The camera opened on a focused, cold-eyed Trish Stratus standing in front of a black and gold “Queen of the Ring” backdrop. She wore a sleek black leather jacket over her gear, the EBWF logo stitched on the sleeve. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight braid, and her smirk was sharp, dangerous. She took a breath, seeming to take it all in, centering herself.

Trish Stratus: Here we are… Total Supremacy. And fitting, isn’t it? Because by the end of tonight, that’s exactly what I’ll have. Total. Supremacy.

She carefully enunciated each word. Then she stepped forward, slowly, the confidence radiating off her.

Trish Stratus: First up—Jamie Hayter. Now Jamie, I’ve watched you from afar. I see the toughness. The grit. I even respect the way you throw a forearm like you’re trying to rearrange someone’s jaw. But respect doesn’t mean I’m going to let you stand in my way. You’re good, Jamie… but I’m not here to praise you. I’m here to beat you. You’re a roadblock. A necessary stop on the way to the crown. And I’m not slowing down for anyone—not even someone who hits as hard as you do. Because I hit harder… where it matters.

Trish tapped the side of her head.

Trish Stratus: It doesn’t matter if you hit hard if you’re not very bright. And I don’t mean that to be mean, Jamie. It’s just that you can’t possibly think you stand a chance. The final four is the best you’ll ever be, and don’t take it personally, you still have so much time to be as good as me on my worst day.

Her tone hardened. The smirk faded into something colder.

Trish Stratus: Jamie Hayter isn’t my only work here tonight. Now, once I’m done with Hayter, I’ll be watching the other semi-final very, very closely. Because it’s that wonderful night of the year that the King and Queen of the ring have to win two matches in one night to claim the crown. And my toughest task will come in match number two.

She held up two fingers, wiggling them before rolling her eyes.

Trish Stratus:Britt Baker. Becky Lynch. Two women I know very well… and neither one of them wants to see me in that final. I promise you that. Let’s talk about Britt first. The “Role Model.” The “Doctor.” The brand.

Trish scoffed, brushing invisible dust off her shoulder.

Trish Stratus: You’ve spent your whole career trying to build an empire that looks suspiciously like the one I built twenty years ago. You’ve patterned yourself after me—and I’m flattered, really—but the thing about stepping into the Queen’s footsteps is that eventually… you run into the Queen herself.

Our bad blood? That’s just business. You want the spotlight I already own. But Britt, if you make it to the final, understand this: I’m not handing you a torch. I’m snatching that dental drill from your hand and shoving it straight down your throat. Britt Baker, D.M.D.? Oh sweetheart, it’s Trish Stratus, G.O.A.T.

Her grin remained plastered on her face, but her voice darkened.

Trish Stratus: And then there’s… Becky. The Man. The Martyr. The walking Irish guilt trip.

Trish’s eyes narrowed.

Trish Stratus: Becky, I don’t dislike you. I loathe you. Every time you open your mouth, it’s like fingernails on a chalkboard. Always a cause. Always a fight. Always playing the victim while pretending to be the hero. You preach about change, about the future, about doing it for the people—but the truth is, everything you do is for you. You stole the spotlight, Becky. And then you acted like I should thank you for it. You disrespected me, spit on my legacy, and expected me to play nice and fade away.

Trish cocked her head.

Trish Stratus: And I’m embarrassed to say that I took that bait for a minute, didn’t I? I went away. Let you dictate what I was meant to do with my career. But I didn’t fade. I fought.

Trish pushed her hair out of her face and stared down the lens.

Trish Stratus: And tonight, if the stars align, and it’s you and me in that ring for the final? I’m not just going to beat you. I’m going to humiliate you. I’m going to make you regret every smug promo, every backstage whisper, every single second you ever thought you were better than me. Because when I sit on the throne tonight—and I will—it won’t just be as Queen of the Ring. It will be as a reminder… that Trish Stratus isn’t just still here. She’s still the best.

Her intensity shone through.

Trish Stratus: Jamie Hayter, you’re first. Britt, Becky… one of you is next. And by the time this night is over, you’ll all bow down. Long live the Queen.

She gave another confident smirk before she turned on her heel and walked off screen, the sound of her boots echoing down the corridor as the camera faded to black.