Dexter Grant vs. Kimberly Williams

[Konrad Raab]

2 RP Limit for singles

3500 Word Limit Per RP

Deadline: 11:59 pm ET Wednesday January 1, 2025

[The Matt]

1 of 2
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December 14th, 2024
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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Fatal Fortunes has come and gone and it helped put Kimberly Williams back on what she feels is her true and proper path. The Fatal Fortunes wheel decided that The Woman Scorned would face off against Scott Reed in a Last Person Standing Match. The Queen of the Death Match threw everything she had at Reed. It wasn’t just a matter of pride, a matter of proving that she is still the Queen of the Death Match, the Queen of the Underground, it was a matter of getting her win back against Reed. Reed had beaten her awhile back one on one but Fatal Fortunes has now allowed her to make things right. She got her win back, she put herself back onto her winning ways, and more importantly she has reminded SCW just how dangerous she can be in a situation where there are few rules. She reminded SCW that with or without the championship she is still the woman to beat in the Underground. This is important for The Woman Scorned because she is laser focused on regaining the SCW Underground Championship. Unfortunately, this laser focus may be detrimental going forward as The Woman Scorned is now scheduled to face Dexter Grant. Grant has made waves since arriving in SCW, beating some top names including Rayne Young and Kim’s identical twin sister Marie Jones. Grant has also earned a shot at the SCW Adrenaline Championship. He is no slouch despite his unusual nature. Kim isn’t one to judge about being unusual. She wrote the book on being unusual. But a match against Dexter isn’t exactly what she wants. She wants to continue to work towards earning an Underground Title Match. She wants to reclaim her throne. This match against Dexter Grant isn’t even Underground Rules. It is a standard match. Kim is furious and frustrated about this booking but she is not going to display it publicly and more importantly she will not simply walk away from the match because she views it as unimportant. Kim’s mother and backstage advocate Angelica Jones has her on a tight leash.

Kimberly has certainly bonded with her mother since the two started working together in SCW. They have grown much closer than they used to be. Still, despite all of this, Kim has always felt as if she did not truly belong to the Jones Wrestling Family. Despite having Jones blood running through her veins, Kim always felt like an outcast. In an attempt to try and figure out where she fit in with the Jones family, The Woman Scorned has been busy digging up the dirt on the one member of her family that she still knows next to nothing about: her late grandfather, Bart Jones. That research took her all the way to Europe, specifically Poland, where she learned Bart died and was cremated only to have his remains brought back to America by none other than the black sheep of the family, Anastasia Ivanova. Now the finish line in her quest for understanding, her journey to find knowledge, and Kim is determined to find out exactly what her aunt knows and, more importantly, why she has the remains of Bart Jones and has been keeping it away from the rest of the family.

Currently the home of Anastasia Ivanova is enveloped in darkness, save for the faint orange glow of a streetlamp filtering through the heavy, floral-patterned curtains. The space is compact but cozy, with a sense of age and use evident in every detail. Against one wall stands a well-worn, overstuffed couch, its fabric faded and frayed at the edges. A knit throw blanket is draped casually over one armrest, and a small pillow leans against the opposite side. A low coffee table sits in front of the couch, cluttered with items: an old paperback book with its pages dog-eared, a half-empty coffee mug, and a few crumpled receipts. To the side, an armchair with sagging cushions rests near a tall, narrow bookshelf filled with mismatched volumes and a few framed photographs. The frames glint faintly in the dim light, their images obscured. A dusty floor lamp stands beside the chair, its shade slightly askew, though its bulb remains off. The room smells faintly of wood polish and the lingering aroma of a home-cooked meal, with a touch of dampness from the evening’s cool air. Along the mantle of a modest brick fireplace, family photos are lined up alongside a few holiday cards and a small clock with a faintly ticking hand.

The living room door slowly creaks open. A figure enters and a silhouette of a hand reaches over to switch on the lights. This is Anastasia Ivanova and she is wearing a bold red outfit that stands out vividly. Her top is a fitted, semi-sheer red camisole with thin spaghetti straps. The fabric appears to have a textured or lace-like detail, emphasizing a chic and daring look. She pairs the top with matching red pants that are high-waisted and feature a sporty vibe. The pants have a stripe down the sides with text or a pattern, adding a modern, athleisure element to the ensemble. For footwear, she opts for white pointed shoes with red lace-up details that complement the outfit’s color scheme while providing a striking contrast. Ivanova steps further into the room, approaching the comfy couch. Before she can sit down, however, an arm is wrapped around her and a knife is pressed against her throat. Standing behind her, with a crazed look on her face and wielding a deadly weapon that could end Ivanova at a moment’s notice, is Kimberly Williams.

“Good evening Aunt Ana!” She kisses her on the cheek. “Did you miss your favorite niece?”

“A knife, really Kim?” Ivanova giggles excitedly. “Do no threaten me with a good time.”

“Slitting your throat is fun to you?” Kim asks curiously. “I could slice your gut wide open like a fishy!”

“Even better!”

Anastasia Ivanova, Angelica Jones’s half-sister and thus Kimberly’s aunt, might be crazier and more eccentric than Kimberly herself, if that is even possible. The combination of these two individuals makes it hard to imagine just what will happen. Kim tightens her grip on Anastasia.

“Careful. My arm might slip and you’ll go meet God. If you do, put in a good word for me, why don’t ya?” She smirks. “I haven’t exactly been a good little girl.”

“Of course, my dear niece.” Anastasia snickers. “But then again, I sincerely doubt you will actually do anything.”

“You question my tendency for violence?”

“Not at all. I just suspect that you want something from me and you know that you will not get it if I am dead.” She snickers again. “So ahead, sweet niece. Kill me. I’m sure your mother will be so pleased.”

The Woman Scored hates being questioned. She hates being doubted. But she realizes that she is facing someone who is actually crazier than her. Reluctantly, Kimberly pulls the knife away and then shoves Anastasia down onto the couch. Williams tosses the knife away and then mounts Ivanova, holding her down to further interrogate her.

“You know, I really should kill you…” she gets up close to yell into her ear “...I should kill you for keeping a man’s death, his location secret, from his family! I should kill you because you have had his remains all along while your own sister…MY MOTHER…suffered because she didn’t know of his fate!”

“Oh that…” Ivanova sighs, she is still unphased by Kimberly’s intensity and her threats of physical violence “...how did you figure it out?”

“I’ve been to Poland.” Kim points out. “Julian told me.”

“Oh Julian.” Ivanova laughs. “He’s such a snitch…”

“He is a Chatty Cathy.”

“Well I have my reasons for keeping MY father’s remains to myself and hidden from my sisters and the rest of the family. And if you were to hear the entire story, the bits that your mother refuses to tell you, then you might understand.”

