Scarlet Carsons & Kirsten Scott vs. The Vision

[Braddock]

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August 2nd, 2026
Miami, Florida
Off Camera
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The Vision’s return to SCW could have gone more perfect. They got the jump on Scarlett Carsons, renewing their rivalry with her and letting her know that this ends when they say it ends. They picked up a victory over Chris and Ryan Hollywood, gaining momentum heading into the biggest show of the year, Rise To Greatness, where The Vision hope to put an end to Scarlett once and for all. The only unexpected wild card that was put into play was none other than Kirsten Scott. Braddock, Fiona, and Sutter had hoped that Carsons would be unable to find someone willing to fight by her side, unable to find someone to provide backup. A two on one scenario officially, a three on one unofficially counting Clyde Sutter on the outside, would certainly be advantageous for The Vision. Unfortunately The One opted to stick her nose into Vision business and volunteer to be Scarlett’s tag team partner at Rise To Greatness.

Yet, even that comes with a hint of a silver lining for the devious group. Scott is double booked. She is set to face Dawn Lohan in a number one contender’s match at Rise To Greatness. Melinda and Fiona know that Scott’s attention will most definitely be divided between earning a shot at the Adrenaline Title and helping Scarlett Carsons. Will she be spread too thin? The Vision most definitely hope so. It will provide them with just the edge they need to get a win at the biggest show of the year and prove to the SCW roster that they are back and they are taking no prisoners.

Before the trio make the trip to Detroit, Michigan for Rise To Greatness, they are making a pit stop to Miami, Florida, Melinda Braddock’s second home, where they plan to rest and relax before placing their full attention on taking out their squared circle rivals. Rest and relaxation is most certainly deserved to one member of The Vision: Fiona Logan. The past several months Fiona has been relentlessly harassed by her former foster father, Todd Osbourne, who has been insistent upon renewing their relationship. Fiona and Melinda both agree that particular distraction is a large part of why they were unable to succeed in SCW earlier. Now that is behind them, they can pick up where they left off and run the SCW tag team division into the ground.

The heavy Miami heat had a way of sticking to everything, even deep inside the air-conditioned dimness of this dive bar. Neon beer signs hummed quietly against the exposed brick, casting a low amber and cobalt glow over the worn wooden booth where the three of them had staked their claim for the evening. Outside, the night was loud with humid ocean breeze and distant traffic, but inside, the atmosphere was slow and thick with the smell of stale spirits, fried food, and lime peel. Melinda Braddock adjusted the strap of her ivory silk top, smoothing the fabric with a habitual, understated grace. Her platinum blonde hair was pinned back in soft waves that caught the amber light, looking effortlessly tailored even in a place that didn't particularly care for refinement. She shifted slightly on the vinyl seat, resting one manicured hand on the edge of the table while her gaze swept the room. Coming from the damp, overcast grey of London, the South Florida weather was always a shock to her system, but tonight the warmth felt welcome. It served as a buffer, a physical marker that they were far away from the cold grind of the road, if only for a few days before the eventual push north. Beside her, Clyde Sutter sat with his back against the corner wall, taking up an extraordinary amount of space without trying to. Broad across the shoulders and packed with heavy, dense muscle, he leaned back into the shadows of the booth. His long black hair fell over his collar, damp at the ends from the evening air, framing a square jaw and quiet eyes that kept a casual watch over the front entrance. Clyde was rarely loud, especially away from the arena lights, preferring to let his presence act as an anchor for the group. Hailing from the tough, working-class grit of Birmingham, he carried a steady, unbothered calm that usually served as the counterweight to the higher tempers around him. Tonight, his large hands were loosely folded around a tall pint glass, thumb tracing the condensation running down the glass.

Across from them sat Fiona Logan, her shoulders slightly slouched in a posture of complete, unrefined relief. Her long black hair, slashed with deep streaks of crimson, spilled over the collar of her worn black leather jacket, which she stubbornly kept on despite the coastal climate. Underneath, a faded graphic tee clung to her trim frame, paired with dark denim jeans that had seen their fair share of backstages and airport terminals. She was leaning forward, elbows propped firmly on the sticky tabletop, staring down at the ice melting in her glass. For the first time in months, the sharp, defensive edge that usually defined Fiona's posture seemed to have dulled. The long, ugly shadow cast by Todd Osbourne, her former foster father back in Boston, had finally been cut loose. It was an ordeal that had dragged her through hell and back, pulling memories out of the dark that she had spent years trying to bury under ring gear, loud music, and relentless travel. But it was over now. The legalities were finished, the confrontation was done, and the finality of it was slowly settling into the room like dust after a storm. Melinda reached over, her delicate fingers lightly tapping the wooden table to draw Fiona’s attention away from her glass. Clyde leaned forward slightly, the heavy wood of the booth creaking under his weight as he set his pint down with a soft thud, eyes fixed on Fiona with a subtle, knowing grin.

“So how does it feel, Fiona?” Melinda asks.

“How does what feel, Mels?”

“How does it feel to have Todd Osbourne out of your life?”

