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+--- Thread: Marie Jones vs. Dexter Grant (/showthread.php?tid=5008)
Marie Jones vs. Dexter Grant - Kemal Yilmaz - 10-27-2026
SCW United States Championship
Steel Cage Match
2 RP Limit for singles
3500 Word Per RP
Deadline: 11:59:59 pm ET SUNDAY, November 1, 2026
RE: Marie Jones vs. Dexter Grant - The Matt - 10-27-2026
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October 17th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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“The Phoenix” Marie Jones has many questions to answer in the coming weeks. Namely, with Apocalypse coming up, can she finally get over the hump and defeat Dexter Grant to become the new SCW United States Champion? Twice she nearly had it, twice it was within her grasp. Yet neither time Grant was able to actually pin her or make her tap out. He barely managed to escape with the title in the ladder match at Rise To Greatness, and even then Marie casts blame on the chaos of the match itself. So many other challengers in a match where she feels that she alone should have had the one on one opportunity. But defeat never keeps Jones down for long. She bounced back and has earned another opportunity, a one on one opportunity in which Dexter Grant cannot run and cannot hide and there will be zero excuses for either of them. Apocalypse will witness The Phoenix taking on Dexter Grant inside of a steel cage.
Winning the United States Championship is the biggest stake but not the only one. Marie is not a fool and she isn’t blind to the obvious conflict surrounding the match; Frank Delatosso wants desperately to see Marie dethrone Dexter Grant. Marie can see it for what it is; he holds a grudge against Dexter and he sees Marie as a perfectly capable tool to take the championship away from him. The question is, will The Phoenix accept any assistance from the unpopular CEO if offered? Jones is honestly torn. Part of her wants to beat Grant, legitimately, on her own terms. But another part recalls Dexter’s own sketchy past. If he is willing to use underhanded tactics to screw herself and others over, why shouldn’t she fight fire with fire? Why not take some assistance if offered? Hell, even her twin sister Kimberly playfully offered to sell her soul to Frank for the Underground Title. Marie isn’t going that far but she does want the United States Title, she does want to make Dexter Grant pay for messing with her, and she has no qualms looking the other way if some of Delatosso’s crew were to get involved.
Another question she has to answer in the coming weeks is a deeply spiritual and personal one and it brings her to her family’s church in Boston, Massachusetts.
The mid October afternoon sun slanted through the tall, stained glass windows of the rectory, casting rich, elongated diamonds of deep crimson and sapphire across the dark oak paneling of Father Jim’s study at Our Lady of the Annunciation Catholic Church in Boston, Massachusetts. The room smelled comfortably of ancient parchment, beeswax candles, polished brass, and the faint, lingering aroma of black coffee. Outside, a gentle autumn wind rustled the dry maple leaves against the stone sill, but inside, the heavy velvet drapes and floor to ceiling bookshelves muffled the sounds of the bustling parish grounds, insulating the space in a quiet, solemn hush. Marie Jones sat tucked into the plush leather wingback armchair facing the dark mahogany desk, her posture tight and defensive despite her best efforts to appear relaxed. She was dressed in a tailored charcoal gray blazer over a crisp white silk blouse, paired with dark trousers and sleek leather pumps, an ensemble that usually gave The Phoenix a sense of sharp, unyielding control. Today, however, the professional armor felt remarkably fragile. Her vibrant red hair was gathered into a neat, low bun at the nape of her neck, exposing the sharp, tense line of her jaw. Her manicured fingers were loosely intertwined in her lap, her knuckles white as she repeatedly pressed her thumbs together in a quiet, nervous rhythm.