Kimberly thinks about what Anastasia just said. She doesn’t trust her, not for a second, but at the same time she does want answers. Williams reluctantly gets up off of Anastasia and sits down next to her on the couch. Anastasia sits up and composes herself. She looks over at Kim and smirks devilishly.

“It is good that you got off of me, my sweet niece. I do love you dearly but I am quite certain that incest is illegal and if anyone had seen us in such a compromising position tongues would wag.”

“You have one twisted mind.” Kim says pointedly. Then she laughs. “I like you!”

“Thank you.”

“Now can we pretend to be civilized people?” Kim asks. “I mean, I love a good fight to the death as much as the next psychopath, but I do want some answers and I can’t get them from a corpse.”

“You would be surprised at how much you can learn from a corpse, my niece. But yes, I agree, being civil is the right move. Shall I get up and get you a drink? Some wine perhaps?”

“So you can spike it?” Kim smirks and shakes her head. “No, you’re not gonna use my own tricks against me.” She folds her arms over her chest. “You said I don’t know the entire story. Well I’m here and I am willing to hear the rest of the story. So talk…or fight me, one or the other.”

“Fighting does sound appealing but fine, we shall talk.” Ivanova sighs. “First tell me, what story did Julian tell you? What did you learn while you were in Poland?”

“I just know that Bart was furious when some idiots from Russia murdered his wife. He went over to Europe to get revenge. But he never got his revenge and came back. But years later he was abducted and taken back overseas. They tried to smuggle him into Russia but for whatever reason they couldn’t get him in. He died in Poland.” Kim points an accusatory finger at Anastasia. “And somehow you came into possession of his ashes after he was cremated and you never did tell the rest of us!”

“You talk like you care.” She giggles. “Yet you won’t even call him grandfather. He’s just Bart to you.”

“I don’t even know anything about him.”

“Then shut up and listen, my stubborn little niece.” Anastasia commands with a playful wink. “You act as if you have no connections to your grandfather whatsoever. But consider this…he worked for the CIA, he lied to his superiors in the federal government to convince them to let him go overseas on the promise of catching a suspected terrorist when in reality he was there on a mission of bloody vengeance. Sound like someone you know?” Ivanova asks with an arched brow. Kim snickers.

“Yeah! Me!”

“See? You and your grandfather have more in common than you think. But there’s more…you and I might not be that close but I have followed you and your path quite closely, Kimberly. You might have a tendency to solve your problems through violence and chaos, but your endgame is always pure. Your intentions are always noble. Bart Jones…MY FATHER…during his mission of vengeance met a young woman who had been forced into sex slavery. Organized crime is an awful thing, is it not?”

“Yeah….” Kim says, he voice trailing off.

“Bart took time away from tracking down his wife’s killer in order to rescue that woman. Over time the two developed a close relationship. When he learned that she was pregnant with his daughter, he felt obligated to take care of the child he had fathered.”

“And that’s you…?” Kim points at Anastasia. She nods her head.

“Tah-dah! That’s me!” She grins. “And arguably I am the reason he never did finish his mission of vengeance. He was too busy taking care of me.

“Whoa, whoa, hold up there…” Kim shakes her head furiously, a look of disbelief washes over her “...why am I just now hearing about this?”

“Because my sisters…your dear mother and your aunt Kayla…they never treated me like family. They treated me like a second class citizen. They hated their father for cheating on their mother.”

“But she was dead…” Kim shakes her head “...he wasn’t cheating on her.”

“Tell them that.” She shrugs her shoulders. “In their mind he cheated on the memory of their beloved mother. But your grandfather, my father, he always treated me like his daughter. He always took time to visit me…up until the day he disappeared, until he was murdered. If you want to know about your grandfather, sweet niece, ask me. Do not ask your mother.”

The Woman Scorned stares coldly at Anastasia. She finds it hard to believe what she has just heard. Yet some of her story rings of truth. Angelica and Kayla both have had hard feelings towards their father in the past. Plus it seems as though Anastasia might really know more about him than they do. Kimberly is desperate to learn as much as she can about Bart Jones, desperate to find out where she fits into the Jones family. She quickly nods her head.

“Fine. So tell me everything about Bart…I mean…about my grandfather.”

“That’s better.” She pats Kim on the back. “Your grandfather was one of the best spies the CIA ever had. He was very inventive and unique in his technique of blending in and gaining information.” She touches Kim on the nose. “Much like you…Kimlock Holmes.” A grin forms on Kim’s face. She can feel the pride swelling up within her. “He always preferred a simplistic lifestyle. Bart looked so out of place compared to the extravagant luxurious looks of his other children, almost like a bum.”

“Like me!” Kim exclaims cheerfully.

“Oh and that nickname of your mother’s, The Dragon?” Anastasia shakes her head. “It did not just magically come from her. It was a nickname that Bart’s colleagues gave him during his days working with the CIA. He was infamous for taking on gangsters and crimelords.”

“Seriously?” Kim seems genuinely surprised. She almost doesn’t believe her but she has no reason to doubt. Anastasia nods her head.

“I am serious. Your grandfather was the original Dragon. Your mother was only the second. And perhaps, if I may suggest, you could be the third Dragon?” Ivanova winks. “I think you have more than earned the nickname.”

“Maybe…” Kim pauses, studying her aunt carefully “...but you know, while all of this sounds cool and all, how do I know you’re telling me the truth? I mean, you and mom aren’t exactly BFFs now are ya?”

“Fair point and if you would permit me to get up without you assaulting me, I would gladly go and provide proof that what I say is the truth.”

Kimberly reluctantly nods her head. Anastasia smirks as she rises up off of the couch and slowly walks away and out of the living room. Kim waits patiently for her aunt’s return. She realizes that letting her out of her sight might have been a mistake. Ana is just as crazy as Kim. But she is family and she can only hope that she will not take advantage of family. Eventually she hears Anastasia returning. She sees her approaching with a book in hand. Kimberly stands up as Ivanova hands her the book.

“This, sweet niece, is your grandfather’s journal, documenting all of his many adventures in the CIA, including every detail of his excursion in Europe after the murder of his wife. Read it and you will find the answers you seek in his own words.”

“Thanks…” Kim looks down at the journal, a book that may contain the words, the essence, the very soul of her grandfather, and a potential link to her own past and identity as a Jones. She then looks back up at Anastasia “...and what about his remains?”

“Right here.” She holds up a locket. Kim only just now noticed Anastasia was wearing it. “I always carry him with me.”

“Why did you keep it a secret from my mother?”

“Why did your mother always treat me like an outcast?” Anastasia asks. “Your mother preaches on the importance of family but just because we have different mothers she thinks we belong to different families. Is that fair, my sweet niece?” She grins knowingly. “You, of all people, should know quite well about what it is like to be treated like a second class citizen.”

