The Vision vs. The Glimmer Sisters

[Konrad Raab]

SCW World Tag Team Championship

4 RP Limit for tag

3500 Word Per RP

Deadline: WEDNESDAY, December 17, 2025 at 11:59:59 pm ET (NOTE THE DEADLINE – this is for both shows)

[The Assassin]

1 of 2
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December 9th, 2025
London, England
Off Camera
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A few days ago in Dallas, Texas Melinda Braddock and Fiona Logan made their intentions known with a surgical strike against one half of the SCW World Tag Team Champions, Gina Glimmer. The Vision dropped Gina with Vision’s Run and made it abundantly clear what they wanted; they wanted the SCW World Tag Team Titles and they were done waiting. After defeating every tag team placed in front of them since their arrival in SCW, Melinda and Fiona are ready to head into Shattered Reality and put an end to The Glimmer Sisters and an end to their reign atop the tag team division. This has been the goal since day one and now the sister pair of Fiona and Melinda see the light at the end of the tunnel. They see the finish line just up ahead.

Shattered Reality will be a homecoming of sorts for Fiona Logan. Before being adopted into the Braddock family, she spent most of her life in Boston as a model, under the not-so-protective care of a foster father named Todd Osbourne who did not care for her well-being one bit. Boston taught her how to survive. Her circumstances, while not ideal, made her tough. Now she returns to her home of Boston alongside Melinda Braddock where she hopes to show her fans, her people, just how far she has come. It would be her crowning achievement to leave her hometown with the SCW World Tag Team Championships.

Before Fiona and Melinda make the trek to Boston for Shattered Reality, they want to make one pit stop to Melinda’s home of London, England and visit their father, Melinda’s step-father and Fiona’s adoptive father, Glory Braddock’s husband Kurt Logan. Kurt, a retired professional wrestler in his own right, had a hand in training both of the girls. They want to visit him so that he can see for himself how much success they have achieved already and what they are prepared to do at Shattered Reality to add more gold to their resume.

The late afternoon light in early October had that particular quality in London: thin, slanted, and the color of weak tea, slipping between the plane trees and turning every brick a warmer red than it had any right to be. A low sky, the color of wet pavement, pressed down on the narrow street where the two women walked, their footsteps falling out of rhythm with each other the way they always did. Melinda Braddock moved as though the pavement had been laid specifically for her: small, deliberate clicks of low patent heels, the hem of a camel cashmere coat brushing just above her knees, a silk scarf the shade of clotted cream knotted with careless precision at her throat. Her hair, pale and straight and shining like the inside of a shell, was twisted into a low chignon that looked both effortless and expensive. She carried a small structured handbag in dove-grey leather, the kind that cost more than most people’s rent, and every so often she touched the clasp with gloved fingers, as if reassuring herself it was still there. Beside her, Fiona Logan looked as though she had wandered in from an entirely different city, perhaps one with more motorbikes and fewer rules. She wore scuffed engineer boots laced halfway up, black jeans ripped at one knee, and a battered leather jacket whose collar was turned up against the chill. Under the jacket, a faded t-shirt clung to her narrow frame, and a silver chain looped from her belt to her back pocket, swaying with each long stride. She walked with her hands shoved deep in her pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, but there was nothing submissive in the posture; it was the loose, watchful stance of someone who expected trouble and had already decided how to answer it.

The street itself was quietly genteel, a terrace of Victorian houses that had once been grand and were now mostly divided into flats. Ivy climbed the brick in disciplined green sheets, and the front gardens were small but fiercely tidy: hydrangeas gone bronze, the last stubborn roses clinging to their stems, window boxes still defiant with pansies. They found one home that was the plainest of the row, its paintwork a faded sage green, the brass numerals on the door tarnished almost black. A single bay tree in a terracotta pot stood sentinel by the steps, its leaves glossy and dark even in the muted light. The curtains at the ground-floor windows were lace, yellowed with age, and behind them the rooms looked dim and undisturbed, as though no one had opened them to air in years. A faint smell of coal smoke lingered, though no one had burned coal fires in London anymore; it was the ghost of fires, carried down through decades of chimneys. Somewhere nearby a black cab coughed itself to life and pulled away, the sound echoing off the brick like a warning. Leaves skittered along the gutter, propelled by a wind that couldn’t quite decide whether to become rain.

“Ok, wait, correct me if I’m wrong, Mels,” Fiona begins “but I thought you hated your fam? Soooo why are we here?”

“Perhaps ‘hate’ is too strong a term.” Melinda remarks. “Yes, there is some tension between myself and my mother.”

“No argument from me.” Fiona remarks. “Sometimes you gotta do whatever is necessary to get what ya want. Glory…mom…she’s weak, so I get that.”

“It isn’t just a difference in philosophy.” Braddock states. “She has betrayed the Braddock name and legacy.” Melinda’s voice is sharp with venom. “That is why you and I need to step up and reclaim the Braddock legacy. Make it OURS.”

“Right…sir, yes, sir…” Fiona playfully salutes “...but again, if you got this beef, why are we here? Your mom lives here, right?”

“Yes, well, she lives here temporarily.” Melinda rolls her eyes. “She’s trying to rediscover herself, whatever the hell that means. But she didn’t come here alone. Kurt is here and I trust his judgment.”

“Oh yeah!” Fiona’s eyes light up at the mention of her adoptive father. “Kurt!”

Melinda paused at the bottom of the three stone steps that led up to the front door, her gloved hand resting lightly on the wrought-iron railing as she studied the house with the polite wariness of someone who had been raised to notice peeling paint and unmended gates. Fiona came to a halt half a step behind her, boots scuffing deliberately on the pavement. The door itself was painted the same tired green as the trim, its letter box gaping slightly where the screws had worked loose. A small avalanche of unread circulars and bills had accumulated on the mat inside, visible through the frosted glass panel. Above the door, a fanlight of colored glass, red, amber, and bottle green, threw fractured light onto the step whenever the sun found a gap in the clouds. It was doing so now, briefly, unexpectedly, like a secret being whispered. Melinda lifted her chin a fraction, the movement small but decisive, and began to climb the steps. The heels of her shoes made a crisp, authoritative sound against the stone. Fiona followed more slowly. At the top, Melinda raised her hand to the knocker, an old lion’s head whose nose had been rubbed almost smooth by generations of visitors. Melinda’s gloved fingers closed around the knocker. The metal was cold even through the leather. She lifted it, let it fall once, twice, the sound blunt and final against the wood.

The door didn’t open right away. There was a long, dragging pause, long enough for the echo of the knocker to die completely and for the street to settle back into its damp hush. Then came the slow scrape of a chain, the click of a deadlock turning with the reluctance of a joint that hasn’t been asked to move in weeks, and finally the door swung inward on a breath of warm, stale air that smelled of old paper, bergamot, and something faintly medicinal. Kurt Logan filled the doorway the way a man who has spent half his life in wide-open spaces still fills doorways: shoulders first, as though the frame had been built too narrow on purpose. He wore an ancient pair of jeans gone soft at the knees and a pair of battered boots with the laces missing from the top three eyelets. For a moment he simply looked at them, gaze moving from Melinda to Fiona and back again, slow, deliberate, the way a man studies a horizon he isn’t sure he wants to ride toward. Recognition settled over his features the way dust settles on furniture that hasn’t been touched in years: inevitable, but reluctant.

“Well girls, it sure has been awhile…”

“Easy, dad.” Melinda says, placing a tone of care and love in her voice to ease her step-father’s concern. “We come in peace.”

“I’m sure you do.” Kurt chuckles. “Still, can’t blame me for being on edge. You and your mother haven’t exactly been on the best of terms lately.”

“Nooooo and that brings us to another point,” Fiona says “is mom home?”

“No, she’s visiting her sister Julia.”

Kurt stepped back at last, pulling the door wider. The movement revealed more of the hallway: a long, narrow throat of a space with wallpaper the color of nicotine and a staircase that climbed steeply into shadow. A single coat hung on a peg by the door, a woman’s camelhair coat, far too expensive for the house, its belt still knotted the way its owner had left it the last time she walked out.