Directly opposite her, sitting calmly behind a heavy desk cluttered with leather bound commentaries, parish ledgers, and a simple wooden rosary, was Father Jim. In his early sixties, the parish priest carried a gentle, paternal aura that had put generations of parishioners at ease. His silver hair was neatly trimmed, framing a weathered face etched with deep, warm lines around his eyes. He wore his traditional black clerical shirt and white collar beneath a comfortable, dark gray cardigan that was slightly frayed at the cuffs. He sat with his elbows resting lightly on the armrests of his swivel chair, his hands clasped over his chest as he observed Marie with a pair of soft, deeply perceptive brown eyes. He had known the Jones family for years and understood the fierce, independent spirit that ran through their blood, but he also recognized the quiet, heavy conflict currently weighing down the woman sitting before him. The silence between them stretched out, comfortable and patient on his end, but increasingly heavy on hers. Marie stared fixedly at a framed print of the Annunciation hanging on the wall beside his desk, her sharp green eyes tracking the faded golden leaf in the angel's hand. She had come here seeking a way out of a responsibility that she did not ask for; being a mentor for a young woman named Allison Holland who is seeking entry into the Roman Catholic faith. Longtime friend of the Jones family, a nun at this parish Sister Maria, had been pressuring Marie to take on the role, namely because Allison and Jones share a common bond; they both were members of the cult Inner Peace, ran by Raul Alfaro, using the sex cult to exploit women.
It makes perfect sense for Marie Jones to mentor Allison Holland. But this is one challenge The Phoenix would rather not take on. It would mean bringing back those dark memories of her past that she had fought so hard to forget. What Sister Maria and Father Jim do not know is just how close Marie and Allison really were. Marie, Allison, and Jullianne were three of Raul’s favorite girls. They were practically his harem. Jones does not plan to let that information get out. She simply hopes that a formal, authoritative word from the head of the parish would release her from a responsibility that threatened to rip open old, buried wounds. Every logical argument was lined up neatly in her mind, waiting for the moment she finally gathered the courage to voice them.
“Well, Father, thank you for making time in your busy schedule to meet with me.”
“Nonsense, Marie.” The priest says with a warm smile. “Anything for you. Your family is one of the oldest in this parish. Dating back to your grandfather.”
“That’s right. Bart Jones.” Marie nods his head. “And then my grandmother Kelly joined after she married Bart.”
“Your grandparents were active in this parish as was your mother.” Father Jim says. “So you shouldn’t ever think that you have to make special requests to visit with me, Marie. Stop by anytime.”
“Thank you, Father. That means a lot coming from you.”
“Of course.” He nods his head. “Now, what is it that you wanted to talk to me about anyway?”
It is now or never. She knows that Sister Maria believes in her and truly thinks that Marie is the best person suited to guide Allison through her spiritual journey. And maybe she is? But the truth is Marie isn’t ready for that responsibility. Selfishly, she doesn’t want that responsibility of trying to help her because it would force her to confront that dark past again. Besides, she has other responsibilities. She could be the next SCW United States Champion. She doesn’t want to be wasting time with this.
“Uh, I heard that someone is going through the RCIA class.”
“We have several going through the class, Marie.” Father Jim chuckles. “You have to be a little more specific.”
“Well, there is one particular person who happens to know me…” her voice trails off. The priest nods his head as he figures out where this is going.
“Ah yes, Allison Holland. The poor girl was a wreck when she first started attending mass regularly. Not many of the young women were like you, Marie. You were lucky to have a strong support system to fall back into, a family ready to welcome you back with open arms. Many, like Allison, had nowhere and no one to turn to after escaping Inner Peace.”
“Is she ok?” Marie asks.
“She’s doing fine, all things considered.” He answers. “To be perfectly frank, I am amazed at how cheerful and joyful and full of life she is despite her circumstances.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s barely scraping by, Marie.” He answers. “I’m not even sure she has a home.”
The Phoenix winces visibly upon hearing this; it isn’t easy to hear how her fellow Inner Peace girls turned out. Father Jim is right, Marie really was lucky. She had the wealth and, more importantly, the love of the Jones family to support her after Inner Peace. That support and influence allowed her to escape possible recriminations of her involvement. Other girls, such as Julianne, ended up in a psychiatric hospital. And while Allison wasn’t locked up in a psychiatric hospital or a prison, her life is still a wreck. She may be unemployed, homeless, or worse.
“I understand that she wants to join the church and I am really thrilled to hear about it, honestly.” She sighs. “But Sister Maria seems to think I am the person who should be her sponsor. But Father, if I can be completely honest, I really think that she can find someone else. Someone better.”
“Someone better?”