Kimberly nods her head. She does indeed know the feeling. Her mother, Angelica, her ant, Kayla, and her half-sister Jessica all at one time refused to have anything to do with her due to the crimes she once committed and the time she spent in an insane asylum. It took Kim’s twin sister, Marie Jones, to convince them to give her a chance and to accept her into the family. They are treating Anastasia just like they treated Kim.

“Yeah, I do know the feeling.” She shakes her head. “And it isn’t right. For what it’s worth, I’ll talk to my mom. You deserve better.”

“Thank you. And let your mother know that she can come see our father anytime she wishes.”

Kimberly hugs Anastasia. This certainly is quite the turnaround from how the visit started. It began with Kim threatening to kill her. Now they are hugging. But neither woman is exactly normal or sane. Still, they have a right to belong. They both belong in the Jones family. But for the longest time Kim has never truly felt as if she really did belong. She never knew her place in the family. But now after hearing these stories about Bart Jones, she feels a little closer. Bart Jones, as it turns out, was much like Kimberly Williams. Both were inquisitive, both were inventive and creative, and both sought after justice in their own unique ways that did not always conform to societal norms. Now maybe this journal will provide the remaining answers she needs. Hopefully this will provide Kim the answers she seeks. After all, she still remains laser focused on the Underground Title. She also has Dexter Grant to deal with on Breakdown. She cannot allow herself to be distracted.

[Digitox]

Statistics claim that 55-65% of Americans admit to drinking more alcohol during the holidays.

Dexter wasn’t a drinker, but damn if the urge to do so wasn’t strong after the past several weeks.

As he had predicted, Fatal Fortunes had been nothing more than a bloated spectacle of pomp and violence usually reserved for SCW’s pay-per-views, and unsurprisingly, people had been going nuts over all of it judging by how many fans he’d picked out in the crowds on both nights who were more glued to their phones than actually watching what played out before them. An ironman match that allowed otherwise worthless social media darlings like Selena Frost and Ryan LeCavalier to hog the spotlight, a goddamned Thanksgiving ‘food fight,’ a convoluted mess of a match that closed out the whole ordeal that only further promoted depraved individuals like Derek Adonis, false saviors like James Evans and Waylon Creek, and perhaps worst of all, an excuse to shove the obvious shiny new faces of SCW in the Light in the Darkness down everyone’s throats for that extra little bit of social media clout.

Deep down, Dexter couldn’t help but ponder if SCW actually cared about the LGBTQ community or if they were just another in a long list of companies marketing the idea solely for social brownie points that would make them look good even if they were truthfully some of the most heinous individuals alive. It would certainly explain why the likes of Selena and Syren had been pushed as dominant forces for so many years and why this tag team was being built up to look like all-loving and all-conquering heroes leading the way into the next generation for SCW. Hell, the fact that people like Ace Marshall were still allowed to make crass comments that towed the line felt like proof enough in his mind that any ‘support’ for those who identified under that umbrella was just a promotional tactic at best.

He shook the thought from his mind as he focused on his current task at hand: trimming his beard to make it look presentable enough. Truthfully, Dexter had stopped giving two shits about how he looked a long time ago, hence his somewhat disheveled appearance even on SCW programming. It was just another mindset heavily promoted on trash like Instagram and TikTok to push what some believed should be ‘the norm’ just to subtly shame and bully those who didn’t fit the bill. Clearly clowns like Ace subscribed to such trivial philosophies given his antics from the recent Breakdown, but Dexter wasn’t going to bite no matter how over the top the man wanted to get with his fun and games.

Ace could consume himself in that algorithm if he wanted to, maybe modify his body however he wanted to like he’d been suggesting ‘on behalf of the fans’ in Baltimore. Dexter knew he was already more of a real man than Ace would sadly ever be, and that was a cold hard fact.

Just thinking about that walking joke reminded Dexter of why he’d done what he did during Fatal Fortunes. Some would probably believe he was just taking a huge step up on the proverbial ladder to try and get himself further ahead, and while they were right in a sense, they were blind to the truth of why he’d done it. Yes, Ace was a bigger name in SCW’s history, and the fact that he was an obvious product of the social media machine wasn’t lost on Dexter from the moment he first noticed him. Disconnecting him would certainly send a shockwave throughout the mindless masses that Dexter was a genuine threat and his message should not be ignored, and the little viral Make-A-Wish stunt Ace had pulled just to cultivate his own image for this latest return simply gave Dexter the perfect excuse to pull the trigger. He had cost Ace a first blood match by being the one to make him bleed, even if giving a freebie to one of those tag champion puppets sickened him, and thus, war had been declared.

Dexter had just gotten his beard to look exactly the way he’d wanted it to when he heard his phone ringing. With a sigh, he trudged out of the bathroom of his shack and plucked the device from the table he’d left it on. It wasn’t anything special, just one of those cheap burner phones he constantly went through so a very select few could contact him if necessary, specifically going this route and choosing much older models to kill any temptation to let the online world suck him back into its twisted web.

“Hello?”

“H-Hey Dexter. Happy holidays!” the voice of Wendell called from the other end.

“Same to you, I guess,” was Dexter’s reply. He hadn’t meant to come off as gruff as cold, but he wasn’t exactly in the mood to talk to his flunky right now. Part of that was in response to how easily Wendell had briefly fallen into the clutches of Ace’s little succubus that constantly hung off his arm, even if she had only paid the kid any mind to try and score one for Ace in their little tit-for-tat. For the most part, though, today was just not a good day for Dexter to want to give the kid any time compared to what was looming over his head.

“So, I know it’s the holidays and all, and I’ve got stuff I’m doing with my family, but I wanted to-”

“Then you should spend your time with them,” Dexter abruptly cut Wendell off.

“H-Huh?” the kid sounded confused. “But…our mission…”

“Wendell,” Dexter began, “even I’m not foolish enough to think my voice has enough power just yet to try and cut through this cyber cancer around Christmas of all holidays. Those junkies for validation can have this time to post their family Christmas photos online and compromise their personal lives if they wish. And…I think you should just worry about spending today with your family.”

“I mean, I certainly will,” Wendell pleaded, “but…”

“No buts, Wendell,” Dexter interrupted again. “Look…you’re a good kid, and you’ve been a faithful follower of mine in this fight for a while now. I know I don’t say it often, but I’m grateful for your contributions. That said, I know your family has no reason to like me or want you helping me out. I know they don’t understand what we’re fighting for. But that’s all the more reason why you should spend today with them and not make them think I’m trying to rip you away from them any more than it already looks like. Maybe try to help bring them around to what we’re doing.”