“Come in, then.”

He turned and walked away from them down the hall without looking back, the mug cradled in both hands now like something he was afraid to set down. His footsteps were soft, deliberate, the sound of a man who had learned to move quietly in hospital corridors and funeral homes.
Melinda glanced once at Fiona. Fiona lifted one shoulder in the smallest shrug imaginable, then followed him in. Melinda came last, closing the door behind her with a soft, final click that sounded, in the sudden hush, exactly like a lock turning. He leads the sisters, The Vision, down a hall and into the quaint living room. Fiona doesn’t wait for an invitation, she makes her way to the sofa and plops down. Melinda smirks as she gracefully walks over and joins her sister on the sofa.

“Make yourselves at home.” Kurt chuckles as he walks over and sits down in a chair resting perpendicular to the sofa. He looks over at his girls with pride. “Well, look at the pair of you, so much success in such a short amount of time. Three times and longest reigning MWCW Tag Team Champions. Two times MWA World Tag Team Champions.”

“And we hold BOTH of those right now!” Fiona holds up two fingers. “Mels and Fiona two belts!”

“Like I said,” Melinda chimes in with an arrogant air about her “I had a Vision and it truly is coming to fruition.”

“Good for you.” Kurt nods his head. “I admit, your mother and I aren’t exactly in alignment with your tactics, but still, we support you and are happy about your success.”

“Thank you, dad.” Melinda remarks. Fiona nods her head in agreement. “It is nice to be appreciated for a change.”

“Your mom told me that you have a shot at the SCW World Tag Team Championship coming up at Shattered Reality?” Kurt asks. “Do you think you are ready for The Glimmer Sisters?”

“Gia and Gina?” Fiona snickers. “Please, we’ll wipe the floor with those twinsie idiots.”

“You sound pretty confident.” Kurt states. “I mean, they beat The Shinigami Foundation, The European Fiery Nation, they’ve embarrassed Selena Frost on multiple occasions…”

“Oh don’t go getting all high and mighty like mom.” Fiona remarks sarcastically. “Fact is that me and Mels are fighters. The Glimmers are glorified adult circus clowns. There is NO comparison.”

“Those glorified adult circus clowns are the reigning SCW World Tag Team Champions.” Kurt points out with a wry grin. “They didn’t get to that point by happenstance.”

“Ignore Fiona.” Melinda chimes in. “Trust me when I say that The Vision is taking nothing for granted. It is Fate that The Vision should rule SCW’s tag team division and I truly believe that our rule will begin at Shattered Reality when we take those championships.”

“Fate, huh?” Kurt chuckles. “You sound like your boyfriend Clyde.”

“Maybe.” She smirks. “But it is true, Fate is on the side of The Vision. We already have two sets of tag team championships. We are ready to add a third.”

“Well I wish you good luck with that.” Kurt says. “I think you’re probably taking them a little lightly but what do I know?” He chuckles. “While you’re here do you want to get some good workout and training in? The Glenn Braddock Wrestling School isn’t far.” He points at Fiona. “I don’t think you’ve even been there, have you?”

“That is part of our plans while we are here in town.” Melinda states.

“Uh, yeah, but there is one other thing I’d like to ask you about…” Fiona remarks quietly. Melinda seems to know what she is talking about, as if she can read her mind. She frowns.

“Not now.”

“Yes, now.”

“What is it, girls?” Kurt asks curiously.

“It’s just that…” Fiona sighs “...I’ve been getting strange fan mail lately.”

“Honestly you’re letting yourself get worked up over nothing.” Melinda remarks. “It’s a creepy fan.”

“Mel is probably right, to be honest.” Kurt says. “I mean, all my career I received stuff from fans, not just mail but even weird and creepy items. Once someone sent me a half-eaten ham sandwich.”

“Ugh, disgusting.” Melinda shakes her head.

“Being in this great sport of ours attracts all types of weirdos at times.” Kurt smiles. “It’s all part of the job.”

“See, Fiona?” Melinda says. “This is normal. Creepy but normal.”

“This is different.” Fiona insists. She turns her attention back to Kurt. “I’ve been getting letters that seem to know detailed stuff about me and my past. I’ve been receiving pictures and not of me in the ring…” she pauses “...deeply personal, private pictures…”

“Oh, well that does change things a little bit.” Kurt points out, his attitude growing more serious.

“What should I do?”

“If I were you, I would go to the authorities.”

“Really?” Melinda sounds shocked at the suggestion. “I doubt they have the resources to track down this stalker.”

“You would be surprised at what the authorities are capable of.” Kurt points out. “Besides, its the best way to stay safe. Let the police handle it while you two focus on Shattered Reality and becoming SCW World Tag Team Champions.”

Melinda and Fiona nod their heads in unison. They may not agree on the approach but they do agree on one thing; they need to remain focused on becoming SCW World Tag Team Champions. They need to have no distractions ahead of their match against The Glimmer Sisters. Perhaps turning this problem over to the police really is the best course of action?

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Vlog 67
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Hello my lovelies! I am your host, Melinda Braddock, I am The Third Generation Goddess, and yes, you should be grateful to get to see me and watch another of my fabulous Vlogs, especially for this the 67th Vlog because you don’t just get The Third Generation Goddess, you get my special guest, my sister, The Boston Badass herself Fiona Logan. This Vlog features The Vision, your next SCW World Tag Team Champions!

And there’s our first hashtag, folks!

#NewTagChamps
#AndNew

Now you hear me and my man Clyde Sutter speak about Fate often. It is true, we believe firmly in Fate. We believe that Fate is on OUR side. There may be bumps in the road, there may be delays, but the endgame, the finish line, the destination is always determined by Fate. The destination is The Vision standing tall as SCW World Tag Team Champions and if you don’t believe me, just look at the fact that we are getting our first crack at the tag team championship in Fiona’s hometown of Boston, Massachusetts. Coincidence or Fate? You tell me.

Since this championship match will be a homecoming for my sister, I will let her take over from here. Tell the people all about it, Fiona.

I have a lot of memories of Boston…not all of them were good…but what I CAN tell you about my time in Boston is that it made me tough. I learned how to fight and how to survive. I learned that, no matter how much the odds were stacked against me, that I could fight, claw, and endure anything life threw my way. Now I am prepared to make my return to Boston, alongside The Third Generation Goddess who took me in and made me her sister. I am ready to march into Boston and unleash all of the rage and fury of my past onto Gia and Gina, kick their clownish asses, and take those SCW World Tag straps and make them mine!

Glimmers, you’ve humbled Selena. You’ve beaten Hollywood. You’ve beaten the European Fiery Nation. You beat The Shinigami Foundation. Hell, you two even managed to snag a Trios Contract. Quite an impressive run so early in your SCW career. But you aint the only pair used to quick and sudden success. Me and Mels have had instantaneous success in every single promotion we have been in. Everywhere we went, we won the tag team championship. And there’s another thing, girls…

…out of all of these people you have put down, you haven’t had to face anyone with the passion of The Vision! You damn sure haven’t had to face someone like me! I am NOT leaving my hometown empty handed! I am leaving either with those tag straps or with a pound of your damn flesh!

I think I just found our next hashtag!

#Passion
#BostonBadass

Speaking of hashtags and trends, there is something that has been trending big time lately that happens to coincide with this, my 67th Vlog. That’s right! 6-7!

That’s it, Gia and Gina. 6-7. It just means nothing which is exactly what you will be when me and Fiona get finished with you at Shattered Reality. You will be 6-7, you will be nothing, and your reign as tag team champions will be over.

Your Fate is sealed.

[Glimmer]

Contrary to popular belief, Gia & Gina Glimmer do, in fact, care.

They're just really good at showing otherwise.

