Matilda Schröder

For once, the German powerhouse wasn't looking for trouble.
Her gear bag hung from one shoulder as she walked past production crates and equipment cases, still dressed in her wrestling attire after finishing up for the evening. Yet despite the relatively quiet hallway, Matilda couldn't quite relax.
Especially after everything that had happened lately.
Mitzi Roth.
Their match. The humiliating aftermath. And then Matilda's retaliation during Rianne's match with Kirie—the moment she'd finally gotten some measure of revenge by launching Rianne with a German Suplex and physically keeping Mitzi from saving her new employer.
Matilda knew perfectly well Mitzi wouldn't simply forget that.
Still, she wasn't going to spend her nights looking over her shoulder.
“Verdammt… I need shower und then I go home,”
Matilda muttered, adjusting the bag against her shoulder.
“Enough drama for one night, ja?”
She rounded another corner—
—and stopped for half a second.
Something felt wrong.
The corridor ahead was unusually empty.
Matilda narrowed her eyes, slowly lowering the bag from her shoulder and gripping its strap in one hand. Her instincts were beginning to scream at her, but she continued forward anyway.
“...If someone is hiding back here,”
she called out, her German accent thickening with irritation,
“you might as vell come out now.”
Matilda rolled her shoulders and kept walking.
“Because I am not in mood for games.”