“Yes. I mean, my career with Supreme Championship Wrestling has just got back into high gear. I could become SCW United States Champion. I would just be an absentee mentor. And on top of that…” her voice trails off as she shakes her head “...I really don’t want to revisit that time of my life. I was depressed when Raul and Inner Peace approached me. All of us girls were. It’s only been a year or two now that I’ve finally been able to put that whole nightmare behind me and finally believe in myself again and have confidence in myself and love who I am.”
“You’re afraid that by revisiting that past, your depression might come back?” Father asks. Marie nods her head.
“Pretty much.”
“Well,” Father Jim began gently, leaning forward to rest his forearms against the polished dark oak of his desk, his brown eyes filled with an undeniable depth of pastoral warmth, “Sister Maria firmly believes that the shared scars you both carry aren’t a liability, Marie. She sees them as a bridge.”
“I get that, Father. I really do.” Marie shifted uncomfortably in the plush leather chair. “But why does Sister Maria think that I am the only person who can be her sponsor? There are dozens of wonderful, holy women in this parish with stable lives who haven’t spent years away on the road or lived through the things I have. Why me?”
“Ultimately, the choice of a sponsor rests entirely with Allison,” Father Jim answered, his voice soft yet resonant in the quiet study. “It isn’t something Sister Maria or I can simply impose upon her. But Sister Maria is deeply hoping that when the time comes, Allison will choose you. And to be completely frank with you, Marie, I agree with her. I truly think your participation in her journey would help both of you heal in ways you might not yet realize.”
“I’m really not sure I agree with that, Father. Helping someone else through their trauma sounds good in theory, but when you’ve barely managed to seal those doors shut in your own mind…” Marie let out a breath that was half sigh, half scoff, looking away toward the stained glass window where the afternoon light was beginning to fade “...opening them back up feels less like healing and more like self destruction. I have a championship match inside a steel cage against Dexter Grant in a few weeks. My mind needs to be focused on survival and winning, not diving back into the darkest hole of my life.”
Father Jim watched her intently, letting her words settle before he spoke. When he did, his tone carried a quiet, solemn authority that commanded absolute attention.
“God doesn’t give us burdens without purpose, Marie,” the priest said softly, correcting himself with a subtle, reassuring nod. “He gave you that cross to bear, not so it would crush you forever, but so that when you finally stood up beneath its weight, you could use that strength to help others like Allison find their way out of the darkness. You were blessed with a loving family and the resources to rebuild your life. Allison has nothing. She is standing at the edge of the desert, looking for someone who knows the path through it because they’ve actually walked it.”
A heavy silence descended over the room. Marie stared at her lap, her sharp green eyes glossing over with a mixture of reluctant empathy and deep, lingering dread. Every instinct as The Phoenix told her to protect herself, to keep her eyes on the prize, and to avoid any weakness that could pull her down. But the foundational values her family had raised her on, combined with the grim reality of Allison’s struggling existence, chipped away at her defenses until there was simply no logical escape route left.
“Fine,” Marie whispered softly, her shoulders dropping as she finally surrendered the point. “I’ll meet with her. I’ll talk to her.”
“That is all anyone can ask of you, Marie.” Father Jim smiled warmly, his weathered features relaxing as he offered a brief nod of gratitude.
“But,” Marie added quickly, raising her chin with a sharp, guarded look in her eyes, “it’s still her choice. If she sits down across from me and decides she wants someone else, I am not going to push it.”
She offered the priest a polite, tight smile as she stood up from the armchair, smoothing down the front of her tailored gray blazer. On the outside, she maintained the cool, poised demeanor of a contender ready for Apocalypse. But deep down, as she turned to leave the quiet sanctuary of the rectory, Marie held onto one desperate, hidden prayer: she secretly hoped with everything inside her that Allison Holland would look at her, see the busy, unapproachable SCW athlete, and choose someone else entirely.