One would assume they didn't truly care about Cirque du Sins since a paycheck was a paycheck, hence why they threatened to walk or pour their efforts into other money-making endeavors when they learned Lucian was skimming quite a bit from their pay. Their efforts to help Lucian with the loan he'd shackled both himself and the adult circus to easily came off as wanting to keep making money in their favorite way, and even then, very few actually knew the twins had practically become Lucian's primary financial backers and just assumed their wrestling endeavors were another side hustle out of frustration towards their boss.

They had also seemingly made it clear that their wrestling exploits carried an attitude of entitled nonchalance. Gia & Gina made bold claims and backed them up in the ring, even if it was through means most hated as it spat in the face of everything the business was built on. And yet, they just laughed, not caring about the hatred as they did everything in their power to reach the top and keep their shapely asses firmly planted in those thrones. Judging by the fan reactions they garnered, it seemed like they didn't mind either so long as they got to see the Glimmers put on a show.

Beneath the surface, however, there was an air of excitement the twins constantly kept locked away as it clashed with everything they had become. Gia & Gina truly loved performing for Cirque du Sins, feeling empowered at the sound of people cheering for them as they put their bodies on full, unashamed display and still pulled off tricks and acrobatic feats of athleticism that would make them a main attraction in any show. Here, they felt like they had truly found the women they always wanted to be.

As for wrestling? Despite the means by which they'd garnered everything, the twins felt like they were living a dream come true. Yeah, wrestling wasn't exactly on their radar like anybody else who comes into the business and claims they were fulfilling their childhood dream, but the fact that they had sauntered into arguably the biggest wrestling company on the planet today and, in the span of half a year, racked up an undefeated streak alongside tag team gold, a trios contract and the “attention” of SCW's biggest and most legendary names? How could anyone not be excited over how quickly they'd put themselves on the map?

That hidden care extended to others as well. Their fellow performers at the circus were like one big raunchy family, welcoming the twins into their freaky, horny antics with open arms and making them feel welcome. Lucian, despite the fact that he was an overweight slob who was more greedy than Scrooge McDuck, recognized and respected the value the Glimmers had brought to his circus and had trusted them to help him out when they had absolutely no reason to do so. Hell, even if it was brief because of the tournament pairing them up, the twins felt like a respect had been forged with both Enigma and James Evans. They wanted to see Enigma humble Xander Valentine like they had up to this point, and they'd be lying if they said the thought of James brutalizing Cid Turner and taking what rightfully belonged to him didn't make them smile... among other things.

That was why they knew they had to get to the bottom of what kept Angel bound to a literal devil like Antonio by any means necessary.

The longer Angel had hung around the circus, the clearer the twins' picture of him became. He was a lot like them: very prideful, a little arrogant, extremely talented both in his acts and between the sheets (or so they've heard, as Angel's preferences leaned more towards those who had something dangling between their legs). Even his sassy attitude meshed perfectly with their own.

If anything, the only thing that really grated on their nerves with the drag queen was the fact that he was making it no secret that he was trying, desperately, to steal their spotlight and hog it all for himself... and that was only because he was being made to do so.

Ever since they'd left Dallas after doing exactly what they said they'd do, which was retain their titles over the European Fiery Nation and prove they would never be anywhere near their level, everything else had become a secondary concern in their downtime. They still practiced and performed for shows, but they only devoted enough focus to make sure they didn't slip up and either ruin the act or injure themselves. They still studied and schemed for SCW, but honestly? Melinda Braddock and Fiona Logan could gloat about their little sneak attack all they wanted because they would never be a blip on the twins' radar and Shattered Reality would make it agonizingly clear that those two were far from the threat they hyped themselves up as.

No, their primary concern up until the pay-per-view was trying to figure out what kind of deal Angel had with Antonio that kept him from just walking away from the blatantly obvious abuse he endured, along with who knows what else that man put his “favorite toy” through.

Gia: You sure you're up for this?

Gina: Gia, I literally just wrestled a match with you. Trust me, those fate-obsessed losers didn't do the damage they think they did.

Gia: Just making sure, sis. You know we can't afford to fuck this up.

Despite rolling her eyes like any annoyed sibling would, Gina still nodded, knowing that her sister was right. They had come to the conclusion that they had to find out anything about Angel's “employment” to Antonio urgently, not just because they were sick and tired of what that criminal was doing to Angel, but because they feared things would only get worse the longer it went on, and they were plenty bad already.

The plan they had concocted was, admittedly, suicidal on paper, but it was a risk they had to take to hopefully get results ASAP.

Despite owning strip clubs (among other things) practically everywhere, they'd done their homework and learned Antonio's primary headquarters seemed to be the first club he founded in Miami, which definitely explained how he always seemed to easily secure the permits for Lucian to run the circus's annual 4th of July Carnalval along the city's beaches. But, a man running so many operations, legal or otherwise, like Antonio definitely needed a place to keep all his documents in order, and his office in the club Veneno couldn't have been more perfect. It was where Antonio got his start, and it was the heart of his whole empire.

Knowing they didn't need to be in Boston for night one of Shattered Reality until this Saturday, Gia & Gina had taken advantage of a gap in Lucian's Cirque du Sins schedule to break off from the caravan and head to Miami. Under any other circumstances, that might've been an obvious red flag, but the Glimmers had a perfect cover for the detour, having taken a booking from an indie promotion to wrestle on a show they were holding in the city, conveniently not that far from where Veneno was. That match had just ended, with the Glimmers obviously victorious and looking damn good while doing it, but now began the real plan.

During the match, Gia had caught a glimpse of Antonio in the middle of the crowd, watching them perform like he was a lion watching its prey. Knowing that he'd heard (likely from Angel) that they would be here competing, they had to hope he would assume they would want to shower and rest for a bit after their match before he potentially tried to corner them on the way out, and they needed to take advantage of that window. As soon as they stepped through the curtain, they made a beeline for their locker room and grabbed their stuff before slipping away from the venue as stealthily as they could, thankfully seeing no sign of Antonio along the way. Taking advantage of the cover of night, they blended in with the Miami nightlife seamlessly until they could duck into an alleyway just behind the club.

Gina: You really think nobody's going to get suspicious?

Gia: There's no way Antonio actually keeps track of all the people he's got “employed” as strippers and prostitutes. Not when his network runs all over the damn place, and not when he only gives a shit about his “favorites.”

Gina: I know you're right, but I hate the way you phrased it, Gia.

As they talked, the twins were busy changing, the thought of being naked in an alleyway for a few moments barely fazing them. Soon enough, they were not only dressed in brightly-colored and very slutty and revealing attire that could only best be compared to leotards or monokinis, but they had donned makeup and used some of those instant hair dye combs. Not only did they not look like Gia & Gina Glimmer at all, but you couldn't even tell they were twins unless you were really looking for the smaller details... a task that may as well have been impossible given they looked like probably the sexiest strippers you've ever seen.

With their transformation complete, Gina knocked on the door while Gia grabbed something else out of their bags. After a moment, it opened up, and the twins had to stomp out their surprise at the familiar face that greeted them: Jordan Saxton, the consultant SCW had once hired to try and “help” the Glimmers “tone down” their antics. They knew he had somehow been absorbed into Antonio's endeavors, but they never cared to know to what extent until now.

Jordan: Sorry ladies, but this entrance is for employees only.

Gia: We know! We're, uh, employees too.

Jordan just raised an eyebrow at this.

Gina: Sorry, my friend's just nervous. We just met some guy who told us to come here and flaunt what we've got to see if it sticks. Antonio, I think his name was?

Gia: Super hot and very convincing. He said this was our ticket in?

Gia held out a slip of paper that Jordan took from her before reading through it. As he did, the twins exchanged glances, having prepared for this possibility but truthfully hoping they didn't have to resort to it. The paper itself was a simple note giving permission for the two of them to have a “trial performance” to see if they were worthy of being hired on at Veneno, forged to look like Antonio had written the note using statements they'd “borrowed” from Lucian to study. It felt like a longshot considering they were making a lot of assumptions about how Antonio operated this part of his business, and trying to run it past someone who had met them before felt like they were already going to have to resort to a backup plan. Just as Gia began moving to pop something into her mouth...