“I…I guess I can do that…” Wendell pondered.

“Consider that my Christmas gift to you and them,” Dexter added. “And I’ll pay back that money you borrowed so we could get the RV as soon as I can. Just do me a favor and have a good holiday Wendell…we can hit the ground running on saving the masses from themselves and cutting down this digital demon in the new year.”

Wendell tried to reply, but Dexter ended the call there and shut off the phone to preserve what few minutes he still had on it. It felt a little weird seeming like he actually cared more than he did, but everybody could get even a tiny bit into the holiday spirit around this time of year.

Which was exactly why he was going to take advantage of this weird break from SCW’s touring hell to finally open a door he’d slammed shut a long time ago.

As he hopped in his trusty old pickup truck, sparing just a moment to eye the RV parked and waiting for more road action, he started driving through the secluded path through the woods he kept cleared and hidden to keep people from just following him to his isolated little home. The peace and quiet that living out here offered was a true luxury lost on so many these days that it made him laugh whenever he thought about how much those vultures practically hardwired into their computers and phones wanted to take their petty little shots at him when they clearly couldn’t understand his fight.

As he drove, his mind drifted to the other development regarding him and Fatal Fortunes, that being the ladder match he’d been made to compete in. As enjoyable as it had been to finally get the full attention of Gavin Taylor and prove to him firsthand that Dexter had been right all along about how retirement was truly a prospect he should consider given how lost and forgettable he’d become, he’d been right to call SCW out on knowing he would be ‘randomly drawn’ into a title opportunity of some sort in a desperate attempt to prove his statements wrong. If it wasn’t the only way to actually end the damn match, Dexter would have ignored the carrot dangling on a line above the ring and just ended Gavin’s career right then and there. But now he was the owner of an Adrenaline title match somewhere down the line…and truthfully, he could care less.

He had heard Glory Braddock’s inane spiel about how he “wasn’t championship material” and chastising him about trying to take on too many fights, rolling his eyes even now at how a supposed wrestling prodigy was too stupid to comprehend the war he waged. At the end of the day, people like Glory and Ace meant absolutely nothing, just as they always had in their sad, miserable excuses for lives. It was why they turned to social media to try and give themselves worth, why they signed away their souls to SCW and just played the roles they were told for the sake of what would trend the best. Glory would find out the hard way, just like Kim would at the next Breakdown and just like everyone else had up to this point, that who you were and what you could do meant nothing by comparison. Dexter Grant was a man on a mission, and he would destroy everything that pumped digital blood through SCW’s veins if he had to in order to be one step closer to saving humanity from itself.

And if he just so happened to become Adrenaline champion in the process? Well, SCW could do with one less title belt existing as a distraction for people to tweet about.

Honestly, Dexter had to laugh the closer he got to his destination. The fact that the next Breakdown was taking place in Sacramento, about a 2 hour drive from here, meant that he could actually do what he was about to do without wrestling getting in the way. Not that getting to literally beat his message into people without repercussions wasn’t cathartic, but the traveling and some of the decisions on booking dates was grating on his nerves, with night 1 of Fatal Fortunes falling on Thanksgiving being a prime example. It had ended up being a convenient excuse not to answer this call then, but after giving a little more time…he knew it would do him no good if he didn’t at least offer a chance in case he did gain some extra help in this endeavor.

That was what ultimately saw him park in front of a house he hadn’t gone anywhere near in about five years, and what led to him knocking on the door and seeing a very surprised face open it for him.

“Dexter? Dexter, is that you?”

“Merry Christmas, mom,” Dexter replied to the woman, who wasted no time in moving for a hug. Dexter, however, took a step back, which he could tell broke her heart. “Not now, mom…not yet. Dad and Max home?”

The woman nodded before she motioned for Dexter to come inside. As the door was closed behind him, all the memories came flooding back of how cozy this place truly had been. Deep down, part of him would admit without hesitation that he missed this place, but he fought to keep from getting too nostalgic just yet. There were still some bandaids that needed to be ripped off first.

Dexter followed his mom into the living room, and immediately he found the eyes of both his father and brother on him. The former looked incredibly shellshocked, while the latter looked hopeful.

“Dex?” his father couldn’t help but ask. “Is that really you?”

“In the flesh,” Dexter confirmed.

“Glad to see you finally came around,” Max threw out as he stood up and approached, but just like with their mom, he stepped back as a sign that he didn’t want to be approached right now and Max got the hint.

“I didn’t want you to feel like you had to upend your Thanksgiving plans when I had to be on the road,” Dexter claimed. “Christmas, though…yeah, I think even SCW knew that would get some backlash even from social media.”

“Speaking of…” his father said, which immediately put Dexter on guard as he saw the man pull his phone out of his pocket. He opened his mouth to say something, but immediately paused when he watched his father grab a nearby sack and drop the phone inside, passing it to Max who did the same and then to his mother who followed suit. She walked over to a little closet door that was built into the side of the staircase leading upstairs and tossed the sack inside.

“A peace offering,” she clarified when she returned to the living room, “as a show of faith.”

“I told you when you came by the shop for that RV last month that we were willing to hear you out and not treat this like a joke or a phase, Dex,” Max added.

Dexter was taken aback, to be honest. He had been hopeful, but he hadn’t actually expected his family to have been entirely truthful about wanting to hear him out, nor had he expected them to cut straight to offering him the floor to explain himself. It unnerved him a little bit, but his mind was being flooded by a feeling he hadn’t felt since he cut these ties so long ago.

Taking a deep breath, Dexter moved to sit in the recliner off to the side of the couch, which had been turned to face it as he watched his mom and brother join his dad on it, all of them waiting patiently.

“Alright then,” Dexter almost laughed, clearly having not expected to just jump straight into this. He’d honestly expected more resistance and then things breaking down to the point where he’d call coming here a mistake and that would be the end of that. Maybe he’d truly been too cynical and untrusting for too long now. “You all remember the day when I came home from work saying I’d quit?”

“We do,” Dexter’s dad admitted. “It was the day you first began talking about the evils of social media and what it was doing to humanity. It just…it was so unlike you, it kind of shocked all of us and we weren’t really sure what to make of it.”

“It’s why we thought it was just some weird phase,” his mom chimed in. “Maybe an overreaction to a bad day at work, or you’d been fired for some reason and didn’t want us to worry…”

“I kind of wished I’d been fired, in hindsight,” Dexter scoffed, more at himself than at his family’s commentary. They were just offering their perspective on what he knew had been a rather abrupt change in his attitude. “The truth is, I’d just finished coding my part to this big new app that Innovatech was launching, and I was so excited that my boss was giving me such high praise for the work I’d done. And then…I found out the truth of what I’d coded, and it disgusted me.”

