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« on: December 13, 2025, 05:51:13 am »Audrey Whitby vs Becky G
Weigh-In
The room is already vibrating with noise before either fighter even appears, fans from both sides chanting over one another as camera shutters fire nonstop. Audrey Whitby emerges first—calm, cold, composed—rolling her shoulders as she steps onto the scale. She measures in at 5'5" and weighs 114 pounds and looks absolutely stunning. After flexing for her supporters, she turns her gaze toward the entrance, eyes sharp and expectant.
Becky Gomez marches out moments later, unimpressed and unflinching. Her jaw is tight, her expression fierce, and she radiates pure attitude. She weighs in at 106 pounds and stands 5'1", clearly giving up size, but she poses confidently for her fans before pointing at Audrey and firing off a string of Spanish-laced venom without hesitation.
The promoter calls them together for the face-off, and for a charged moment they simply stare—just inches apart—breathing hard, eyes narrowed, neither willing to blink. The tension spreads across the stage like gasoline waiting for a spark.
Becky lights it. She steps forward with a deliberate chest-to-chest bump, trying to bulldoze Audrey backward. Audrey doesn’t move an inch. Instead, she leans in even closer and bumps Becky right back—harder—her own statement ringing just as loud as the crowd’s explosive roar behind them.
Becky smirks, chin lifted. “Try that again, chica and I will punch your light out.”
Audrey doesn’t hesitate—she steps in and drives her chest forward, forcing Becky a half-step back. Becky immediately squares up, refusing to give an inch, eyes blazing. Audrey fires a sudden slap.
“Hit me! Come on you pequeña zorra!. You think you can hang with me?”
That’s all it takes as they lung at each other. They explode into a brawl, fists cutting through the air past startled officials. Hair snaps, elbows clash, and Becky sneaks a tight hook through Audrey’s guard. Audrey answers with a wild overhand that glances off Becky’s jaw swiveling her head to the side. Security swarms the stage, but the fighters are beyond control, crashing into the backdrop and ripping part of it down as the entire venue erupts into chaos around them.
Becky tries to twist free, but Audrey scrambles on top of her, fueled by pure rage and adrenaline. Security lunges in too late — Audrey is already hammering down right hands, each one cracking against Becky’s head with heavy, echoing thuds.
Becky’s head snaps left — THUD. Snaps right — THUD.
Audrey **** back one more time and fires a perfectly timed right cross straight down the center. It crashes into Becky’s jaw with a brutal, explosive impact. Becky’s eyes roll back instantly. Her body goes twitches then goes slack. She’s out cold. Audrey just knocked Becky out cold!
The crowd gasps as officials finally manage to grab Audrey by the shoulders and drag her off, even as she keeps swinging at the air, wanting more. The moment they yank her backward, Audrey suddenly doubles over, clutching her right wrist. Her face tightens in pain — the joint is already swelling, the skin darkening as the adrenaline wears off. But Becky doesn’t see any of it. She’s still flat on the stage, motionless, knocked completely unconscious by Audrey’s final punch.
“DAMMIT—” she hisses, shaking her hand, but she can’t even curl her fingers. It’s obvious: she may have broken her wrist during the barrage.
Meanwhile, Becky is a wreck. She’s flat on her back, blood pouring from her nose, which now bends at an ugly angle. Her right eye is swelling shut fast — within seconds it’s ballooning, purple and grotesque. Trainers kneel around her, pressing towels to her face as she groans and tries to sit up, dazed, barely able to see. The weigh-in stage looks like a war zone. Doctors quickly rush in from both sides. One checks Audrey’s wrist, another Becky’s pummeled face. Neither fighter can stand without help. Neither can stop shaking.
And the brutal reality hits the promoters as they meet in a chaotic huddle. Neither Audrey Whitby nor Becky Gomez will be stepping into the cage tomorrow night—not with Audrey’s wrist likely fractured and already ballooning with purple bruising, and not with Becky’s nose broken clean across the bridge, one eye already swollen nearly shut. The backstage chaos has left both women in no condition to fight, their bodies marked by the consequences of a weigh-in brawl that spiraled completely out of control.
Kylie Jenner wheels around the moment she spots Katharine McPhee smirking across the chaos, and she storms toward her with fury in every stride. The room is still buzzing—security hauling Becky’s bloodied body toward the medics while Audrey nurses her grotesquely swollen wrist. Kylie’s voice cuts through the noise like a blade. “What the hell, McPhee? Control your animal!” she snaps, jabbing a finger at Becky, whose broken nose is dripping a trail of red across the floor.
Katharine doesn’t flinch. She steps forward, chin lifted, eyes sharp. “Me?” she fires back. “You’re the one whose fighters are out of control.” The tension spikes instantly, people nearby bracing instinctively as if expecting another explosion.