Jordan: I wish I could say I'm surprised, but Antonio's got a habit of collecting every woman he finds attractive and putting them to work.

Gia & Gina exchanged looks, almost in disbelief (and a little bit of disgust) at what they'd heard before they saw Jordan step aside and usher them in, closing the door behind them and leading them through the backstage.

Jordan: I'm afraid he's out enjoying a different kind of show tonight, and I don't want to just make a decision on his behalf. If he's sent you both this way though, then maybe he plans on swinging by once he's wrapped up his other business. For now, you ladies can stay back here, get to know your potential soon-to-be co-workers, maybe get an idea of what's expected of you once you're up on that stage...

Jordan trailed off for a moment before he turned to face the ladies again.

Jordan: I'm sorry, I just realized I never got your names.

Gina: Oh, I'm Fiona.

Gia: And I'm Melinda!

Jordan: Alright, Fiona and Melinda. My name's Jordan, I'm an assistant to Antonio, and if you ladies need anything, ask one of the boys and they'll come fetch me. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the show, and I'm sure Antonio can't wait to see what you've both got.

Jordan nodded his head towards one of the passing security guards, who Gia & Gina definitely remembered as a goon that usually accompanied Antonio whenever he came around the circus. The man nodded back in acknowledgment before Jordan headed off, trailing his fingers along the curtain and pulling it open enough to provide them a peak at the woman who was currently performing. Having contemplated stripping themselves and incorporating some of the moves into their circus routines, the Glimmers could tell this black-haired beauty was as skilled as she was sexy... but they also didn't miss the scowl on her face whenever she wasn't looking at any of the horny patrons eagerly shoving their hard-earned cash into her g-string.

Gia: I've never seen a more miserable-looking stripper in my life.

Gina: I bet my tits Antonio's to blame.

Gia: Maybe we can find something that would bring all of this crumbling down on his arrogant fucking head.

Gina: Let's focus on figuring out why he's got Angel on a leash first, then we can start gathering evidence for other shit.

Gia glanced over to where the one guard had been standing, finding him wandering off towards the back entrance they'd just come in through. She nodded to Gina that the coast was clear, and the twins wasted no time blending into the shadows as they began their hunt for Antonio's office.

Gia: Did you really use one of our next opponent's names as your alias?

Gina: You followed suit! Besides, it's funny trying to make them out to be whores for something other than fate.

Gia: Well, if they catch wind of our little indie match tonight as proof that they suck at sneak attacks and aren't fazed, then maybe hearing that we got them jobs as strippers down here in Miami will do the trick.

The banter helped to keep the twins grounded so their nerves didn't get the better of them, knowing full-well they were in the lion's den now and even if Antonio wasn't around (and hopefully stayed that way), that didn't mean they weren't at risk of being turned into swiss cheese on the likely chance his security goons were armed. Despite being a little more brightly-colored than they would've liked in order to really sell the “slutty prospective stripper” getups, Gia & Gina were armed with their circus training and natural flexibility as they contorted their bodies in whatever way proved necessary to avoid being caught by the guards wandering around back here. Any doors they peeked into didn't yield the results they were looking for, but given that security only got tighter the farther along they went, they had to assume they were getting close.

Finally, while hiding behind a case of lighting equipment, they peeked around a corner and saw a lone door at the end of a hallway at the very back. Unfortunately, there were no less than four goons standing guard, passing the time by chatting with one another but making it clear that there was no approaching that door without getting caught.

Gia: That's got to be it.

Gina: Security's pretty tight.

Gia: You think if we just saunter up to them we can put them under our spell?

Gina: Too risky, but I think I've got a much safer idea.

Gina motioned to a nearby vent. It would be a tight squeeze for sure, but despite their ample assets, she and Gia had plenty of experience with a sexy take on the classic circus act of stuffing several clowns into a very tiny car. It had been a little while, but a vent was definitely bigger than those cars and the Glimmers were able to quietly shimmy their way into the vent with little trouble, making absolutely sure they made as little noise as possible as they followed it until they confirmed they were on the other side of the door.

Judging by the gaudy red and gold décor and the giant framed portraits of himself, the twins knew they had found Antonio's office.

Gia: God, his sense of interior design sucks as much as he does.

Gina: Let's just find what we're looking for and get the hell out of here.

With that, Gia & Gina set to work combing through every inch of the office. The obvious guess of the desk drawers hit a roadblock when they discovered there was only one massive drawer to the desk and it was locked.

Gina: Shit... he's probably got the key with him.

Gia: Maybe he's got a backup key hidden somewhere?

Gina: Why the hell would he?

Gia: Well, if he's half as disgustingly kinky as he likes to imply...

As Gia said that, she pointed to several pairs of handcuffs as part of a display case under a banner that clearly read “My Favorite Tools.” Gina gagged briefly but acknowledged Gia's point, beginning the hunt for the key. They checked every obvious hiding spot where a spare key could've been hidden, but no dice. Gina would've loved to just kick through the glass to the aforementioned display case out of frustration alone, with the only thing stopping her being the unwanted attention it would bring barreling into the room.

Gia: Oh, this sick bastard...

Gina glanced over to where Gia was opening up a framed photo on Antonio's desk, which presented a very... sexually graphic, shall we say, moment between Antonio and Angel that clearly looked one-sided in the kind of way that only a truly sick individual would be proud to have on display. Gia's comment, however, wasn't in reference to the photo itself, but rather the fact that Angel's mouth had been cut out of the photo, revealing a golden smile that was actually a key hidden right behind it in the frame. Sure enough, once she retrieved the key and gave it a try, the drawer was unlocked and pulled out at a length that reminded her and Gina of a filing cabinet, with Gia quickly skimming through the tabs on each folder until she found Angel's.

Gia: Bingo!

As Gina watched her twin quickly shuffle through the contents of the folder, her face growing more disgusted by whatever was within, her ear suddenly picked up on the sound of the doorknob turning.

Gina: Shit... Gia, hide!

When the door opened, one of Antonio's security goons wandered in and took a look around, though as far as he could see, there was no sign that anybody had set foot in this room recently.

Security Guard: I'm just gonna take a quick peek. He'll never know I was in here.

There was some chatter from outside calling him a “dead man” for what he was doing, but this goon just seemed to laugh it off as he walked around the room, taking his sweet time looking around. Gia, who had ducked under the desk, watched as the guy moved dangerously close to some weird display in the corner she didn't want to think about beyond the fact that Gina had hidden behind it, but thankfully her twin had contorted well enough to avoid being spotted by this idiot. When he approached the desk, his foot kicked at something, and Gia had to hold her tongue for cussing herself out over the fact that, in her haste, she had dropped the picture frame where the key had been hidden onto the carpet. Seeing the guy start to bend down, she quickly grabbed the thing she'd been holding onto and popped it into her mouth.

Security Guard: Now what is this doing-

The moment the guy was low enough that he started glancing under the desk, he suddenly found himself with a  face full of some sort of pinkish-red substance. It was, in a way, similar to Enigma's Blood Moon, and it definitely sent the guy scrambling backwards trying to clean off his face.

Security Guard: What the hell!? Did the boss seriously booby trap his own goddamn office!?

His buddies that had been hanging around just outside rushed in, trying to help him clear his eyes, and one of them immediately noticed the broken picture frame and seemed like he was salivating at the chance to tell the blinded guard how screwed he was over breaking something that belonged to their boss.

In the commotion, however, no one noticed two curvy figures slither through the shadows back into the vent, carefully making their way as far as it would take them before they popped out near an unoccupied section out in the actual club area. From there, it was easy for Gia & Gina to blend in with the various other strippers dancing around while serving horny customers before they left out the front door, the bouncer making no move to stop them as he could only assume they were potential patrons who'd had their fill.

Hitching a ride in Gia's cleavage? A few specific documents that looked like they may hold the key to setting Angel free from Antonio's sick grasp.