“I was about to say,” Max jumped in, “I don’t remember Innovatech releasing any new apps around that time.”

“That’s because we’d been lied to about what it actually was,” Dexter replied. “It was no app…it was essentially a back-end trap we’d been hired to code for some of the big dogs of the social media world, designed specifically to gather data, personal or otherwise, on anyone using them so they could start implementing the subtle hooks and algorithms that truly trapped people in that web and force fed them this…this need to treat their socials like they were their jobs, their whole lives. That addictive feeling that modern social media has whenever you use it and see it start tailoring your experiences to keep you engaged in one form or another? That was my doing.”

An uneasy silence fell over the room now that Dexter had finally gotten that off his chest. He wanted to say it felt good to finally open up about that after keeping it locked away for so many years, but the reality was…it didn’t. He hadn’t even wanted to hide the hand he had to play in the way everything was now, but he took the fight personally for that very reason and he would hate himself as much as he hated everyone else until the day he could undo this travesty…if that day ever came, that is.

“That explains a lot…” his dad finally broke the silence. “Why you were in such an uproar all of a sudden about social media taking over people’s lives and consuming them, why you quit…”

“As soon as that bombshell got dropped on me, I told my boss I wanted no further part in it,” Dexter admitted. “I even tried to delete the code I’d written, claiming I technically owned it as I’m the one who wrote it, but it turns out they slipped a little legal jargon into my contract stating that anything I coded for Innovatech was legally owned by Innovatech, not me.”

“That can’t be legal though, lying to you about what your work was really for,” his mom noted before turning to her husband. “Is that legal?”

Her husband shook his head, but Dexter had a counterpoint. “Not with a cleverly-worded contract, it isn’t. Besides, even if I were to take it to the police or to court, they’ve got all the tools to just sweep it all under the rug, no harm done.”

“Is that why you became…well…who you are now?” Max chanced asking, to which Dexter nodded.

“It’s not pretty, but it’s a fight someone has to take up,” he admitted. “Might as well be the idiot who created the problem in the first place.”

“You’re not an idiot, Dexter,” his dad firmly said, which surprised him as he rarely remembered the man ever getting this stern about anything. “You were misled about the work you were doing, and what your code is being used for is illegal in and of itself. If anything…we shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions when we had every reason to question this radical change in you and didn’t.”

“We’re sorry we failed you Dexter…” his mom added, and it truly broke Dexter’s icy heart to hear the tone in her voice. That led to him slowly standing up and going to surprise her with the hug he had denied her earlier, which opened the floodgates as they all shared a proper family group hug for the first time in years.

In a sense, it truly was a Christmas miracle, but Dexter wasn’t going to get too far ahead of himself just yet. He’d finally enlightened his family about how he got to this point and they were more than understanding, but there was still a lot of healing to do and a ways to go before he felt comfortable wanting them to join his fight, assuming they even wanted to.

Even still, the only path forward he felt comfortable in was trying to make his voice heard.

And no one…not Ace Marshall, not Glory Braddock, not Kim Williams, no one…was going to stop him.

[The Matt]

2 of 2
=====

==========
December 17th, 2024
Baltimore, Maryland
Off Camera
==========

The scene is set in a dimly lit Waffle House on the outskirts of Baltimore, Maryland. Midnight has only recently passed. The restaurant feels almost deserted except for a few individuals scattered here and there; but that is how Larry Dempsey prefers it, especially for his regular visits with his close friend Kimberly Williams and tonight is the night of one of those meetings. Their meeting are a special time, not just to catch up, but also to keep each other honest, to make sure neither one is falling back into the darkness that led both of them to spending time in a mental asylum. The Waffle House is filled with the hum of the fluorescent lights, and the occasional clang of a spatula against a griddle. The air carries the aroma of coffee and sizzling bacon, mingled with a faint metallic smell from the worn-down appliances. Yellowed linoleum tiles line the floor, some edges peeling slightly, and the vinyl booths are cracked in places, patched with duct tape. The walls, adorned with faded photographs of classic Waffle House dishes, seem to have absorbed years of stories from weary travelers and late-night regulars. Larry sits alone at a corner booth near the window. Larry’s rugged and weathered face is illuminated by the harsh overhead lighting. His jawline is covered in a few days’ worth of stubble. He wears a thick, olive-green utility jacket, its sleeves pushed up to reveal calloused forearms and a worn leather watch strap. The jacket is frayed at the edges, with a few grease stains on the front, as though it’s been through years of tough conditions. Beneath the jacket, a faded plaid shirt in muted tones of red and gray hangs loosely over his chest, untucked over his dark blue jeans that are scuffed and torn at the knees. On his feet are mud-caked work boots, their soles worn thin, and one of the laces has been knotted together in a makeshift repair. A steaming cup of black coffee sits untouched in front of him, alongside an empty plate that once held hash browns and a half-eaten waffle.

Larry checks his watch. Kimberly is late. A small grin forms on his face; this is normal for his eccentric friend. She has never been on time for their regular meetings at this Waffle House. He would start to worry if she ever was on time. He is anxious to hear from her, though. The last time he heard from Kimberly, she was planning a trip to Europe to learn more about her past and hopefully try to discover some insight into how she fits into the Jones family. It is a connection she has never truly been able to make and he hopes and prays that she found the answers she was looking for. Just then the bell hanging from the door rings, signaling the arrival of another guest. Larry looks up and spots her; Kimberly Williams. But something about her is different. She looks much different from the last time he saw her. Her outfit is chic and elegant, including a black blouse with shimmering gold accents at the collar and sleeves, paired with a bronze, textured mini skirt that hugs her frame and exudes sophistication. Her tights, patterned with a bold honeycomb design, while a pair of heels click sharply against the scuffed linoleum floor as she approaches Larry’s table. She sits down across from Larry without waiting for an invitation. He studies Kimberly for a quick moment. A slight grin forms on his face.

“You look lovely, my friend. Is there a special occasion that I am unaware of?”

“Huh?” Kim shakes her head. “No, not that I’m aware of! Unless you’re gonna buy my food tonight.” She tilts her head, studying him closely. “You gonna buy me food? Cause if so I am warning you, I’m gonna order basically the whole damn menu.”

“You can’t eat the entire menu, Kimberly.”

“Nooooo but I can take some to go!” She smirks. “Leftovers on your dime!”

“Of course.” Larry chuckles. “But forgive me, my friend, you do not always dress like this…” he motions to Kim. Kim looks down at herself and shrugs.

“Dress like what? Like a normal human being?”

“I wouldn’t put like that but…yes.” He nods his head. “Thus my question, what is the special occasion?”

“Nothing special. This old outfit isn’t even anything new, really. It’s my sister’s.” She grins with devilish delight. “Being an identical twin means I can steal her outfits and I know they’ll fit!”