Without a flicker of hesitation, Katharine suddenly plants both hands on Kylie’s shoulders and shoves her back hard, the force jolting Kylie a half-step. The crowd gasps, and Kylie responds immediately—she surges forward and shoves Katherine back even harder, sending her stumbling.
“Look what she did!” Kylie shouts, thrusting her hand toward the sight of Audrey, pale and trembling as she clutches her wrist. “Now neither of them can fight tomorrow! I knew this was a horrible idea!” Her voice shakes with rage, frustration, and the realization that the entire event is falling apart in front of her.
Katharine steadies herself, eyes narrowing, ready to fire back—while the room teeters on the edge of yet another full-blown brawl. She crosses her arms firmly under her chest, chin lifted with infuriating confidence. “Maybe Becky should’ve kept her big mouth shut. I can’t control my fighters when your fighters start something.”
Kylie doesn’t flinch. She steps in with a smug tilt of her head. “Maybe that’s because your girls are getting their asses kicked. Lauren and Chandler embarrassed themselves, and the rest of your team is next. Becky was a three to one favorite so you told your little cheat to take her out before the fight. Becky would have wiped the floor with your girl.”
“I think everyone just saw how tough Audrey is,” Katharine snaps. “you shouldn't worry, there are plenty of fights left, and the rest of my girls will be ready.”
Kylie closes the space between them until they’re chest-to-chest, neither woman backing down. “Well Audrey really messed up. Now we’re short a fight.”
Kylie exhales sharply, barely containing her anger. Katharine only smirks, leaning in as if savoring the tension. “Maybe we give Laura Marano another shot at that cheat, Dove.”
Kylie actually laughs—short, cold, and cutting. “Get real, McPhee. You know as well as I do Laura is finished. Dove beat her fair and square, and she has to live with that loss forever. She knew the consequences when she stepped into the cage with Dove. Nobody’s questioning the result. Dove won. Laura lost.”
“Whatever. Everyone knows Laura is the better fighter,” Katharine says with a dismissive shrug. “What about Ashley Benson and Madison Beer? I know Madison’s itching to get back in the ring with her.”
Kylie’s expression hardens instantly. “Madison is not fighting Ashley. She’s lost three times. I’m not putting her in the ring with Benson again. We all know exactly how that ends.”
That’s when Katharine steps in and jabs Kylie in the chest with one sharp, deliberate finger.
“Then how about you and me? Think you’re woman enough to take me on again?”
The hallway falls silent. Trainers stop moving. Officials freeze mid-step. For a moment, no one breathes as Kylie slowly lifts her chin, eyes burning with cold fury.
Kylie looks down at the finger pressed into her chest… then raises her gaze to meet McPhee’s. The look she gives her is pure, simmering danger. She takes one slow, decisive step forward, bumping her chest into Katharine’s—hard enough to make the point unmistakable.
“You want me?” Kylie says, her voice low and lethal. “You want me in that ring so bad?”
Katharine doesn’t retreat an inch. “I want you exposed,” she fires back. “Your girls can’t win, and you know it. So let’s see if their little ‘boss lady’ can do any better.”
Kylie’s smirk spreads slowly across her face, a predator’s smile—taunting, fearless, dripping confidence.
“Oh, don’t worry, McPhee… I can do a lot better.”
Katharine arches an eyebrow, amused and hungry for blood. “Then say it. Say you’ll fight me.”
Kylie closes the remaining inches between them until their foreheads nearly touch, breath mingling, tension crackling like live wire. “You want a fight?” she whispers, voice soft but venomous. “I’ll give you a fight you’ll remember for the rest of your life. I’ll humiliate you. I’ll finish you. And when it’s over, you won’t even dare look in a mirror.”
Katharine’s jaw tightens, nostrils flaring as adrenaline floods through her. “Main event?”
Kylie grins with the cold certainty of someone who knows exactly what she’s capable of.
“You’re on. You and me—Main. Event.”
Katharine laughs, low and dangerous. “You’re insane, Jenner. I’m going to break you in half again. This time you won’t get back up.”
Kylie leans in even closer, eyes burning, voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “No, Katharine… you’ll try.”
The hallway explodes into chaos as security storms in from both sides, grabbing the women by the arms. Kylie and Katharine lunge at each other anyway, shouting threats, straining against the guards, heels scraping across the floor as they fight to get one more inch of contact. Trainers yell. Cameras flash. A crowd gathers. And over the noise—over the chaos—two voices rise, aimed directly at each other.
Katharine: “You have a short memory. I’ve already beat you twice. The third time I'm ending your career!”
Kylie: “I’m ending you!”
