Nothingness.   The ability to draw strength not from anger, but from love and tranquility. The mind becomes shapeless, formless….like water. Free of the fear of defeat. Taking the frustration of combat, and letting it go.    Inhale.    Count to four.   Exhale.    Count to four.   The faintest sound of a light breeze passes through the Pride Champion’s ears; Regina Tacet smiles and opens her eyes.   Back at The Cesar Dojo, Dragana is met with the sight of her Certified Greatness challenger, Beatrixx, right in front of her. She joins her in meditation.    Beatrixx: You know, back when your family created this place… I heard so many good things about you, your brother, your family… That seemed too good to be true.   Beatrixx: Part of the reason I was interested in getting a closer look when I saw your poster? Was to see for myself.    Beatrixx: I am happy that after you gracefully opened your doors to me, to find out it’s all true.   Beatrixx: The work you’re doing here for young women… Young athletes… It gives me great hope for the future of professional wrestling.   Dragana smiles and grabs her phone next to her.   Speaker: Thank you, Miss Beatrixx. You were wonderful.   Beatrixx: It’s why I am not surprised in the least that the head of the Dojo had an answer for everything thrown at her at Certified Greatness. It is true… OCWFed really is home to the very best.   Speaker: You sell yourself short, Miss Beatrixx. If one of those kicks had landed, this championship could have easily been yours. I was lucky.    Beatrixx smirks as she refuses to break eye contact with Dragana, in spite of the speaker being held up for her to hear.   Speaker: I am not entirely aware of your past history, but I do know that you have spent so much time and effort to make it in OCW. If you have any self-doubt, let me be the one to tell you: you belong here. And I cannot wait to see what you do next.   Dragana reaches out and touches Beatrixx’s hand.   Speaker: Thank you once again for the match, Miss Beatrixx. You are free to stop by the Dojo whenever you please.   She bows and laughs with joy.    Beatrixx bows to the Pride champion in return.   Beatrixx: It’s me that should be thanking you. That opportunity on the biggest stage in front of my people… My hometown… My family. That’s because of your grace. You had every right to put our match on hold while Florence was handled.   Beatrixx: But you didn’t. You are an inspiration to me, though I hope you believe that we will meet in the ring again, a chance I cannot wait for.   Beatrixx extends a hand to The Silent Queen. Dragana tilts her head, taking Beatrixx’s hand before pulling her in for a hug.   The camera pans out to reveal a confused Greg standing between the two women. He scratches his head.   Greg: Why the hell am I here? You’ve apologized to me about a dozen times since the show!   Dragana looks at Greg and responds via phone.   Speaker: I still feel awful about it. I am so sorry, Mister Greg. I hope you are not too hurt.   Greg: It’s all good, I’m fine! I’ve had worse. I’m going back to my wife and kids. Goddamn.   Dragana’s face turns red as Greg walks off, much to Beatrixx’s amusement.   Beatrixx: Before I go, that bridging chancery you ended my night with? I heard them call it “The Greivous Fly Trap”... Where did you learn such a painful hold?    Dragana looks back at a nearby photo of The Troupe. She sighs and smiles. Beatrixx nods.   

Impactful stuff. Very intrigued to see where you are going. 

Some men break under pressure. Others learn to breathe in it.     The lights buzz overhead, dim and flickering.   A lone camera follows Rayzah as he paces slowly across the worn mats of the Combat Center. Walls are scuffed. Heavy bags swing slightly from the earlier beating they took. There’s no crowd, no entrance music, just the echo of boots on concrete and the sound of tape stretching across knuckles.   Rayzah stops, looking up at the cracked mirror across from him. He speaks, voice low, deliberate.   Rayzah: I thought I was walking into a training room.   He smirks faintly.   Rayzah: I walked into a battlefield.   He turns toward the camera now. No posturing. Just presence.   Rayzah: The Combat Center wasn’t built for comfort. No big screens. No safe landings. Just pain, repetition, and truth. I came in with confidence. Thought I had grit. Thought I knew what pressure felt like.   He flexes his fingers once, the tape across his fists splitting slightly.   Rayzah: Then the vets showed up.   He lets the moment hang.   Rayzah: They didn’t ask my name. Didn’t care about my story. Didn’t even blink when they dropped me. Over and over. Every time I stood up, they put me down harder. No handshakes. No welcome.   He taps his shoulder where the Anarchy patch used to sit.   Rayzah: That was my test. And I held my ground.   He paces again, speaking with more weight now.   Rayzah: You don’t earn respect in a place like this with words. You earn it with bruises. With silence. With showing up the next day more stubborn than you were the last.   He stops at the heavy bag, hitting it once — clean, sharp, heavy. The bag shudders.   Rayzah: They tried to break me.   He stares at the bag a moment longer.   Rayzah: They failed.   He walks back toward the camera. Sweat on his brow. Fire in his eyes.   Rayzah: You see, I didn’t come here to be accepted. I came here to be undeniable. And now that I’ve seen what this place demands? Now that I’ve taken everything the Combat Center threw at me and stayed standing?   He leans slightly in.   Rayzah: OCW… if you think you’re going to stop me from rising up?   He shakes his head slowly.   Rayzah: Then you weren’t watching closely enough. Because I’ve already proven it where it matters most.   He glances back at the cracked mirror.   Rayzah: In here!   Fade to black.

Fired multiple times? Is this alternate universe me?