[The Assassin]

2 of 2
=====

==========
December 10th, 2025
London, England
Off Camera
==========

The Glenn Braddock Wrestling School sat a little apart from the rest of the street, its brick façade darkened by decades of sun, sweat, and Florida humidity. It was not an imposing building in the modern sense, no polished glass, no bold signage, but it carried weight all the same. The paint on the exterior trim had dulled to a chalky off white, chipped in places where time had taken its small, patient bites. A simple metal sign bearing the school’s name hung above the entrance, the lettering slightly uneven, as though it had been adjusted by hand more than once. The building looked lived in, worked in, and respected, like an old fighter whose scars were worn openly rather than hidden away. When Melinda Braddock and Fiona Logan stepped inside, the familiar scent hit them immediately: a mixture of aged canvas, disinfectant, metal, and the lingering trace of sweat that no amount of cleaning could ever truly erase. The air was cooler than outside, humming softly with the effort of overworked fans mounted high along the walls. The sound of their blades turning was steady and unglamorous, like the breathing of the place itself. Every step they took echoed faintly against the hard floor, a reminder that this was not a gym designed for comfort but for purpose. The main training space opened up before them, wide and unpretentious. At its center stood the ring, its frame solid and heavy, the ropes slightly faded from their original brightness. The canvas bore subtle discolorations, marks left behind by years of drills, bumps, and lessons learned the hard way. It had been repaired more times than either sister could count, but never replaced. Glenn had believed a ring should age alongside the wrestlers who trained in it, accumulating history rather than being scrubbed clean of it.

“So this is your grandfather’s famous wrestling school…” Fiona Logan studies it closely, a bit surprised at what she sees. Melinda can detect it and smirks.

“Disappointed?”

“No, not quite.” Fiona shrugs her shoulders. “It’s just that someone as popular as your dad was would, um…”

“Be more extravagant?” Melinda snickers. “No, you got the wrong Braddock. I’m the extravagant one. Our mother was more like Glenn once upon a time. Popularity and fame changed her much like it changed me. She’s trying to change but…” Melinda shakes her head “...I have my doubts.”

“Doubts or not this is where you learned to wrestle, right?”

“Yes, it was.” Melinda nods her head. “Of course mom tried to stop me at every turn. She was overprotective, couldn’t stand the idea of her little girl following in her footsteps. I often snuck away to get some lessons done in secret.”

“I’m sure she loved that when she found out.” Fiona snickers.

“She was furious. That was the beginning of the fracture of our relationship.”

“But she obviously gave it at some point.” Fiona states. “Because you did graduate from here.”

“Yes, mom finally realized that she could not keep me away from the wrestling ring and let me train here.” Melinda scowls. “This place is my birthright, she had no right to try and keep it from me.”

“Look Mels, I know you and mom have your issues but you might want to at least pretend to get along. I’m sure she’s waiting on us.”

“Of course she is.” Melinda sighs. “Anyway, let’s go.”

The pair, The Vision, walk further into the school. Around the ring, the walls were lined with mirrors that had long since lost their perfection. Thin scratches caught the light at certain angles, and some corners were clouded just enough to distort reflections. Between the mirrors hung framed photographs and yellowing posters, some curling slightly at the edges. They documented eras rather than achievements: Glenn in his prime, Glory in her early days, students whose careers had burned bright or faded quietly. None of the frames matched. None of them needed to. Melinda moved through the space with an ease that came from growing up here. To her, the building was less a school and more a second home, one that demanded discipline but offered certainty in return. Every scuffed corner and patched mat carried a memory, and those memories shaped her as much as any lesson ever had. Fiona followed close behind, her presence subtly different despite the shared surname and shared years under Glory’s roof. Where Melinda moved as though the space belonged to her, Fiona moved with a quiet awareness, always conscious of the room, the exits, the angles. Her dark hair was pulled back neatly, practical and unadorned, and her eyes lingered on details others might overlook: the slight sag in one corner of the ring apron, the duct tape reinforcing a padded turnbuckle, the way one of the heavy bags leaned ever so slightly to the left from years of punishment.

The equipment scattered throughout the gym reflected Glenn Braddock’s philosophy as clearly as the ring did. Nothing was new, but nothing was neglected. Dumbbells bore the dull shine of constant use, their grips smoothed by countless hands. Kettlebells rested in uneven rows, paint chipped, weight numbers half faded. The heavy bags were thick and stubborn, their leather cracked but intact, hanging from chains that rattled faintly when disturbed. This was not a space designed to impress outsiders. It was designed to endure. Toward the far wall, a narrow hallway led to the locker rooms and Glenn’s old office. The doorway still bore a small dent at shoulder height, the result of some long forgotten incident that had never been repaired because Glenn hadn’t seen the point. The office door remained the same dark wood it had always been, its surface worn smooth around the handle. Inside, just barely visible through the frosted glass panel, sat the outline of a desk that had once been buried under papers, notebooks, and half finished cups of coffee. The room felt quieter than the rest of the building, as though it held onto its silence out of respect.

The lighting throughout the school was practical rather than flattering. Fluorescent fixtures buzzed softly overhead, casting a flat, honest glow that left no room for illusion. Shadows gathered in the corners where the light didn’t quite reach, but even those felt intentional, as though the building understood that wrestlers needed to learn how to work in imperfection. Glenn had never trusted places that shined too brightly. He believed struggle lived in the cracks, and so the school had been allowed to keep them. As Melinda and Fiona stood there, the weight of the place pressed in, not oppressively, but insistently. The Glenn Braddock Wrestling School did not welcome anyone gently. It didn’t soften itself for newcomers or apologize for its age. It asked, without words, whether those who entered were ready to meet it on its terms. For Melinda, those terms were ingrained, part of her blood and upbringing. For Fiona, they were hard earned, written into muscle memory and survival. Above everything else, the school felt watched over. Not by cameras or modern security systems, but by legacy. Glenn’s presence lingered in the way the ring stood unyielding at the center of the room, in the refusal to replace what still worked, in the quiet insistence that wrestling was not something to be made comfortable. It was something to be respected.

“Girls!”

The voice is familiar and echoes throughout the building. Melinda and Fiona turn towards the sound. They are not surprised to see The British Bombshell, their mother Glory Braddock, approaching with an ear to ear grin on her face. She knew that there was a strong likelihood of Glory being here, and yet Melinda still had hoped against hope that she might avoid running into her. Unfortunately that failed. Melinda forces a polite smile onto her face, not a warm smile but a polite smile.

“Kurt told me you two were in London!” Glory hugs Melinda first and then Fiona. “It’s so great to see you both!”

“Great seeing you too!” Fiona states, an attempt to be friendly. Melinda just nods her head, again out of politeness, not particularly out of warmth or kindness.

“I assume you two are here because your SCW World Tag Team Championship Match?” Glory asks. Melinda nods her head.

“Yes, those championships…and the division itself…WILL belong to The Vision.”

“Damn right.” Fiona smirks. “And we’re gonna make sure none of Gia and Gina’s tricks will screw us over.”

“You two are a great tag team, there’s no doubting that.” Glory says. “And wanting to prepare for any possible scenario is a sign that you are wise beyond your years.”

“So can you help us?” Melinda asks impatiently.

“Well I have a match of my own to prepare for. Amelia Nevado, remember?” Glory smirks. “But if you want someone who can come up with all sorts of ways to test you…from the downright sadistic methods of my own father to some just plain tricky scenarios that the Glimmers might come up with…I think my best friend Mark can oblige.”

“Mark?” Fiona asks curiously.

“Uncle Mark.” Melinda says. “Well, he’s technically not our Uncle, but he’s been close with mom for so long that they’re practically related.”

“That he’s the head trainer.” Glory winks. The British Bombshell turns and waves for Mark to come over. It isn’t long before a large man, built like a tank and with long stringy black hair, comes lumbering over towards the three women. Melinda smiles upon seeing him, the first genuine smile all day.

“Uncle Mark!” She hugs him tightly.

“Hey there, kiddo.” Mark responds. He looks over at Fiona. “And you must be Fiona?”

“That’s my name.” Fiona winks.