The heavy oak doors of the rectory clicked shut behind Marie with a quiet, reverberating thud, instantly swapping the warm, incense laced air of the study for the crisp, bite of the mid October breeze. She paused on the top stone step, taking a deep, steadying breath to clear her lungs and settle the nervous energy humming beneath her skin. The late afternoon sun was dipping lower over the tree line, casting long, dramatic shadows across the parish courtyard and tinting the turning leaves of the red oaks in deep shades of burnt copper and amber. Marie adjusted the collar of her charcoal gray blazer, wrapping her arms slightly across her chest as she prepared to make a swift exit toward her car, desperate to put the heavy conversation about Inner Peace behind her before her mind could wander any deeper into those buried memories. She had only taken three steps down the slate pathway when a tall, dark silhouette rounded the corner near the weeping willow.
Marie pulled up short, her breath catching slightly in her throat. Standing just a few feet away, her hands tucked neatly inside the wide sleeves of her black habit, was Sister Maria. The religious sister stopped her measured stride, a slow, incredibly knowing smile spreading across her smooth, pale face as her bright blue eyes locked onto Marie. The stark white wimple framing her head caught the last rays of sunlight, giving her an almost luminous presence against the dark brick of the rectory wall behind her. It was as if she had been waiting in the courtyard all along, patiently charting Marie’s progress from the bench to the priest’s study with absolute certainty.
“I see you survived Father Jim's gentle cross examination.” Sister Maria remarked, her voice carrying that quiet, teasing warmth that only someone who had known the Jones family for decades could pull off.
“Were you two in on this together?”
“I would never deceive you, Marie.” The religious sister grins knowingly, warmly. “You should take this as a sign.”
“A sign? Maybe.” Marie sighs. “But I don’t care what you say or what Father says, I still do not think that I am the best person for the job.”
“Because you are a professional wrestler? You are too busy?”
“That is a big part of it.” Marie admits nodding her head. “I want to represent SCW as United States Champion, I don’t want a side gig as a therapist. But I also do not particularly care to dwell upon one of the darkest periods of my life.”
“I understand that you are apprehensive, I understand you might be afraid.” Sister Maria places a comforting hand upon her shoulder. “But God can take the most broken of individuals and make them do wonderful things. God can take the worst of sinners and make them into saints.”
“I still think you have the wrong woman.” Marie sighs, gently pushing her hand away. “I fear you and Father, and maybe even God, will find out the hard way.”
Sister Maria didn't flinch as Marie gently disengaged her hand, her bright blue eyes remaining anchored on the troubled wrestler with unwavering warmth and patience. The autumn breeze swept through the courtyard once more, sending a cascade of gold and rust leaves tumbling across the slate walkway around their feet. For a moment, neither woman spoke, allowing the soft rustle of the trees and the distant hum of Boston traffic to fill the space between them. Sister Maria simply adjusted the sleeves of her habit, her expression softening into a look of profound, maternal understanding.
Marie let out a long, shuddering breath, her fingers tightening around the lapels of her gray blazer as she looked past the sister toward the wrought iron gates of the parish courtyard. The lingering shadow of Percy’s betrayal, the looming violence of the steel cage match against Dexter Grant, and the ghost of her time in Inner Peace all seemed to press against her at once, testing the very limits of her formidable strength. Yet, beneath the exhaustion and defensive pride of The Phoenix, a quiet, inescapable truth remained. She was a survivor, and deep down, she knew she couldn't turn her back on another woman still drowning in the wreckage she had managed to escape.
Without another word, Marie offered Sister Maria a brief, solemn nod, accepting the silent challenge even as her heart hammered in her chest. She turned and walked down the slate path, her leather pumps clicking against the stone until she reached her car parked along the curb. As she pulled out into the cool, twilight shadows of the city, she adjusted her rearview mirror, watching the spire of Our Lady of the Annunciation fade into the darkness. The road ahead was fraught with uncertainty, both inside the squared circle and within the fragile sanctuary of her own soul, but Marie Jones pressed her foot to the gas, resolved to face whatever storm awaited her.
