The Prodigy of WWE Roxanne Perez The youngest superstar in the main roster Part of The Judgment Day Bisexual (female lean) Switch Can be a trans on request The Prodigy is here to Rise Up and watch her opponents fall down

Not hysterical. Controlled. Carla: See? This is what you are. Emotional. Unstable. Reckless. Han thrashes against the officials. Han: I WILL END YOU! Han screams in frustration, straining against the human wall. Suddenly— A commanding voice cuts through the chaos.

Carla: You bleed easily, Han. And you scream even easier. That’s not a queen. That’s not a ruler. That’s a woman terrified that the spotlight is already shifting away. I didn’t threaten your life. I gave you perspective. Suddenly— Han (shouting from the ring): SHUT UP!

that meant something. That was power. That was prestige. That was history. You? You’re a placeholder. A convenient champion during a transition period. And you’re furious because I refuse to treat you like the main character. Boos rain down. Carla’s tone becomes colder.

what happens when you disregard me. When you pretend that your little championship reign makes you untouchable. She smirks. Carla: You carry that Women’s Championship like it’s sacred. But look at it. Look at how irrelevant it feels in your hands. When I held the World Title —

You are not the center of this division. She begins pacing slowly. Carla: You walked out here the week before and spoke about Mary. About Warfare. About your bright little future. You barely said my name. As if I was some footnote. So I corrected you. I gave you a preview of

dimly lit backstage, composed. Dressed immaculately. No sign of fear. She smiles as she speaks. Carla Rodriguez: Oh, Han… You look… unwell. You’re running around like a wounded animal because last week I reminded you of something very important. You are not the center of this

I am not waiting for security to make this neat. She leans over the ropes, shouting toward the stage. You want to erase me? You want to talk about destiny? Come erase me right now! Beat. The screen flickers on. Carla Rodriguez appears. Deafening boos. She stands somewhere

Han, wiping blood from her face as she barely stirs. The camera pulls back on absolute pandemonium — the fallen champion bathed in crimson, Rick Myers shouting instructions, and Carla Rodriguez standing on the stage, eyes locked forward, possessed. Fade to black.

will not be done with you. And I will not let you breathe freely… until that championship is in my hands and Royal Clash is nothing but a corrected mistake. Officials surround her, trying to usher her backstage. She simply keeps staring at the ring. Inside, medics kneel over

see your shoulders pinning me to that mat. I hear that bell. Her voice trembles — not with weakness, but rage. Carla Rodriguez: You want to move on? You want to pretend I don’t exist? You don’t get to breathe while I’m suffocating on that memory. I am not done with you, Han. I

talk about Bloody Mary. You talk about Wrestle Warfare. You talk about history. You talk like Royal Clash never happened. I tried to erase it too. I tried to tell myself it was a mistake. A glitch. A momentary inconvenience. But every night… when I close my eyes… I see it. I

medics. Referees wave frantically. Blood pools beneath the champion’s face. Carla rolls out of the ring calmly. She grabs a microphone from ringside. As she walks slowly up the ramp, breathing heavy but composed, she speaks. Carla Rodriguez: You stand in this ring… and you

pulling at Carla — but she holds it tighter. Han’s eyes begin to flutter. Her body slackens. Carla watches her. Watches the light fading. And then, when she’s satisfied — she releases. Han collapses lifelessly onto the mat. Myers drops to his knees beside her, screaming for

pulls back, tightening it like a cruel lever. Han’s eyes widen in absolute shock. For the first time, fear flashes across her face. She tries to breathe. She can’t. Her hands claw weakly at Carla’s wrists. Her legs tremble. Rick and officials finally flood the ring, shouting,

the longer metal connector between turnbuckle and ring post. The steel rod comes loose in her hands. Han is barely upright, drenched in red. Carla wedges the metal against Han’s jaw and face, forcing it across her mouth, bridging it viciously between her teeth and cheek. She

weakens, slipping, but Carla keeps lifting her, slamming her head again and again into cold metal. Officials rush down the ramp. Referees scream. @Rick_MyersWSW storms toward the ring shouting orders. Carla ignores all of them. She tears away the cylindrical safety cover from

instantly. The crowd turns from boos to horrified disbelief. Han staggers backward, blood running from her nose. Carla does not stop. She shoves Han’s skull against the exposed joint where rope meets steel, grinding her face against it with primal fury. The champion’s body

gasps as Han collapses to her knees. Carla rips at the upper turnbuckle pad, tearing it loose and throwing it aside. The steel underneath gleams. She drags Han up again by her hair and— SMASH! Han’s forehead collides with the exposed metal. A crimson streak appears

Just fists. Carla mounts her and rains down merciless punches to the champion’s skull and cheekbones. The thuds echo sickeningly through the arena. Han tries to cover up, but Carla grabs her by the hair and hurls her face into the turnbuckles. Once. Twice. Three times. The crowd

will not be a match. It will be art painted in bruises. She lowers the microphone— And from behind— A blur. @ProdigyofWWE explodes into the frame. The ambush is immediate and savage. She clubs Han from behind, driving her face-first into the mat. No theatrics. No screaming.