“Mark, Melinda and Fiona are challenging a pair of twins, sisters, for the SCW World Tag Team Championship at Shattered Reality.” Glory points out. “If you can find a way to properly prepare them for what they can expect…” Glory’s voice trails off. Mark nods his head.

“You got it. I’ll put them through the wringer for ya!”

“Great!” Glory exclaims. “I’ll leave them in your care. Mel, Fiona, when you two are done, maybe we can go out for lunch?”

“Maybe.” Melinda responds unconvincingly with a shrug of her shoulders.

“We’ll see if we can change your mind.” Glory winks before turning and walking away. Melinda’s eyes remain cold as steel as she watches her mother walk away. Mark turns to face Melinda and frowns.

“Y’know, kid, you could be a little nicer to your mom.”

“I could.” Melinda shakes her head. “But I’m not.”

“Why not?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“I’ve been in this life a long time, in this business a long time, you’d be surprised at what I understand because I have seen it all.”

“You’re right, Mark. You HAVE been through it all and you have seen it all.” Melinda smirks knowingly. “So before you help us prepare to take down Gina and Gina and take those tag titles, why don’t you use your immense wisdom and experience to solve Fiona’s little problem?”

“Mels!” Fiona exclaims. She wasn’t expecting this to get brought up. She really did not want to discuss it. Melinda shrugs her shoulders.

“What? It is a distraction and we cannot afford to have you distracted at Shattered Reality.”

“I can try to help.” Mark says. “What’s up?”

“It’s nothing.” Fiona insists. “Me and Mels are handling it just fine.”

“Maybe but Mels is right, if this IS a distraction then that could give The Glimmers an edge.” Mark points out. “Trust me, I should know, I am a tag team specialist. Both members of the team need to be on point. Mels seems to be ready, but what about you?”

“I’m fine.” Fiona insists.

“She’s not.” Melinda shakes her head. “She has a creepy stalker who seems to know a great deal about her. Whoever this is, they’re getting awfully close to her.”

Fiona hadn’t wanted to deal with this or talk about it right now but here it is; she sighs and nods her head, confirming Melinda’s statement as true. Mark folds his arms over his chest.

“Is it a distraction?”

“Maybe…yeah…”

“Then ya definitely need to do something about this.” Mark states. “Whether you notify authorities or just ask SCW for additional security, do something so that you know you two are protected heading into Shattered Reality.”

“But do you really think the cops or extra security will be enough?”

“It may not be enough to stop it long term but it should be good enough to temporarily put your mind at ease so that you can focus entirely on The Glimmer Sisters.” Mark states. “This is for a tag team championship. There can be no room for error.”

==========
On Camera
==========

The warehouse is vast and hollow, its scale revealed more by echoes than by sight. Overhead, steel rafters vanish into shadow, broken only by a few dangling industrial lights that hum softly and cast uneven pools of illumination across the concrete floor. Dust drifts lazily through the air, catching the light in brief silver flashes before settling again. The smell is a mix of cold metal, old oil, and something faintly electrical, as if the building itself still remembers the machinery it once housed. Somewhere in the distance, water drips at a steady, patient rhythm. Melinda Braddock, “The Third Generation Goddess”, stands nearer to one of the lights, the glow revealing her with almost painterly clarity. Her pale hair falls straight and loose around her shoulders, strands occasionally shifting as a draft slips through a cracked loading door. She wears a structured, ivory-toned corset that cinches her waist tightly, its fabric subtly patterned and reinforced with vertical boning that gives her posture an elegant, statuesque line. The neckline is restrained yet striking, framed by thin straps that emphasize her collarbones and shoulders. Below the corset, the outfit continues into a fitted skirt of the same pale fabric, hugging her hips before falling straight to just above her knees. The skirt is laced at the sides, the ties neat and deliberate, more ornamental than functional. Her legs are bare, her stance steady and unhurried, and on her feet she wears simple, pale heels, closed-toe, with modest height, practical enough to walk on concrete, yet refined enough to match the severity of her attire. Her hands rest loosely at her sides, fingers relaxed, her expression calm and unreadable, as if she is perfectly comfortable being watched in this stark, echoing space.

A few feet away, partially cloaked in shadow and tinted by a warmer, reddish light, Fiona Logan, “The Boston Badass”, creates a striking contrast. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face, cascading down her back in controlled waves, and her lips dark, giving her a predatory confidence. She wears a fitted top in deep red, its fabric stretching smoothly across her torso, laced at the front and cut to allow ease of movement. Her lower half is clad in black leather pants, snug and flexible, creased slightly at the knees where she shifts her weight. A thin chain hangs from her waistband, glinting as it sways with her movements. Her boots are solid and imposing, black, lace-up, with thick soles designed for traction rather than elegance. They scuff faintly against the concrete as she steps, the sound deliberate, controlled. One arm is relaxed at her side, revealing faint ink along her forearm, while the other rests near the belt, fingers casually hooked as if claiming ownership of both the title and the space around her.

“Shattered Reality.” Melinda Braddock chuckles softly to herself. “Gia, Gina, your reality is about to be shattered into a million pieces by the one and only ultimate truth that is Fate. Reality is that you two are really good, there is no denying how talented you are in tag team wrestling. Reality is that, on any other night facing any other tag team, you would likely retain those SCW World Tag Team Championships. Unfortunately for you, the REALITY is that you are defending those championships against fastest rising tag team in professional wrestling today. You are defending those tag team championships against the living embodiment of Fate itself. You are defending those titles against The Third Generation Goddess and The Boston Badass. You are defending against The Vision and that reality is going to bring an end to your impressive reign as champions in SCW.” Braddock smiles, almost condescendingly, before turning to face Fiona, giving her a nod, a cue to speak up next.

“Mels here is nicer, sweeter, more polite than me.” Fiona snarls. “I aint gonna spout on about what you’ve done inside the ring because, quite frankly, I don’t give a damn. What I DO care about is that you have what WE want! What I DO give a damn about is the fact that you are the one and only, the final obstacle standing between us and complete dominance over the SCW tag team division! Mels can call it Fate, she can call it destiny, I call it the two of us kicking the crap out of you all night long. I call it us stomping you into that mat, stomping you into the pile of garbage that you are, and stomping that fight out of you until you have no choice but to relent, to give in, to give up the fight. For Mels and I this aint about the spirit of competition or bullshit like that. No, we come and we take whatever the hell we want and we want those SCW tag straps. So at Shattered Reality, we’re gonna take them from ya whether you like it or not!”

“Gia and Gina,” Melinda continues “you have both been quite entertaining but now the time for fun and games has come to an end. Shattered Reality is not about entertainment, Shattered Reality is a fight to ensure that the will of Fate itself is done. Fate never loses the battle, Glimmers. Fate always gets what it wants. This is why we have won tag team championships in every single promotion we have been to and this is why we shall add the prestigious SCW tag team championships to our trophy case once we dispose of you, because with all of your skills and all of your trickery, you will still ultimately fall at the feet of Fate itself, because Fate has determined that The Vision’s time is now. Fate WILL grant us victory at Shattered Reality.”

“The pair of you are entertainers, not fighters.” Fiona scoffs. “You have yet to be met with a true test. You have yet to be truly tested. When The Vision puts the pressure on at Shattered Reality, we will expose you two clowns. When me and Mels brings the fight to your asses, you will fold, ironically enough, like a god damn circus tent. I guarantee it.”

“Your Fate, Glimmers, is sealed.” Melinda smirks knowingly.

[Glimmer]

One would think that with the weather getting colder and SCW deciding to close out the year in a couple of places that are definitely feeling the sting of winter that it might deter some of the antics of Gia & Gina Glimmer. They may be the sexiest circus act you'll ever see in your life, but at the end of the day, they're still human and they are capable of freezing their big hot asses off just like anybody else. Anyone who thinks that, however, might be underestimating just how crafty and creative Gia & Gina can get, even despite seeing the various schemes they have pulled to keep their opponents guessing.