RE: Marie Jones vs. Dexter Grant - Digitox - 10-31-2026
RP 1: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1rkLISljNobLIVPDGbcqf8uxh1-H2rmpaGWIyt8Sh1_4/edit?usp=sharing
RE: Marie Jones vs. Dexter Grant - The Matt - 10-31-2026
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October 19th, 2026
Cambridge, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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The crisp mid October wind whistled through the quiet streets of Cambridge, rustling the golden canopy of maple trees that lined the sidewalk outside the small, tucked away café. Tucked into the basement level of a historic brownstone just a few blocks from the river, the coffee house felt like an intimate sanctuary insulated from the bustling university town above. Inside, the space was warm and inviting, rich with the rich, earthy aroma of freshly ground espresso beans, toasted cinnamon, and old paper. Exposed red brick walls, soft and weathered with age, were adorned with eclectic black and white photography of old Boston landmarks, while warm Edison bulbs hung low from exposed dark wooden beams, casting a soft, amber glow over the room. Low jazz played softly from hidden speakers, blending with the gentle hum of quiet conversation and the occasional hiss of a steam wand from behind the polished copper counter.
Marie sat alone at a small, round bistro table crafted from dark walnut and wrought iron, tucked away in a quiet, shadowed corner near a broad bay window that looked out onto the sunken stone patio. Outside, dry leaves skittered across the pavement whenever the breeze picked up, but inside, Marie felt completely suspended in time. She was dressed down in a sleek, charcoal knit sweater that fit snugly over her athletic frame, paired with dark denim and a soft cream colored scarf loosely wrapped around her neck. In front of her, a large ceramic mug of black coffee rested on a cork coaster, the faint wisps of steam curling upward into the warm air. Her vibrant copper hair was pulled up into a soft, textured claw clip, allowing a few loose strands to frame her face, but her sharp green eyes were turned toward the street level window, watching the feet of passersby cut through the autumn chill.
Her manicured fingers lightly traced the rim of her coffee mug as her mind churned through the double life she was currently navigating. In less than two weeks, she would step inside a sixteen foot high steel cage at Apocalypse, staring across the canvas at Dexter Grant with the Supreme Championship Wrestling United States Championship on the line. The thought alone sent a familiar, electric surge of adrenaline straight to her core, tightening her jaw and stiffening her spine. She had spent months clawing her way back to the top of the division, suffering through the physical agony of ladder matches and the bitter taste of near victories. Inside the cage, Dexter would have nowhere to run, no ring skirts to hide behind, and no excuses. Yet, the persistent temptation of Frank Delatosso’s quiet backing lingered at the edges of her thoughts, a subtle reminder that in professional wrestling, fighting fair didn't always guarantee you walked away with the belt. Then her eyes drifted down to the empty chair across the small table, and the fierce, competitive fire of The Phoenix yielded to a much colder, heavier knot in her stomach.
Allison Holland would be walking through that front door at any moment. Marie’s mind flicked back through the painful memories she had spent the last two years trying to cremate: the gilded promises of Raul Alfaro, the suffocating atmosphere of Inner Peace, and the quiet, terrible shame that had united the women trapped inside it. Father Jim and Sister Maria saw this meeting as a bridge toward spiritual healing, a duty ordained by grace and shared suffering. But sitting in the warmth of the café, Marie knew the truth was far more fragile. To mentor Allison through RCIA wasn't just about answering questions about the Catholic faith; it meant allowing someone else to look directly at the scars she had worked so hard to hide beneath championship dreams and athletic perfection. She took a slow, steadying sip of her hot coffee, her heart hammering against her ribs with a strange mix of reluctant empathy and lingering dread, waiting for the bell above the café door to chime.
The brass bell above the front door chimed softly, breaking through the low hum of the café as a cool gust of October air swept inside. Marie’s eyes snapped toward the entrance, her body instantly going rigid against the wooden backrest of her chair. Stepping down the couple of brick steps into the warm glow of the coffee house was Allison. She looked fragile against the chilly Cambridge afternoon, wrapped in a faded, oversized beige trench coat that hung loosely over her small frame. Holland appeared as if she were accustomed to shrinking into the background to avoid being noticed. But as her eyes scanned the room and caught sight of Marie sitting in the corner, her entire posture froze. For a lingering, breathless second, neither woman moved. The sharp, phantom memory of a compound in Massachusetts, the heavy scent of Jasmine incense, and the predatory voice of Raul Alfaro echoed in their minds. They had been two parts of a golden trinity along with Julianne; the prized possessions paraded at the front of the compound, the favorite girls who bore the heaviest, darkest burdens of Inner Peace.