“So you are dressing like a classy fashionista…something you despise…just to annoy your sister?” Larry says with a bit of skepticism in his eyes. Kim shakes her head.

“No, it isn’t that either! I have my reasons let’s just leave it at that.”

“Very well. You do look lovely, though.”

“Thank you!” Kim says grinning. “But we aren’t here to talk about freaking awesome I look, are we?”

“No, not at all.”

They pause when a server approaches the table. The staff here at this Waffle House know these two by name. They know that they have their regular meetings here and they know their orders. The server places a cup of coffee, black, in front of Kimberly. She nods her head in silent appreciation. The server walks away. Kim sips her coffee. The Woman Scorned points a finger at Larry.

“Let’s begin with you, tall, dark, and brooding. How have you been coping with you recent mental issues?”

“Quite well, thank you very much.” Larry nods. “The new medicine that therapist of yours put me on has worked brilliantly and, as promised, she has kept it all confidential and has not even brought up the possibility of reinstitutionalizing me.”

“Ol’ Doc Jenny Warren is a real miracle worker.” Kimberly answers.

“That she is.” Larry nods his head in agreement. “What of you, though? Last I heard you were on a quest of discovery…you were going to travel to Europe in hopes of finding out about your family, about finding out where you fit into your family. How, pray tell, did that go?”

“Quest of discovery?” Kim smirks. “Who do you think I am, Aaron Rodgers?”

“He went on a darkness retreat.”

“Same difference.” Kim scoffs.

“Just answer my question, my friend.”

“Fine.” She sighs. “I spent most of my time in Poland.”

“Ah Poland.” Larry smiles. “It is such a lovely country. I didn’t know you had family there?”

“I don’t. Well, my half-sister was born there, but none of blood relatives were from Poland. I was doing some digging into my grandfather and he isn’t from Poland. He was born and bred here in America. He ended up dying in Poland, though.”

“I see.” Larry remarks as he sips his coffee. “Who was your grandfather?”

“Bart Jones. It turns out he and I are a lot more alike than I had ever imagined. Like me he preferred a simplistic style. Like me he was an incredible investigator and loved doing detective work. And like me he had a strong desire for justice, true justice, not justice that the legal system may say is right or wrong.”

“And how does that make you feel?” Larry asks inquisitively.

“Aren’t you a Curious Cathy?” Kim smirks.

“I’m just keeping you honest, my friend.”

“Well if you MUST know…” she sighs “...for the longest time, I never truly knew where I fit in with my own family. My mom and all my sisters are upscale fashionistas who enjoy the lap of luxury. That’s just not who I am. And most prefer to try to operate within the confines of what the law says is right and wrong. That’s also not me. The law…for what it’s worth…can be wrong. It is a man made construct. My grandfather and I agreed on that. And you know what else? That whole Dragon nickname my mother uses…it was originally my grandfather’s. She got it from him.”

“That’s some interesting information.” He nods his head. “I imagine that had quite an impact on you, correct?”

“Yeah…” Kim smiles warmly “...for the first time I feel genuinely worthy of the Jones name. I feel as if I truly belong.”

“I am pleased to hear that you are happy.” Larry says with a warm smile as he reaches across the table and takes her hands into his hands. “Now what do you plan to do with this knowledge?”

“Honestly I’m not sure.” Kim shrugs her shoulders. “My grandfather did good in his time. So have I…I mean, for a psychopath…” she sighs “...but I still don’t feel like a good person. I’m no hero.”

“But you are a good person, my friend.”

“I dispute that.” She sighs. “I may have found my place in the Jones family but am I a good person like my grandfather? No, not at all.”

“You are making progress, at least.” Larry leans back. “No longer do you feel like an outcast in your own family. That pleases me. Is that the reason for your more…upscale attire?” He looks at her knowingly. “You feel more in touch with the rest of your family so you want to fit in with them as well? Is that it?”

“I hate you.” Kim snickers. “I hate how damned good you are!”

“I know you too well, my friend.”

“Yes, you do.” She nods her head. “And yeah, I suppose that’s why I am dressed up nicer than usual. I’m trying to imitate my mom and my sisters but…” she sighs “...this still doesn’t feel right. You know?”

“My friend, Kimberly, you found where you fit in with your family. That doesn’t mean you have to conform to their every move and appearance. Did your grandfather conform?”

“Noooo…” Kim’s voice trails.

“Then neither should you.” He says with a grin on his face. “Be yourself. If this is what you want then so be it. Or be the Crazy Kim that I have grown to love. Be who you want to be, not what you think is expected of you. From what little you have told me about your grandfather, I am convinced that is what he would want.”

==========
December 21st, 2024
On Camera
==========

The camera begins to roll and we immediately find ourselves outdoors at night on a street corner. There the camera spots none other than Kimberly Williams leaning casually against a stone wall. The Woman Scorned has shoulder-length red hair and she is wearing a bright orange knit sweater with a textured pattern, paired with a short plaid skirt in warm tones. Kimberly has black tights and over-the-knee black suede boots, adding to her stylish, urban look. In her left hand, she is holding her beloved penguin pal, and deadly weapon, Wasley. Behind her features a setting of streetlights illuminating the area. The atmosphere is lively and yet slightly casual.

“Greetings to all my Kimmymaniacs! Your fearless leader, The People’s Bunkhouse Stampede Champion is here to speak out about the reason for the season…” she nods her head enthusiastically “...that’s right, ME MAIMING PEOPLE FOR SHITS AND GIGGLES!” She throws her head back and laughs maniacally. Eventually she regains her composure and looks back into the camera, her face once again regaining its sense of stoic composure.

“Christmas is near, just a few days away, and I know Santa Claus has been taking a list and checking it twice and he should notice that I have been a good little psychopath all year! I fully expect some good gifts underneath my tree this year! But with Christmas fast approaching, what gift did I get early?” She shrugs her shoulders. “Did I get an opportunity to prove that I am the rightful number one contender to the SCW Underground Title? No. Did I at least get a chance to maim someone I absolutely despise? No.” Kim kneels down and picks up something off the ground. She takes it up to the camera and holds it up close, showing that it is a DVD. The cover is a drawing using crayon of a green stick figure. The name “Dexter Grant” is written in crayon underneath the green stick figure.

“No! Instead I got this lame ass bootleg DVD copy of ‘How The Grinch Stole Social Media’...” she takes one look at the DVD and tosses it aside, a cat can be heard meowing as if it hit a cat off screen, but Kim seems unbothered by this “...but at least The Grumpy Old Man did get me a good gift this year. He booked me against Dexter Grant on Breakdown and you know what? I will take a match against that loony toon any day of the week! Even though it isn’t the Underground, even though I really don’t gain anything from kicking his stupid ass, I still am very much looking forward to this. And you know why?” She grins from ear to ear, a look of mischief washes across her face. “I get to drive him absolutely batshit crazy!”