That appears to be the case now as we find the Glimmer Sisters holed up in what looks like an abandoned warehouse, except they've definitely decided it needed some “Christmas magic” to really bring some life to the otherwise dull scene. There's a Christmas tree fully decked out with ornaments, what looks like a makeshift fireplace set up with a toasty fire already blazing to provide some warmth, and even a pair of festive bras hung by the chimney with care. Yeah, maybe that's not how it's supposed to be done, but when have we ever known the Glimmers to play by anybody else's rules? The only reason we know this is they're doing is because they're standing right in front of the fire admiring their handiwork. If the perfectly curvy bodies illuminated by the warm glow or the long black hair with a couple of winter-inspired (or perhaps Frost-inspired) light blue streaks dyed in isn't a dead giveaway, then it's definitely the fact that they're attire consists of what looks like red lace thongs peaking out beneath a pair of Boston Red Sox jerseys bearing the name GLIMMER on the back... and of course, the number 69.

Gia(?): On behalf of my twin sister and Cirque du Sins, we'd like to wish all of you a very sexy Christmas.

Gia (at least, we're taking a guess) glances back at us as she says this, a wink accompanying her sultry smirk. Jarringly, a barrage of comments and emojis begin flooding the screen, and you can be forgiven for missing the UI entirely that reveals this is a livestream to maybe Tiktok or Instagram, or maybe you're catching the inevitable upload to Youtube someone will likely do after the fact. One thing is clear: the twins are definitely a hot distraction from whatever you were doing, and pausing to try and read through the thousands of comments flooding in reveals not a single negative one. Gina (again, making an assumption) turns her head as well, a little shimmy of her ass accompanying the simple motion.

Gina(?): 'Tis the season, and Gia and I are more than happy to be your Mrs. Claus and provide you all with some holiday cheer. Your miserable, mundane lives could very much use the kind of joy we're happy to spread.

Gia: The city of Boston has already been very kind and welcoming to us. Case in point: these kickass custom made Red Sox jerseys.

Gina: It's good to feel loved by the places we visit.

Gina can't resist puckering her lips and blowing us a kiss, which only sparks even more emojis and comments. #BostonLovesGlimmers seems to be a prominent message that we can pick out among the sea of words rapidly scrolling across the bottom of the screen.

Gia: You know Gina, I'm pretty sure this little revelation is going to piss off a certain “Boston Badass.”

Gina: You mean like how our little livestream is going to piss off a certain so-called “goddess” when she realizes we're doing the kind of social media numbers she fingers herself to the thought of because she's not the big time social media influencer she thinks she is?

Gia: If that's what Melinda Braddock masturbates to, then her sex life with big bad Clyde must be even more dull than we thought. Then again, they give the impression that they'd be that boring kind of couple who'd wait until marriage because it's what “fate” commands of them.

Gina: Yup, we're back to “fate this” and “fate that” and all these farfetched claims that we're going to lose right here in Boston all because it's the will of “fate.” I'd ask if Melinda even paid attention to our little presentation the last time we handed her ass to her, but she definitely gives the vibe of one of those AI chatbots that repeat themselves over and over again. Seriously bitch, at least Pinocchio didn't sound as wooden as he looked in that Disney movie your mommy definitely showed you growing up.

Gia can't resist dancing a bit, her thong-clad booty peaking out more and more as the jersey sways. A pivot around to face us reveals the jersey's unbuttoned, and surprise, it's clear the festive lacy bras hanging by the fireplace are the ones they were probably wearing because we get an unobstructed view of cleavage that confirms a naked chest beneath the jerseys, which are the only reasons the censors haven't already kicked into high gear.

Gia: Unlike you two, we've got no strings to hold us down. Before you even open your mouth and try to respond to that with “well, fate says...” maybe stop for a moment and, I don't know, use your brains if they actually work? Here, I'll embrace the spirit of the holidays and help you out: the more you talk about fate like any of this shit is actually set in stone, the more you prove that you're very much puppets dancing on your strings and following some predetermined path instead of getting adventurous and seeing just how much more spice you could add to your life if you just take a little leap of faith.

Gina: That's how we became the bad bitches we are today. Pretty sure we said as much back at Under Attack with the trios finals, but if you can repeat the word “fate” 16 times across two different addresses to us, then we're allowed to repeat ourselves at least once.

Gia: And yeah, we did count. You guys really have a hard-on for that word, don't you?

Gina: Look, if fate truly was as concrete as you claim, then Gia and I? We wouldn't exist. At least, not as the kinky clown bitches who have taken SCW by storm and ruined more pairs of underwear over the past few years than Melinda's seen likes and retweets of whatever she thinks makes her the social media sensation she's clearly not. Fate had an entirely different plan for hotties with the kind of bodies we possess, but we had our reasons for not vibing with that plan. So, you know what we did? We completely abandoned our old lives, reinvented ourselves from scratch, and once we found our way to Cirque du Sins, the Glimmer Sisters were truly born.

The emojis and comments that come flooding in across the bottom of the video make it clear the people watching are enamored with this story, with one particular comment claiming “Better origin story than a Marvel superhero.” Several more comments are clearly latching on to The Vision being quite boring and making it clear they fall asleep whenever they open their mouths because all they do is talk about fate.

Gia: You know what I just realized, sis?

Gina: What's that, Gia?

Gia: Fiona isn't really as big on the whole “fate” thing as her totally-not-cheating-on-Clyde-behind-his-back partner Melinda is. Part of me wanted to give her a chance because she probably didn't sound like a broken record, but all I got out of her was a sob story about how Boston is her home and it made her tough and even if she doesn't have good memories here, she really wants to do her hometown proud by finally making something of herself.

Gina: Huh... you know, that does sound kind of moving... if saying people from Boston are tough wasn't like saying the sky is blue or our plump asses are the most perfect peaches people have ever laid eyes upon.

Gia: Seriously Fiona, we've had our fair share of wild nights with Boston guys and girls, so we can attest to how tough you are. Doesn't change the fact that every single threat you had to throw our way is just a watered-down version of what Dakoff and Ludpig claimed they were going to do to us last Breakdown, and they're already the most watered-down versions of actual wrestlers you'll find on the market so that should be a wake-up call that you could really use someone that doesn't sound like ChatGPT to help you think of some threats that have a little more sizzle.

Gina: Gia's right, you're not really making us quake in fear of shit we've already heard before. That includes the claim that we're entertainers and not fighters, never mind the fact that being fighters also means knowing how to outthink your opponents to put them flat on their asses by any means necessary. That's how you survive in this world, and that's why my twin and I have been unstoppable since we arrived on the scene. But hey, maybe you're right. Maybe we haven't been truly tested yet and we're still waiting for someone to actually start making all of our fun little schemes start failing right before our very eyes. But if you think you two are the team that's going to do that, then clearly you haven't been paying attention.

Gia: Now sis, cut them a little slack. They did have their moment on Breakdown where they got a cheap shot in and left you laying, so of course they're riding high on the first noteworthy thing they've ever done in their careers.

A whole slew of laughing emojis start flooding in, though there are a few comments mixed in that seem to be trying to refute Gia's claims by pointing our what Melinda and Fiona have accomplished elsewhere. Thankfully, those commenters are about to have their concerns answered.

Gina: Yeah, I guess you're right, Gia. You two must feel so proud that you finally put on your big girl panties and earned that oh so precious 15 seconds of fame on sites just like the one we're streaming to right now. Reminds me of when Selena Frost hit me in the back with a steel chair... wait, you had a front row seat to that, didn't you Melinda? And do you remember what came of it? Unless I truly am the stereotype that pretty women lack functioning brains, I believe the very next match I had after that saw me as part of the team that kicked your ass right alongside Clyde, who's definitely a much bigger threat in the most literal sense than Fiona is.

Gia: It's kind of funny that you two are trying so hard to forget that trios actually happened, or maybe you're coping with it by blaming Melinda and Clyde's failure on Alex Belmont, which... fair, the Shitigami Foundation are absolutely losers in every sense of the word. But can you blame us for laughing when you claim we haven't met a true test yet when your name is on the list of people who supposedly haven't “truly tested” us up to this point?