Allison took a slow, hesitating step forward, her fingers clutching the worn strap of her purse so tightly her knuckles turned white. She walked over to the corner booth, her soft blue eyes wide with a mixture of intense vulnerability and quiet awe.
“Marie…” Allison whispered, her voice trembling slightly as she pulled out the empty chair across from her “...I...I couldn’t believe it when Sister Maria said it was really you.”
“Sit down, Allison.” Marie said, her tone quiet and remarkably gentle despite the knot in her throat. “It’s been a long time.”
Allison sank into the wooden chair, keeping her coat wrapped tightly around herself as if for warmth. She looked down at her hands, then back up into Marie’s face, a faint, weary smile touching the corners of her lips.
“Sometimes it feels like a lifetime ago. And other times...it feels like I never really left that compound. I didn’t know if you’d ever want to see any of us again. Not after everything Raul did to us. Not after Julianne...”
Her voice trailed off, the mention of the third girl hanging heavy and unspoken between them in the warm air of the café. Marie felt a cold chill run down her spine, but she leaned forward slightly across the small dark table, locking her eyes onto Allison’s.
“Julianne is in a safe place getting help, Allison.” Marie said quietly, her voice grounded and steady. “And we survived. We made it out.”
“And Raul?”
“Locked away. In prison.” Marie states firmly. “Right where he belongs.”
“Good.” She sighs as a sense of relief washes across her face. “I honestly wasn’t sure what had happened to him after Inner Peace collapsed. I had heard you had something to do with it. Is that true?”
“I testified against him in court and in return the district attorney let go scott free.”
“Wow…” Allison’s voice trails off as she looks on in awe “...that is brave.”
“Not really. I mean, to be perfectly honest, look at who I am. Look at my family. We are famous in Boston. I am a second generation professional wrestler and a hometown hero. I’m sure my family ties had something to do with it.”
“Nonsense.” Allison insists. “You were very brave to confront a predator like Raul.”
“I was just doing what needed to be done.” Marie states pointedly. “What about you? How have you been doing since Inner Peace?”
“Not as good as you, unfortunately.” She laughs lightly. “I can’t hold down a job…apparently no one wants to hire you if you think you’re a nutcase. I’m sure Julianne is having the same problem.”
“You are NOT a nutcase.” The Phoenix says sternly. “And neither is Julianne. We were all manipulated by a charming con artist. A predator took advantage of us when we were at our weakest. And believe me, Allison, you WILL get your break. I promise you.”
“Thanks.” Allison points a finger at Marie. “What about you? What have you been busy with since Inner Peace?”
“Obviously, as I’m sure you have heard, I returned to Supreme Championship Wrestling. In fact, I have an opportunity to become SCW United States Champion in less than two weeks at Apocalypse.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh,” Marie smiles devilishly “against another charming con artist named Dexter Grant. Except I get to beat his ass in a steel cage where he can’t run away and hide.”
“Good for you!” Allison exclaims happily and cheerfully. “I will definitely be cheering you on!”
“Uh, I also got back involved with the Church.” She sighs uncomfortably, she knows that she is about to broach the subject she has been dreading. “Which brings me to why we’re meeting, I suppose. “What exactly brought you to Catholicism?”
“Honestly?” Allison snickers. “It was you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. It may sound weird but I had been keeping track with your own story. How you turned your life around since Inner Peace, how you reconciled with your, and how bright and positive you have been no matter what obstacles may arise. And the one thing that seems to have you grounded? The one thing at the center of your life, outside of professional wrestling, is your faith.”
“Allison…” Marie starts to speak up but Allison shakes her head.
“No. I’m serious. I need something to believe in and if that keeps you going, if that gives you that bright and positive energy that motives you to never say die, then I want that in my life too.”
Marie’s brow furrowed slightly, a heavy pang of sympathy cutting straight through her remaining defenses. She leaned across the dark walnut table, her green eyes searching Allison’s tired face.
“Allison… where are you living right now?” Marie asked softly.