“See, Kimmymaniacs, I pretty much represent everything that dim bulb hates the most. Social media? I am a social media butterfly! Just check out Twitter…or X as Muskrat calls it now…my crazy, fun filled antics have earned me the moniker of People’s Bunkhouse Stampede Champion because you…THE PEOPLE…enjoy how I flood the timeline with my unique personality! My brand has taken off thanks to me spreading the message of chaos via social media!” Kimberly holds out Wasley the penguin and her iPhone is attached to him. Kim’s twittter/X page is pulled up on the screen and it displays a picture of Dexter Grant she has posted.

“See, Dexy-Poo, I know you hate social media but when you are wrestling for a major promotion like SCW, you cannot escape the media and you cannot escape a lunatic like me or Ace Marshall photographing you from one of your matches and plastering your ugly mug all over twitter…facebook…instagram…everywhere! Keep up the act, Dexter and you might draw the attention of an orange Oompa Loompa and get yourself the attention of Truth Social as well. We wouldn’t want that now would we?” She smirks devilishly.

“You have a mission to tell the world about the evils of social media. Great. Wonderful. But no one understands your stupid little mission except you. No one cares about your mission except you. People find you interesting simply because of how crazy you are. Well here’s a newsflash, junior, I wrote the book on crazy in SCW. I was crazy before crazy was cool. I made being crazy marketable. Now millions of people all over the world have embraced my message of chaos and have become Kimmymaniacs! I could take your silly little cause and make it a success story too because despite outward appearances to the contrary, I am not a lunatic and I know exactly what the hell I am doing. But you…” she shakes her head “...you are just a cheap Kimberly Williams imitator.”

“As my step-father would say, come and place your bets…but don’t bet on Dexy-Poo because you will lose that bet. Bet on the often imitated never duplicated original Crazy Kimberly Williams, the one and only Queen of the Death Match, the only god damn Queen of Chaos that matters anymore! Bet on Kimberly Williams.” Kim turns Wasley the penguin towards her and starts keying away furiously at her phone.

“Hashtag #QueenOfTheDeathMatch”

“Hashtag #PeoplesBunkhouseStampedeChampion”

“Hashtag #SCWBreakdown”

“Hashtag #KimVsDexter”

“Hashtag #AmIDrivingHimCrazyYet”

“There! Sent!” She smirks and gazes back at the camera. “Now feel free to respond with other hashtags you can think of! We want to drive Dexy-Poo to the brink of madness and then, when the time is right, I will push him over that edge…because I would never let you edge, Dexy.” She quickly covers her mouth with her free hand.

“Oops, that wasn’t PG, now was it? Then again, with some of the shit that happens in SCW, I’m fairly certain we are not PG. We may not even be PG-13…” she shrugs her shoulders “...in any event, I hope you get the point, Dex. Your message of anti-social media is really a fruitless endeavor. Social media is the wave of the future whether we want to admit it or not. Embrace it or be left behind. Just like you should embrace or get run over by it.” She winks at the camera. “And on Breakdown, you WILL get run over by chaos!”

The Woman Scorned takes Wasley and turns around. She starts to walk away into the night. The camera fades to black.

[Digitox]

The following DVD was delivered to SCW headquarters via mail, courtesy of Dexter Grant. Despite Dexter’s demands not to do so, the following video was extracted from the disc and uploaded for general viewing.

We start with all the hallmarks of a recorded VHS tape, which is odd this time around considering this video was extracted from a DVD. Blue screen with the occasional crackle of visual white noise, an audible mains hum, the little text in the corner that reads “PLAY” next to the play symbol. Once we move past this however, we see a low quality video playing that is definitely years old given what it is. For anyone who’s been a longtime fan of SCW, they’ll have perhaps seen this clip somewhere along the line. It’s one of those old PSAs showing various clips of wrestlers being seriously hurt in the ring, some of them commenting on the injuries they’ve sustained, all while a deep, impactful voice narrates the dangers of the wrestling business and urges people to heed the warning that ultimately pops up at the very end.

Please.
Don’t try this at home.

Keen-eyed watchers, however, will notice that a lot of the clips closer to the end of the video were of a higher quality than whatever was originally used in that old PSA, and all of them featured moments where Kimberly Williams was in agonizing pain, losing a disturbing amount of blood, and generally enduring a level of violence that the human body is not meant to withstand repeatedly.

Once this old(?) PSA is done playing and fades out, we then fade in to probably the clearest, most high quality footage we’ve seen yet from Dexter Grant. We find the man sitting on the roof of what appears to be a dingy old shack somewhere deep in the woods, his focus on carving the block of wood in his hands into a shape that resembles a candy cane. Once he’s got the basic shape formed, he takes his knife and begins whittling down the bottom of it, clearly intended to turn this wooden candy cane into a weapon for some reason. It’s clear by the subtle glances up from his work that Dexter’s aware of our presence, but he’s deliberately ignoring us to focus on his craft until he decides he feels it’s necessary to finally speak.

“Since I know SCW will once again ignore my requests because their precious social media mindset demands that this be spread around the platforms, how did you all enjoy the little bonus I included just for all of you? It’s funny how those old PSAs urging people, especially kids, to not try anything they see on an SCW show at home were everywhere back in the day…but now? Rather convenient, and negligent, for those warnings to magically disappear when one of their biggest social media attractions is a woman who encourages everyone around her to senselessly carve themselves up like Christmas hams because it’s fun or because she’s the role model everyone should be like. Maybe she’ll come out and tell you she shouldn’t actually be seen as a role model, but will SCW listen to that? Of course not, they want to see her merch in your hands and your blood staining the ground in her name because it means that you, too, could become a future SCW wrestler just like Kimberly Williams.

But wait, I hear you ask. Aren’t I getting ahead of myself? Shouldn’t I spend several minutes responding to how Ace Marshall ‘owned’ me last Breakdown? Or address the hypocrisy of Glory Braddock who awaits on the horizon with the title I supposedly wish to take from her?

I could…but I know that’s what you all are waiting for. Just the slightest bit of acknowledgment so you can retweet it or make a half-hour long video dissecting my words to try and be the first to break some big revelation on Youtube and bathe in the admiration. I know this may sound surprising, but there are more important matters than the undeserving egos of a few overall nobodies fueled by online validation that has convinced them they actually have worth in this world without putting in the actual work to earn any of it.

Lest we forget that I’m busting my ass trying to save you all, and this upcoming Breakdown I will perform a holiday miracle by reuniting SCW’s self-proclaimed resident psychopath with her twin sister who’s already been disconnected and is much better off for it.”