Security drags them away in opposite directions, both still fighting against the restraint, both still screaming, both knowing one thing with absolute certainty:
The Main Event is set… Katharine McPhee vs Kylie Jenner
Written by the Badass Barbies
Weigh-In
The room is already vibrating with noise before either fighter even appears, fans from both sides chanting over one another as camera shutters fire nonstop. Audrey Whitby emerges first—calm, cold, composed—rolling her shoulders as she steps onto the scale. She measures in at 5'5" and weighs 114 pounds and looks absolutely stunning. After flexing for her supporters, she turns her gaze toward the entrance, eyes sharp and expectant.
Becky Gomez marches out moments later, unimpressed and unflinching. Her jaw is tight, her expression fierce, and she radiates pure attitude. She weighs in at 106 pounds and stands 5'1", clearly giving up size, but she poses confidently for her fans before pointing at Audrey and firing off a string of Spanish-laced venom without hesitation.
The promoter calls them together for the face-off, and for a charged moment they simply stare—just inches apart—breathing hard, eyes narrowed, neither willing to blink. The tension spreads across the stage like gasoline waiting for a spark.
Becky lights it. She steps forward with a deliberate chest-to-chest bump, trying to bulldoze Audrey backward. Audrey doesn’t move an inch. Instead, she leans in even closer and bumps Becky right back—harder—her own statement ringing just as loud as the crowd’s explosive roar behind them.
Becky smirks, chin lifted. “Try that again, chica and I will punch your light out.”
Audrey doesn’t hesitate—she steps in and drives her chest forward, forcing Becky a half-step back. Becky immediately squares up, refusing to give an inch, eyes blazing. Audrey fires a sudden slap.
“Hit me! Come on you pequeña zorra!. You think you can hang with me?”
That’s all it takes as they lung at each other. They explode into a brawl, fists cutting through the air past startled officials. Hair snaps, elbows clash, and Becky sneaks a tight hook through Audrey’s guard. Audrey answers with a wild overhand that glances off Becky’s jaw swiveling her head to the side. Security swarms the stage, but the fighters are beyond control, crashing into the backdrop and ripping part of it down as the entire venue erupts into chaos around them.
Becky tries to twist free, but Audrey scrambles on top of her, fueled by pure rage and adrenaline. Security lunges in too late — Audrey is already hammering down right hands, each one cracking against Becky’s head with heavy, echoing thuds.
Becky’s head snaps left — THUD. Snaps right — THUD.
Audrey **** back one more time and fires a perfectly timed right cross straight down the center. It crashes into Becky’s jaw with a brutal, explosive impact. Becky’s eyes roll back instantly. Her body goes twitches then goes slack. She’s out cold. Audrey just knocked Becky out cold!
The crowd gasps as officials finally manage to grab Audrey by the shoulders and drag her off, even as she keeps swinging at the air, wanting more. The moment they yank her backward, Audrey suddenly doubles over, clutching her right wrist. Her face tightens in pain — the joint is already swelling, the skin darkening as the adrenaline wears off. But Becky doesn’t see any of it. She’s still flat on the stage, motionless, knocked completely unconscious by Audrey’s final punch.
“DAMMIT—” she hisses, shaking her hand, but she can’t even curl her fingers. It’s obvious: she may have broken her wrist during the barrage.
Meanwhile, Becky is a wreck. She’s flat on her back, blood pouring from her nose, which now bends at an ugly angle. Her right eye is swelling shut fast — within seconds it’s ballooning, purple and grotesque. Trainers kneel around her, pressing towels to her face as she groans and tries to sit up, dazed, barely able to see. The weigh-in stage looks like a war zone. Doctors quickly rush in from both sides. One checks Audrey’s wrist, another Becky’s pummeled face. Neither fighter can stand without help. Neither can stop shaking.
And the brutal reality hits the promoters as they meet in a chaotic huddle. Neither Audrey Whitby nor Becky Gomez will be stepping into the cage tomorrow night—not with Audrey’s wrist likely fractured and already ballooning with purple bruising, and not with Becky’s nose broken clean across the bridge, one eye already swollen nearly shut. The backstage chaos has left both women in no condition to fight, their bodies marked by the consequences of a weigh-in brawl that spiraled completely out of control.
Kylie Jenner wheels around the moment she spots Katharine McPhee smirking across the chaos, and she storms toward her with fury in every stride. The room is still buzzing—security hauling Becky’s bloodied body toward the medics while Audrey nurses her grotesquely swollen wrist. Kylie’s voice cuts through the noise like a blade. “What the hell, McPhee? Control your animal!” she snaps, jabbing a finger at Becky, whose broken nose is dripping a trail of red across the floor.
Katharine doesn’t flinch. She steps forward, chin lifted, eyes sharp. “Me?” she fires back. “You’re the one whose fighters are out of control.” The tension spikes instantly, people nearby bracing instinctively as if expecting another explosion.