Allison looked down at her hands, her fingers nervously picking at the worn edge of her beige trench coat. She let out a small, embarrassed laugh that held no real humor.
“Oh, you know…here and there…” Allison murmured, her voice dropping “...I’m staying on a friend’s couch in South Boston right now, but that’s ending this weekend. I’ve been moving from place to place every few weeks. I’m not quite living on the street, but…yeah. Getting there, I suppose. It’s hard to save up for an apartment deposit when you can’t get hired anywhere.”
The stark reality of Allison’s situation hit Marie like a physical blow. While she had returned to her luxurious townhouse and her high profile career, one of the women who had shared her darkest trauma was quietly falling through the cracks of the city. Any lingering reluctance about stepping back into the shadow of Inner Peace vanished, replaced by a fierce, protective resolve.
“Pack your things,” Marie said firmly. “You’re moving in with me.”
“What?” Allison’s head snapped up, her soft blue eyes widening in total disbelief. “”Marie, no…I can’t do that. I could never impose on you like that. You have your own life, your career, your training…”
“It’s not an imposition, Allison, it’s an offer,” Marie insisted, her voice leaving no room for argument. “I have a huge townhouse with multiple empty bedrooms and it is literally just me right now. You’re not going to stay in shelters or crash on random couches while trying to rebuild your life.”
“Marie, I can’t pay you rent,” Allison whispered, her voice trembling as tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t want to be a burden on you.”
“You won’t be paying rent, and you’re not a burden,” Marie replied, reaching across the table to wrap her hands around Allison’s cold fingers, giving them a firm, reassuring squeeze. “And as for money, we’re going to fix that too. I have plenty of connections in Boston. I will get you a job so you can get back on your feet, build up some savings, and become completely self-sufficient. But for now, you need a safe place to sleep.”
Allison stared at her, utterly speechless, a single tear slipping down her cheek as the crushing weight of her uncertainty finally lifted. Marie offered her a warm, genuine smile, feeling a quiet sense of peace settle over her heart for the first time in weeks. The steel cage match against Dexter Grant was coming, but sitting in that quiet Cambridge café, Marie Jones had found a purpose far greater than championship gold.
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October 31st, 2026
Indianapolis, Indiana
On Camera
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The cameras roll and we open on a quiet street of Indianapolis, Indiana. Walking down the damp, wet street is “The Phoenix” Marie Jones. She is wearing a sharp, black-and-white vertical striped Beetlejuice-style matching blazer and knee-length pencil skirt. Beneath the tailored jacket, she sports a crisp white button-down shirt paired with a classic solid black necktie. To complete her polished outfit, she is wearing sheer black tights, and solid black pointed-toe stiletto heels. The Phoenix stops in the center of the camera view and smirks knowingly at the camera.
“Once, twice, third time’s the charm! It’s SHOWTIME!” The Phoenix snickers. “Sorry, but give me a break! It IS Halloween after all, and besides, I think there is one very special person who would appreciate this Beetlejuice costume. Isn’t that right, Dexter Grant?” The Phoenix smirks knowingly as she lets her question sink in and lets the audience think about it.
“Confused? Well let me spell it out for you, Dexter. I may not be some trickster demon that gets summoned and causes havoc when you call my name three times, but I am NOT the kind of competitor you want to face on a regular basis. I said it once when I returned and I will keep saying it until people like you get it through your thick skull…I am The Phoenix. I may fall in a blaze of glory like the mythical phoenix but also like the mythical phoenix I keep coming back. I keep coming back stronger and more resilient than ever after having endured obstacle after obstacle and set back after set back. I return each time to make life an absolute hell for people like you, people who think that they can beat the system. Confused, paranoid con artists like you who think the entire world is out to get you, when in reality the only person sabotaging you is yourself.” Jones holds up one finger.
“July 16th Breakdown, we met one on one and I had you dead to rights. I was going to win that United States Championship and you knew it. So what did you do? You drew a disqualification. You took the coward’s way out. Hell, the least you could have done was been man enough to just hit me with the title belt or land a low blow.” She shakes her head. “Nah, you had your little weeny sidekick Wendell attack you so I’d get disqualified. Real cute.” The Phoenix holds up a second finger.
