy Kimberly had just whipped up. The volunteers instinctively gravitated toward him, pulling their tool belts tight and readying their crowbars as he began breaking them down into specialized squads for the foundation, the roofing, and the precarious task of dealing with the attic raccoon.

To anyone watching from the windows of the neighboring apartment buildings, the scene was pure theater. A camo-painted woman walking a heavy plush penguin down a garbage-strewn alleyway while a small army of unemployed laborers dismantled a rotting house behind her. But as Kimberly looked out over the fractured asphalt of her neighborhood, her eyes narrowed with a very real, very human determination. The Community Restoration Initiative was chaotic, highly unconstitutional by city management standards, and completely unhinged in its execution, but it was hers. It was the only way she knew how to fight back against a world that preferred to sweep people like her neighbors under the rug.

==========
June 26th, 2026
Houston, Texas
On Camera
==========

A full shot captures a lone woman standing centered in the foreground of a wide, paved plaza outside the Toyota Center in Houston, Texas. The woman is none other than the self-proclaimed Queen of the Death Match herself Kimberly Williams. Kimmy stands centered in the foreground, facing the camera with a cheerful, direct gaze and a slight smile. She is dressed in stylish Western-inspired attire: a brown felt cowboy hat sits on her long red hair, and she wears a brown leather jacket with extensive fringe details along the front seams and sleeves. Underneath the jacket is a dark button-down shirt with Western embroidery and snaps, tucked into dark blue denim jeans held by a brown belt with a visible metal buckle. On her feet are tall, detailed leather cowboy boots with traditional stitching. The Woman Scorned holds a large, plush penguin, her beloved Wasley, firmly against her torso with both hands. The plushie has a black back and wings, a soft white belly, a bright yellow beak, and matching yellow feet that extend outward at the bottom. In the background, the modern architectural facade of the Toyota Center curves gracefully across the frame. The concrete ground of the plaza is marked by faint lines and scattered dark specks, stretching out toward the building. A low concrete barrier wall, a few silver metal crowd control railings, and several short concrete bollards are positioned near the entrance area in the mid-ground.

“Yee Haw, Kimmmaniacs! We’re right here in Houston, Texas, the lone star state, and supposedly everything is bigger in Texas. That’s what I’ve been told, at least. And hell, I think it’s true. I do feel a lot more violent and prone to bloodthirsty destruction right about now. In fact, tomorrow night me and Wasley get to put that whole ‘bigger in Texas’ thing to a test when me and Davey Striker get to see if our Underground Rules Match is far more violent in Texas!” She winks playfully at the camera.

“But I’ll get back to you later, Davey. First I need to address the elephant in the room. No, I’m not referring to Syren’s massive ego. I’m referring to Taking Hold of the Flame! I need to congratulate two people…first, and most obviously, my fellow Revenger, Deann Frost!” She claps her hands furiously. “Congratulations, Deanna! Secondly, I want to congratulate my identical twin sister Marie Jones. The Phoenix has indeed risen and apparently she’s no longer as prudish! I can admit when I’ve been fooled and you legitimately fooled me with that penguin outfit. Congrats, Marie, it’s great to have you back on the team.” Her face grows slightly grim. “Oh and I guess I should congratulate CEO Franky Poo. Your children are doing so well. Your kids might not have won Taking Hold of the Flame but at least you still have the SCW World Championship. Just remember what I said, Franky, I’m not here to declare war on you or your children. If you children leave me alone, I will leave you alone. I don’t particularly have any feelings positive or negative about your little New Order. You leave me alone in the Underground. Let me pursue my goal, my prize, and we will have no problems. Capiche? Speaking of the Underground Title, that brings me to you, Asher…” Kimmy snickers.

“Yeah, yeah, you got me. You eliminated me. Congrats, I suppose. But you had better believe that you are still my number one target. You are still on my radar. I will stalk you…perhaps litterally…until that Underground Title is back in my possession. You may be the Underground Champion but you are not Underground Royalty. I am the Queen of the Underground and going forward I am going to prove it.” She points a finger at the camera.

“Which brings me back to where it all began…you, Davey!” The Woman Scorned playfully waves. “Hi, Davey! I am so looking forward to this bloodbath we are about to engage in tomorrow night in Houston! You and I create beautiful, glorious carnage together! Every single time we step into a ring against one another, we have made Underground history. Hell, Taking Hold of the Flame was no different. We started the battle royal and we made it one of the most violent event in the history of the Flame…at least until some party poopers got in our way…” she shakes her head.

“But no fear, Davey! No one will get in our way on Breakdown! It’s just you and me like old times! You remember, right? I mean, I certainly remember. Breakdown on February 15th, I was the Underground Champion then and you managed to beat me in a non-title Underground war. That earned you my respect and friendship but, more importantly, it earned you a title shot at Retribution. But you couldn’t repeat. I beat you that night to retain my championship. That made us tied up, dead even, so of course that meant we needed a tie breaker. And I even let YOU pick the match. Taking The Leap 2024, The Long Road Out Of Hell. Remember it, Davey?” She nods her head. “I certainly do because that was the night I beat you in your own match to retain my Underground Championship.” She pats Wasley on his head.

“Wasley says that means I got your number. Wasley says that means I beat you twice, back to back, once in your own match, and that means I have nothing to fear from you except for a few more bumps, bruises, bloodshed, and maybe a broken bone or two. But that’s Wasley. He’s a penguin, what does he know, right? You haven’t fought a penguin before, have you Davey? Neither have I.” Kimmy points a finger at the camera again. “But I have fought you before. And Wasley is right to a certain degree; I have beaten you twice. I beat you at your own game. I do know how to beat you in the Underground.” She snickers knowingly.

“But I’m not going to let hubris cloud my judgment…that’s the word of the day, Kimmymaniacs, it means pride…I am not going to let hubris cloud my judgment. I know that you also know how to beat me because you did it once before. Now I could do like all the other cookie cutter wrestlers like to do and argue numbers and math. I beat you twice, you only beat me once, that somehow means something. Numbers mean nothing. Chaos is the ruler of the day. I believe in chaos and chaos means on any given night anyone can beat anybody especially in this case where we both own victories over the other. So no, math doesn’t matter. What does matter is focus.” She grins nastily.

“How focused are you, Davey? Are you focused on me? Or are you distracted by outside tension? Is Gavin and the Gavin Groupies bothering you? Better yet, are you distracted with the CEO and his new pals? If the answer is yes, which I think it is, then you are doomed. Your focus will be split while mine is not. You heard me state it earlier. Hell, I said it in the lead up to the battle royal and in the lead up to my match against Lawler Cutter. I truly have no beef with Franky. None. I don’t care to get involved in whatever power struggle is going on in SCW right now. I only care about one thing right now and that is winning back the SCW Underground Championship.” She snickers.

“You are in my way, Davey. Which means you are my current focus on Breakdown. No one else. Just you.” She playfully waves. “See you soon, Davey! I can’t wait to maim you!”