“Oh please,” she rolls her eyes “don’t even bother mentioning his name. I don’t want to even talk about him right now, alright, Mels?”

“Alright, calm down,” Melinda chuckles “save that violence for Rise To Greatness.”

“Besides,” Fiona sighs “he’s not necessarily out of my life forever as you put it. I told him that I needed space and privacy. I even told him that it wasn’t necessarily a goodbye forever.”

“People do change, Fiona.” Clyde chimes in. “In my own history, I had all but given up on my sister Lilith. Yet she has proven to not only be a valuable asset but a caring sister who genuinely wants to get to know the brother she never knew she had.”

“My point exactly, big guy.” Fiona nods her head. “Todd was a real jerk when he was raising me. He used me. He abused me emotionally and mentally. But he seems to be sincere and genuine about turning over a new leaf.” She shrugs her shoulders. “So who knows? Maybe there IS hope for us? But for now I just need time to myself. Time to think. And for now…” she takes a big gulp fo her drink and puts the glass hard onto the table, smirking knowingly “...for now I don’t want to think about him. We got bigger fish to fry. Vision business.”

“Quite right.” Melinda sips on her drink. “It is high time that we put Scarlett Carsons to bed once and for all.”

“Yeah, but what about Kirsten Scott?” Fiona arches her brow. “We didn’t count on her ass getting involved.”

“It does not matter.” Sutter shakes his head. “Fate has written the play and we are but mere players in its script. The final act draws near on Ms. Carsons and Ms. Scott.”

“Oh quit with the fate talk already!” Fiona exclaims, shaking her head. “Fate doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I gotta whip Scarlett’s ass AND Kirsten’s ass!”

“It is…unfortunate that Kirsten Scott involved herself in our affairs.” Melinda states. “But like Clyde said, it doesn’t matter, really. At the end of the day, Fate is on the side of The Vision and at Rise To Greatness we will put them both down.

“Right, kicking their asses I can get behind. But Fate?” Fiona shakes her head. “No way. We make our own fate, Mels. You and I, The Vision.”

The steady rhythm of the bar shifted as a low hum of feedback crackled through the overhead speakers, cutting through the heavy hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses. Near the far corner of the venue, a modest wooden stage that had been swallowed by shadow all evening suddenly bathed in a sharp amber spotlight. A tall, wire-framed microphone stand stood center stage, flanked by a battery of amplifiers, a dark drum kit gleaming under the stage lights, and a cluster of mic stands waiting for their owners.

A handful of musicians began filing out onto the scuffed floorboards, carrying themselves with the casual confidence of local veterans. First came the drummer, twirling a stick in one hand as he took his seat on the throne and made quick, routine adjustments to his cymbals. The bass player followed, slinging a worn Sunburst precision bass over his shoulder and turning his back to the crowd to adjust his amp setting. Two guitarists took their positions on opposite flanks, checking their tuning pedals in silence while a wave of warm static filled the air. Finally, the lead singer stepped up to the center mic, pulling the stand closer with a fluid, practiced motion that signaled the start of their set.

At the booth, the shift in energy caught Fiona’s attention. She had been staring down at her glass, but as the first rhythmic crack of the snare drum rang out, her eyes drifted over toward the light. At first, it was nothing more than simple, idle curiosity, the passive watchfulness of someone enjoying a rare night off in a dark bar. She rested her chin in her palm, her crimson-streaked hair spilling forward over her leather jacket as she watched the band settle into their opening chord progression.

Then her posture froze. Melinda noticed the change instantly.

“What is it, Fiona?” She asks quietly. “You look troubled.”

“Hush…” Fiona snaps “...I think…I think I know him…”

The casual slump in her shoulders vanished, replaced instantly by a rigid, unyielding stillness. Her hand slowly slid off her chin, dropping down to grip the wooden edge of the table so tightly her knuckles turned pale beneath the dark polish on her nails. Her dark eyes narrowed, scanning the face of the lead guitarist as he stepped into the pool of light to lay down the opening riff. The color seemed to drain from her expression, replaced by a sudden, jarring wave of total shock. Her lips parted slightly, her breath catching in her chest as the familiar contours of a face she never expected to see on a stage in Miami registered in her mind, turning her brief moment of calm entirely on its head.

“Who is it?” Melinda asks.

“That guitar player.” Fiona points onto the stage. “It’s Jacob Reilly.”

“Who?”

“Jacob Reilly.” Fiona repeats. “He was a friend of mine from high school, a really close friend.”

“I thought Mr. Osbourne didn’t let you go to school?” Clyde asks.

“By law he had to at least until a certain grade. Me and Jacob were close friends in school before Todd pulled me out to become a full time model.”

“How close were you two?” Melinda asks with a knowing smirk on her face.

“Oh shut up, Mels.” Fiona snickers. “To answer the question that is REALLY on your mind…no, he was not my boyfriend.” She sighs, Melinda and Clyde both can detect a sense of regret. “But we were as close as two people could be without being an official couple.”