“The second time we met was at Rise To Greatness and you got lucky. You might not think of it as being lucky but you were pretty damn lucky because CHBK and Mr. Delatosso decided to throw so many people who had no business challenging for the United States Title all into the match. It should have been just you and me, a straight up one on one rematch to settle things, but no, we had to have a clusterfuck of a ladder match and in the chaos of it all you survived.” Marie holds up a third finger.
“All you gotta do is say my name! Dex, just say it three times in a row and you won't believe how far I'll go! I'm on the bench, but coach just put me in the game! All you gotta do is say my name!” She strikes a pose and then takes a bow. “Ta-Da! Thank you! Thank you very much! Credit to the great Eddie Perfect! And to anyone who is questioning my sanity right now…I swear to God, I am NOT secretly Kimmy, all behavior to the contrary!” She winks playfully.
“Once. Twice. Three times. I have been chasing you and that United States Championship for a very long time now, Dexter, and between your cowardly act in July, your dumbass luck at Rise To Greatness, I am sick and tired of playing nice. My name has been called three times now and I swear to God that I will make this third time count. I will rain down hell upon you, Grant, and there is nowhere you can run, nowhere you can hide, no coward’s way out, and definitely no excuses, because you and I will be locked up inside of the Steel Cage.” She laughs softly.
“I find it rather funny that you want Mr. Delatosso to be ringside for our match so he can see what he’s unleashed? As if he or anyone should be afraid of you…the coward who runs…the champion who reigns only because he got lucky. You are no monster, Dexter. There is absolutely nothing about you worth being afraid of.” Jones points to herself. “The real monster here is me. Because twice now I have been screwed over…once when you intentionally drew the disqualification to save your ass and the second time when I was screwed out of my rightful one on one opportunity at Rise To Greatness. The only hell that is being unleashed is me. The only monster that is being unleashed is me. You and this entire situation has pushed me to a place that I have not been to in a very long time.” She shakes her head.
“I am done playing nice. I will do anything to become SCW United States Champion and inside of that steel cage, I quite literally can do anything I want and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.” The Phoenix steps closer to the lens, the playful smirks completely fading from her face. Her voice drops an octave, turning cold and calculated.
“Do you know what happens when you corner someone who has died a thousand deaths and always crawled out of the ashes, Dexter? They stop fearing the burn. You’ve been looking over your shoulder for months, convinced that the world is conspiring against your championship reign. You look at management, you look at the locker room, you look at the fans, you see enemies in every shadow. But you never looked at me. You treated me like a hurdle you cleared in July. You treated me like a name you checked off a list at Rise to Greatness. But I was never cleared, Dex. I was just waiting.” She adjusts her striped jacket, smoothing down the lapels with deliberate, chilling composure.
“This steel cage will not protect you from management. It will not protect your championship. The steel cage is your own execution chamber. You want to bring Mr. Delatosso down to ringside because you want an audience for your delusions? Fine. Let him watch. Let the whole world watch as I tear down the illusion you’ve been hiding behind. Let him see what happens when a paper champion is forced to look real violence in the eye.” Jones leans in, her eyes wide, unblinking, and dead serious.
“Wendell can’t crawl through those chain links to take a hit for you this time. There are no ladders to climb to escape me. There are no referee distractions, no cheap loop holes, no technicalities. It is just four walls of cold, unforgiving steel, you, me, and that title you’ve been holding hostage. You wanted to summon the ghost of your own destruction? Well, congratulations, Dexter. You said my name. You asked for this. And when that cage door locks, you aren’t going to be worried about keeping your belt…” She slowly reaches out, tapping her pointed finger against the camera lens, leaving a small streak on the glass.
“...You’re going to be praying to God that I let you leave that ring alive.” The Phoenix smiles one last sharp, terrifying smile, turns on her stiletto heel, and strolls casually down the damp street into the Indianapolis night.
RE: Marie Jones vs. Dexter Grant - Digitox - 11-01-2026
RP 2: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1xsdQGM-9NspErmq_QuUbejapqVMIK1pdbxTMbpnZTHg/edit?usp=sharing