Dexter finishes his whittling, revealing to us a wooden candy cane with the tip sharpened to the point where it could pass for a shiv. He takes a moment to examine his handiwork before he tosses it off the roof, the camera briefly following it to find a pile of them gathering in the front ‘yard’ of the shack. We pan back to Dexter, who stabs his knife into the roof and turns his glare upon us.

“Make no mistake: wrestling is a dangerous business. People get hurt all the time. You don’t need to involve weapons or spill blood, either…look at the path of destruction carved out by groups like the Fall of Man just to get their points across, or look at various incidents over the past few years alone where one little botch or hiccup caused a serious injury and sidelined some of your favorite performers. These things happen in any activity where you’re expected to get physical, to the degree that a high pain tolerance is expected if you ever want to survive in the world of sports.

When you add in brilliant ideas like ‘deathmatches’ or other sensational concepts where you strip away all the rules, though, then you get an entirely different beast that is deliberately spitting in the face of whatever message companies like SCW may have once wanted to send.

This business is already not for the weak of heart, and I honestly feel I’ve done a great service in disconnecting several individuals already who were clearly not prepared for the lies they would be built upon all in the same of fitting a predetermined online image. Rayne Young? Gone. Marie Jones? Gone. Gavin Taylor? Given that I’ve proven to him I can back up the claims I made to him, it’s only a matter of time before he submits to salvation as well. In each of those instances, no one thought much of me. I didn’t have the experience, I didn’t have the skill…and yet, I came out on top, against the expectations that SCW’s algorithm forced down each and every one of your throats because I was never meant to go on a little undefeated run since my debut, I was never meant to be anything more than a joke you all could laugh at for daring to try and save you from yourselves and from this cyber cancer growing like a binary tumor in your brains.

I want to say you can sympathize with this situation, Kim, but that would require you to stop lying to yourself for more than five minutes.

The self-professed ‘Queen of the Deathmatch,’ a perceived wild card who does whatever she wants and indulges in violence and chaos for the sake of it. She has probably needed countless blood transfusions in her career, bears the scars of years of hardcore affairs, proudly taken part in some of the most gruesome displays in recent wrestling history…and for what? I’ve dug up the list of accolades attached to her name when I dug up that old, forgotten PSA from SCW’s past…funny how no one, not even Kim herself, seem to remember anything she’s accomplished beyond all her exploits regarding the underground title, because just like with those PSAs trying to keep people safe and avoid liability against any imitators in their backyards, it doesn’t fit with the image you’re all supposed to have of her, an image she has willingly embraced despite the joke that it makes her out to be because it gives her a sense of purpose.

Of course, I could play along. Give her the holiday gift I know she wants. Perhaps agree to make our little match on Breakdown underground rules just so I can beat her at her little game and really drive home the point of how used she truly is by this corrupt system and by each and every one of you hypnotized by it.

I could…but I won’t.”

Dexter pulls himself to a stand, cautiously taking a moment to make sure he’s balanced on the roof before he has some sort of nasty accident that could render this match moot altogether. Is it something he could have cut out given the editing he, or perhaps Wendell, clearly put into this? Perhaps, but it wouldn’t illustrate Dexter’s point just to save a bit of time, now would it?

“Let me make something clear to Kim and all her little hardcore friends clinging to her supposed image of being a ‘pioneer of violence’: I’m not afraid of your little world. Lest we forget, I’ve been speared off a stage and through a bunch of tables before a match where that wasn’t allowed even got started and still fought on, I wasn’t afraid to use a ladder or a trash can as a weapon during the farce that was Fatal Fortunes, nor did I hesitate in ripping open the forehead of Ace to draw his blood. If it ultimately helps my mission and forcibly disconnects these clowns like Kim, Konrad, David, Colleen, Brittany and so on, then I will gladly grab whatever weapon will offer a much-needed vacation to the hospital to reevaluate their choices in life and in wrestling without hesitation. If I chose to let Kim have what she wanted for this impending Breakdown and I was responsible for crippling her, it would be her own damn fault at the end of the day for refusing to say die when it was clear she was fighting a losing battle and I wouldn’t lose sleep over it because I did what I had to do.

I don’t refuse her terms out of fear…I refuse so I can save Kim from this self-destructive image she’s become trapped in.

Facts are facts Kim: very few in SCW actually take you seriously, and you’ve done yourself no favors by willingly playing the role of the village idiot who will throw herself off whatever bridge she’s told to as long as it gets people laughing and cheering your name. Your ‘Kimmymaniacs,’ as you so affectionately refer to them, aren’t truly supporting you…they’re using you like a tool to bolster their own online presence and steal your spotlight. Every time you raise the bar in terms of violence, every drop of blood you spill, every violent spectacle crazier than the last you pride yourself on…none of it ultimately benefits you in any way. You destroy yourself for the satisfaction of an ever-changing algorithm, and what happens next? Nobody actually supports you, they just use the clips of your exploits to react or spread ‘news’ or even try it themselves because they think they can do it in their backyard better than you can in that ring.

SCW isn’t going to stop any of this…and why would they? Your pain and suffering is their financial and viral gain.

At the end of the day, Kim, what do you truly have to show for it all? Your various underground title reigns? Forgotten if and when SCW chooses to kill that title once more when they inevitably face backlash for the excessive violence they promote once it begins clashing with the online trends and movements that seek to ‘protect’ people in exchange for their own clout. I’ve done my homework, Kim, and we both know it’s happened before. And when that time comes, when SCW is forced to backpedal and abandon the bloodshed to save its own skin, what becomes of every scar, every broken bone, every injury you’ve willingly accepted just because it makes you popular? What becomes of Kimberly Williams?

I know the answer to that question, and deep down, I know you do too.

For your own sake Kim, I’m not going to play along and watch you put one foot further in the grave when you can still be saved. I’m not going to make you into a martyr when your sacrifice would be in vain. What I AM going to do, however, is show you exactly what I showed your sister Marie: the truth you’ve blinded yourself to with this little facade. I’m going to make you understand that you could be so much more in this world once you stop letting yourself be used and abused by everyone around you just because your antics fuel their content. No more pretending, no more suffering hidden behind a digitally generated smile.

All you have to do, Kim, is disconnect from the image of insanity…to reconnect with the person who could truly be someone of value in this world, wrestling or otherwise.

And I am going to help you…whether the make-believe voices in your head to bring this little fabricated lunacy to life want it or not.”

Dexter stands firm as we slowly pan back, capturing the full image of him on the roof of this little shack in the woods as he seems to be in his element surrounded by the trees and the wilderness. It is this fleeting view that the footage ultimately fades and cuts out on.