Jacob was crouched near a pedalboard, turning a small knob with practiced precision as the rest of the band continued making their final adjustments. Fiona hesitated for only a second before pushing herself out of the booth. She lifted one hand uncertainly at first, then a little higher when he failed to notice.

“Jacob!” she called over the scattered tuning notes and the thump of the bass drum.

The guitarist glanced up absentmindedly, ready to dismiss it as another patron trying to get his attention. Then his eyes landed on her. He froze. The guitar pick slipped from between his fingers and bounced harmlessly off the stage. For a long moment he simply stared, disbelief written plainly across his face, before a broad, genuine smile spread across it. He pointed toward her as if making sure his eyes were not playing tricks on him.

“Fiona?” He exchanged a few quick words with the singer, who nodded toward the crowd with an understanding grin. Jacob carefully rested his guitar against its stand and hopped down from the low stage, weaving between tables until he reached their booth. “I don’t believe this,” he said, shaking his head as he stopped in front of Fiona. “After all these years…”

Without another word the two shared a warm, spontaneous hug, one born less from romance than from the shock of finding a familiar face in the last place either of them expected. When they finally stepped apart, Jacob looked her over with the same stunned smile.

“You’re looking great, Jacob.” Fiona says.

“And you look different.”

“Good different?” Fiona smirks, arching her brow.

“Definitely good.” He chuckles. “It’s just that, back in school I remember you being all girly and prim and proper and that’s…well that’s not the girl I see right now.”

“Yeah? Todd made me dress like that.” Fiona growls. “This is the real me.”

“I like the real you.”

Melinda Braddock and Clyde Sutter sit back in their booth, just watching on awkwardly as their friend catches up with her old high school pal. Braddock clears her throat, getting Fiona’s attention. Fiona laughs and motions to Melinda and Clyde.

“Jacob, this is my sister Melinda Braddock and her boyfriend Clyde Sutter.”

“Sister?” Jacob arches his brow curiously.

“Her parents helped me escape from Todd. They adopted me.” She smiles. “You may know them; Glory Braddock and Kurt Logan.”

“The professional wrestlers?” Jacob asks. “Sweet.”

“Yes, Fiona has become a part of the Braddock Wrestling Family.” Melinda chimes in. “She is going to help me improve it.”

“So you’re wrestling now?” Jacob asks. “Wow, that is so cool. I remember you were a huge fan. It’s awesome that you’re living your dream.”

“And you’re living your dream too.” Fiona points. “You’re in a band. You always loved music.”

“Yeah, well, this is the best I can do for now.” Jacob sighs.

“What do you mean?”

“I always wanted to be part of a band but I never had any luck in the New England area. So I moved down here to Florida hoping for better luck. And I did at least hook up with this group but, still, the gigs are small and they are few and far between.”

“Not making much money?” Fiona asks. Jacob shakes his head.

“Nope.” He smiles. “But hey, it was great seeing you again, Fiona. Maybe we can talk more after we play?”

The sudden collision of Fiona’s past and present hung in the warm, air-conditioned thick of the dive bar long after Jacob stepped back onto the wooden stage. What was supposed to be a quiet night of recovery before a grueling flight to Detroit had pivoted into something far more complicated, anchoring an unexpected emotional weight to the humid Miami evening. Watching Jacob strap his guitar back on and launch into the band’s opening chord progression, Fiona returned to the booth, her mind clearly stranded miles away from SCW, tag team titles, or the upcoming clash at Rise To Greatness.

For Melinda and Clyde, the encounter offered a rare, unfiltered glimpse into the life Fiona had led before the Braddock family pulled her from the wreckage of Todd Osbourne’s control. The contrast was stark: the girl Jacob remembered; forced into a prim, carefully curated mold by a manipulative foster father, stood in sharp opposition to the leather-clad, sharp-edged woman now sitting across from them. Yet, the vulnerability in Fiona’s eyes made it clear that while she had reclaimed her identity, the scars of those lost years remained sensitive to the touch. Reconnecting with someone who knew her before the ring lights, the travel grind, and the public battles brought a sudden, grounding reality to her journey.

At the same time, the reality of Jacob’s quiet struggle down in South Florida echoed a narrative all three wrestlers knew too well. Pursuit of a dream rarely offered smooth roads, whether chasing sellout crowds in the squared circle or playing under neon lights in half-empty bars for pocket change. Seeing a ghost from her youth striving for the same elusive break added a bittersweet tone to the evening, bridging the gap between her old life in New England and the high-stakes future waiting for her in the Midwest.

As the band’s music echoed off the exposed brick, filling the room with steady rhythm and raw energy, The Vision sat in silent contemplation. The night had begun as a celebration of closing one painful chapter with Todd Osbourne, but it ended by opening a window into another. With Kirsten Scott and Scarlett Carsons waiting in Detroit, and the looming pressure of the biggest show of the year closing in, Fiona now carried a renewed reminder of who she was, where she came from, and how far she had managed to rise. Whether this chance encounter would serve as a comforting anchor or a lingering distraction remained to be seen, but as the final chords resonated through the bar, one thing was certain: the past was never truly as far behind them as they liked to believe.