Gina: We've beaten Syren, we've outsmarted her so-called rival and the current U.S. champ Meghan Strader, we've humbled one-half of the so-called “best modern tag team in SCW” in Amelia Nevado, we embarrass Selena Frost on the regular, we've left big bad Xander Valentine laying not once, but twice. I could go on, but unlike you with the whole “fate” thing, it's not hot beating a dead horse. Point is, that right there is a list of some of SCW's biggest names right now, and not a single one of them have been able to get anything over on us.

Gia: Meanwhile, Melinda and Fiona have... um... damn, what have they even done, Gina?

Gina: They're undefeated just like us.

Gia: Maybe as a team, but Melinda's definitely been beaten before. We know, because Gina was part of the team that made it a reality.

Gina: They've held tag team gold immediately everywhere they go.

Gia: Cool, we did that in the only company that actually matters to anyone in SCW.

Gina: Pretty sure that's it... unless chat can think of anything we're missing?

Tons of comments come rolling in, but none of them seem to be offering anything that actually answers the twins' question. If anything, most of the comments seem to be hashtags supporting the Glimmers or claiming they're Boston's new favorite daughters and Fiona has been disowned by the city, a sight that gets the two of them laughing.

Gia: Aw, you guys are so sweet. Here, I think you all deserve a present.

Gia saunters over to the Christmas tree, ample ass swaying in that enticing way you can't help but feel your eyes drawn to, especially as she slowly and deliberately bends over and grabs a pair of presents. As she struts back over to where Gina's still standing in front of the fireplace, she hands her twin a present and the two of them waste no time in opening them. Inside? Their tag title belts, in case anyone was wondering where they've been this whole time, although Gia & Gina have added a festive little adornment in the form of a mistletoe tacked onto the center plates.

Gina: Well would you look at that? Guess we're on Santa's nice list this year because he's always gifted us the tag team titles that Melinda and Fiona want so very badly.

Gia: Guess that's fate for you, making it pretty clear that the only place these titles are spending the holidays is with the Glimmer Sisters, as it should be.

Gina: The Vision shouldn't feel bad, though. There's no shame in getting their asses beat by a superior team who knows they're far more blind than they let on. You can't help it when “fate” is in the driver's seat, can you?

Gia: But hey, we're not going to be grinches this holiday season. We're willing to offer you the hottest match you'll ever wrestle in your lives, along with a chance to understand just how pathetic the two of you truly are. By the end of it, not only will you not be walking out of Boston as tag team champions, but you'll understand exactly why you two were so easy to forget about when you were never a blip on the radar compared to the far bigger and more entertaining names we've been screwing with lately.

Gina: And Clyde can start questioning his little ménage à trois with the two of you once he sees the two of you pucker up, because we're putting you both under the mistletoe and giving you the chance to kiss something that fate's lips are all too familiar with.

With grins and chuckles, the twins turn their backs to us once again, and we can see them putting their tag team titles around their waists... except, the belts are intentionally backwards, which puts the center plates, and the mistletoes attached to them, right above those thick, juicy peaches. To make absolutely sure The Vision get the hint, Gia & Gina even let their Red Sox jerseys slide off their bodies at this point, leaving them naked from the waist-up and the view from behind unobstructed as she glance back at us.

Gina: Be sure to like, comment and subscribe to these asses, bitches, and we'll see you two at Shattered Reality.

Gia: And bring some chap stick, because if your lips are crusty when they meet my cheeks, I'm knocking someone's teeth out.

With a pair of seductive winks to punctuate the scene, the stream suddenly comes to an end.

*~*~*~*

Lucian: Stream's done! Fucking hot stuff, mates.

As soon as Lucian gave the word, the tech crew for Cirque du Sins immediately got to work tearing down the little holiday set that had been erected in this otherwise abandoned warehouse. Gia & Gina had been the ones who came up with the idea to livestream what they had to say to The Vision on the circus's social media accounts, mostly to try and shove it down Melinda's throat that they were far better influencers than her without even trying, or having their own accounts for that matter. Needless to say, it had worked out perfectly judging by the numbers and comments.

Gina: Did you expect anything less Lucian?

Gia: Seriously, one flash of our tits or asses and people become hypnotized.

Lucian: You know I'd never bloody doubt you bitches. Talk about a great stocking stuffer for the Christmas season! Speaking of which...

Wherever the rotund ringmaster was hoping to go with this died in his throat as he saw the twins getting dressed again. Leggings were pulled on over the thongs and the bras were retrieved and put on along with the jerseys, which were properly buttoned up. It may not be that cold outside right now in Boston, but the twins weren't going to freeze their tits off heading back to where their circus was setting up shop for the next few days.

Gia: Sorry to put coal in your stocking Lucy, but we've already got plans.

Lucian: What fucking plans? You cunts don't have anything better to do until showtime tonight!

Gina: We'd love to stay and chat, but like Gia said: we've got plans. We'll see you tonight Lucy.

Lucian was left to have yet another meltdown over the embarrassing nickname the twins had adopted for him after Angel had started it. Gia & Gina weren't kidding about having plans, though, and those plans just to happened to involve Angel. Namely, combing through what they'd swiped from Antonio's office days prior to figure out what bound Angel to that dangerous dickhead and how they could set him free.

Gia: You sure it's a good idea leaving Lucian out of the loop on this?

Gina: He's already scared shitless enough around Antonio and his threats. Best to just let him worry about repaying the loan and let us have the balls to break this bastard.

Gia: Hopefully we can find something, because I don't know if I can go another day of seeing Angel try to hide-

Jordan: I swear to you, I don't know how it happened!

The twins had left the warehouse and were walking along the harbor on their way back when they heard that familiar voice. Jordan Saxton was hard not to recognize considering how much he had grated on their nerves truing to “tone down” their shenanigans for SCW television, but knowing he had somehow fallen into Antonio's clutches himself had them conflicted.

Antonio: I suggest you think a little harder then vato, because you know I don't accept non-answers.

That voice they knew even more, and the Glimmers looked about ready to shit bricks the moment it met their ears. Following the sound, they silently crept over to an alleyway between two other warehouses in this harbor, and their hearts about stopped at the sight that greeted them.

Jordan was being pinned to the wall by two of Antonio's goons, and the self-styled kingpin himself was leaning over the man, a gaudy custom gold and pink revolver pressed to his temple. Strewn about the alleyway at their feet were bodies... Gia recognizes the face of one of them clearly, as it's the face of the guy she spat her little tribute to Enigma into.

Antonio: I step into my office and I find that some very important documents happen to be missing from my filing cabinet. The only time I wasn't at Veneno this week was when I had stepped out to watch Lucian's star sluts in action. You were in charge that night... fill in the blanks. Now.

Jordan: I swear, nobody broke in! Nobody got backstage and all the strippers showed up, including those new ones you sent over.

Antonio: What are you talking about? I never picked up any new whores to add to my collection that night.

Jordan: I swear, they said you-

Antonio: I thought you were smarter than this Jordan. It breaks my heart to see that you let a couple of cheap floozies convince you to let them in so they could steal my shit.

Jordan: Wait, Antonio please! I love you! I'll do whatever you want, just please don't-!

Jordan's desperate plea fell on deaf ears as Antonio cocked the gun and pulled the trigger without a moment's hesitation. There was little sound, which told the twins he had a silencer attached to it, and they could only watch in horror as Jordan's lifeless body slid down along the wall once Antonio's goons released him, a trail of blood and brain matter painting the stone on his way down.

Antonio: Sorry Jordan, but I don't love anybody who fucks up on my watch. Clean this mess up.

Gia & Gina watched as Antonio holstered his revolver and stormed out of the alley, leaving his henchmen to dispose of the bodies. They wisely didn't stick around for too much longer... they were already walking on thin ice as it was, and they knew beyond a shadow of a doubt now that Antonio would absolutely kill them if they didn't plan accordingly from here on out.