Without a flicker of hesitation, Katharine suddenly plants both hands on Kylie’s shoulders and shoves her back hard, the force jolting Kylie a half-step. The crowd gasps, and Kylie responds immediately—she surges forward and shoves Katherine back even harder, sending her stumbling.
“Look what she did!” Kylie shouts, thrusting her hand toward the sight of Audrey, pale and trembling as she clutches her wrist. “Now neither of them can fight tomorrow! I knew this was a horrible idea!” Her voice shakes with rage, frustration, and the realization that the entire event is falling apart in front of her.
Katharine steadies herself, eyes narrowing, ready to fire back—while the room teeters on the edge of yet another full-blown brawl. She crosses her arms firmly under her chest, chin lifted with infuriating confidence. “Maybe Becky should’ve kept her big mouth shut. I can’t control my fighters when your fighters start something.”
Kylie doesn’t flinch. She steps in with a smug tilt of her head. “Maybe that’s because your girls are getting their asses kicked. Lauren and Chandler embarrassed themselves, and the rest of your team is next. Becky was a three to one favorite so you told your little cheat to take her out before the fight. Becky would have wiped the floor with your girl.”
“I think everyone just saw how tough Audrey is,” Katharine snaps. “you shouldn't worry, there are plenty of fights left, and the rest of my girls will be ready.”
Kylie closes the space between them until they’re chest-to-chest, neither woman backing down. “Well Audrey really messed up. Now we’re short a fight.”
Kylie exhales sharply, barely containing her anger. Katharine only smirks, leaning in as if savoring the tension. “Maybe we give Laura Marano another shot at that cheat, Dove.”
Kylie actually laughs—short, cold, and cutting. “Get real, McPhee. You know as well as I do Laura is finished. Dove beat her fair and square, and she has to live with that loss forever. She knew the consequences when she stepped into the cage with Dove. Nobody’s questioning the result. Dove won. Laura lost.”
“Whatever. Everyone knows Laura is the better fighter,” Katharine says with a dismissive shrug. “What about Ashley Benson and Madison Beer? I know Madison’s itching to get back in the ring with her.”
Kylie’s expression hardens instantly. “Madison is not fighting Ashley. She’s lost three times. I’m not putting her in the ring with Benson again. We all know exactly how that ends.”
That’s when Katharine steps in and jabs Kylie in the chest with one sharp, deliberate finger.
“Then how about you and me? Think you’re woman enough to take me on again?”
The hallway falls silent. Trainers stop moving. Officials freeze mid-step. For a moment, no one breathes as Kylie slowly lifts her chin, eyes burning with cold fury.
Kylie looks down at the finger pressed into her chest… then raises her gaze to meet McPhee’s. The look she gives her is pure, simmering danger. She takes one slow, decisive step forward, bumping her chest into Katharine’s—hard enough to make the point unmistakable.
“You want me?” Kylie says, her voice low and lethal. “You want me in that ring so bad?”
Katharine doesn’t retreat an inch. “I want you exposed,” she fires back. “Your girls can’t win, and you know it. So let’s see if their little ‘boss lady’ can do any better.”
Kylie’s smirk spreads slowly across her face, a predator’s smile—taunting, fearless, dripping confidence.
“Oh, don’t worry, McPhee… I can do a lot better.”
Katharine arches an eyebrow, amused and hungry for blood. “Then say it. Say you’ll fight me.”
Kylie closes the remaining inches between them until their foreheads nearly touch, breath mingling, tension crackling like live wire. “You want a fight?” she whispers, voice soft but venomous. “I’ll give you a fight you’ll remember for the rest of your life. I’ll humiliate you. I’ll finish you. And when it’s over, you won’t even dare look in a mirror.”
Katharine’s jaw tightens, nostrils flaring as adrenaline floods through her. “Main event?”
Kylie grins with the cold certainty of someone who knows exactly what she’s capable of.
“You’re on. You and me—Main. Event.”
Katharine laughs, low and dangerous. “You’re insane, Jenner. I’m going to break you in half again. This time you won’t get back up.”
Kylie leans in even closer, eyes burning, voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “No, Katharine… you’ll try.”
The hallway explodes into chaos as security storms in from both sides, grabbing the women by the arms. Kylie and Katharine lunge at each other anyway, shouting threats, straining against the guards, heels scraping across the floor as they fight to get one more inch of contact. Trainers yell. Cameras flash. A crowd gathers. And over the noise—over the chaos—two voices rise, aimed directly at each other.
Katharine: “You have a short memory. I’ve already beat you twice. The third time I'm ending your career!”
Kylie: “I’m ending you!”
Security drags them away in opposite directions, both still fighting against the restraint, both still screaming, both knowing one thing with absolute certainty:
The Main Event is set… Katharine McPhee vs Kylie Jenner
Written by the Badass Barbies