Marie Jones vs. Dexter Grant

[Kemal Yilmaz]

SCW United States Championship

2 RP Limit for singles

3500 word limit

Deadline: 11:59:59 pm ET Wednesday, July 16, 2026

[The Matt]

1 of 2
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July 11th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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The muggy humidity of the mid July evening had managed to seep even through the heavy, reinforced oak of Marie’s front door, turning the expansive entryway of her townhouse into a pocket of thick, waiting stillness. Inside, the quiet was absolute, broken only by the low, distant hum of the central air conditioning struggling against the summer heat and the occasional, soft tick of the grandfather clock in the corner. Marie had spent the last hour pacing the length of the polished hardwood floor, her mind completely detached from the quiet luxury that surrounded her. She was dressed in a simple, elegant ivory silk camisole and a pair of flowing, high waisted wide leg trousers that brushed the tops of her bare feet, an outfit that felt entirely too delicate for the heavy, lingering dread that had been sitting in her chest since her conversation with her identical twin sister Kim. So many thoughts were running through her mind, many involved Percy, her boyfriend, who could be in serious trouble and Marie Jones isn’t sure what the right thing to do is; she is also dealing with the looming expectations of her SCW career. Despite the unfortunate ending to her one on one match with Alistaire Allocco, The Phoenix has managed to prove herself and impress management to earn a shot at the SCW United States Championship. Dethroning Dexter Grant will be a tall task; he was her last opponent before she took the long hiatus from the ring. It would feel sweet for her to not only avenge her loss to become a champion in the process.

She had just reached the edge of the plush Persian rug near the fireplace when the sharp, sudden chime of the doorbell cut through the silence like a gunshot. Marie froze, her breath catching in her throat as her hands instinctively clenched into fists at her sides, her knuckles turning a pale, tense white against her skin. For a handful of agonizing seconds, she didn't move, her sharp green eyes fixed entirely on the shadow stretching across the foyer floor from the front entryway. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, heavy rhythm that felt entirely out of place in the elegant tranquility of her home. It could be anyone, a delivery driver, a courier from the Supreme Championship Wrestling offices, or perhaps her sister arriving with another dose of chaotic reality. But deep in her gut, a stark, intuitive certainty told her exactly who was standing on the other side of that threshold. She smoothed down the silk of her trousers with a trembling hand, a final, subconscious effort to pull her armor back into place, before forcing her feet to move forward. Each step across the cool mahogany floorboards felt heavy, deliberate, and entirely too loud in the empty house. When she reached the door, her fingers hovered over the heavy brass lock for a fraction of a second, a wave of caution washing over her, before she finally turned the latch with a sharp, echoing click and pulled the heavy wood inward. Standing under the warm, amber glow of the porch light, framed by the dark, humid Boston night, was Percy.

The sight of him instantly sent a cold jolt through Marie’s chest, the fragile composure she had spent weeks building melting away in an instant. He looked entirely different from the shattered, defensive man who had stood by her fireplace weeks ago, yet the change only served to make the air between them feel twice as dangerous. He was dressed in a crisp, dark charcoal button down shirt, the sleeves rolled tightly to his elbows to reveal the dense, powerful muscles of his forearms, and clean, dark denim jeans that broke perfectly over a pair of heavy leather boots. The jagged scab at the corner of his mouth had faded into a thin, pale pink line, and the swelling around his eye was completely gone, leaving his face looking sharp, focused, and entirely unreadable. Yet, despite his clean appearance, the street thug aura he had tried so hard to bury still clung to him like cheap cologne. He stood with his shoulders slightly hitched, his head tilted downward as his dark eyes locked onto hers through the screen door, his expression a volatile cocktail of intense relief, lingering shame, and something else, something hidden so deep beneath the surface that it made Marie’s skin prickle with immediate suspicion. He wasn't reaching for his ring this time, his hands were shoved deep into his pockets, but the rigid, defensive set of his jaw told her everything she needed to know. The past had not finished with him, and whatever script he had written for tonight, the real confrontation was about to begin.

“What do you want, Percy?”

“Nothing, honestly.” Percy remarks. “I just wanted to see you, that’s all.” There is an awkward pause and silence in the air as Marie just stares him down. Percy smiles back sheepishly. “Uh, may I come in?”

“That depends.” Jones answers quickly. “Have you been drinking?”

“Drinking, me?” Percy chuckles. “Never.”

“I’m serious, Percy.”

“Sorry.” He sighs. “But I really, I haven’t been drinking. You can even give me a breathalizer if you want.” Marie still doesn’t find his attempt at humor very effective. Still, the good natured Phoenix wants to give her boyfriend a chance. So she sighs and nods her head.

“Fine, come in.”

Marie stepped back, her bare feet pressing firmly against the cool hardwood as she swung the heavy oak door open wide enough to let him pass. As Percy crossed the threshold, a sudden draft of the thick, humid Boston night air rolled into the entryway with him, momentarily overwhelming the crisp, artificial chill of the air conditioning. He walked with a heavy, deliberate stride, his leather boots making a dull, hollow thud against the mahogany floorboards, a sound that seemed to reverberate straight up Marie’s spine. He kept his hands out of his pockets now, but his arms hung rigidly at his sides, his shoulders squared as if he were walking into a hostile territory rather than the home of the woman he claimed to love.

Without waiting for a formal invitation, Percy navigated the familiar path down the short foyer and stepped into the expansive living room. The grand, high ceilinged space, usually so welcoming with its soft ivory tones and plush velvet furnishings, felt instantly smaller the moment his dark silhouette entered the frame. He stopped just at the edge of the plush Persian rug, his boots coming to a halt near the dark marble fireplace, the very same spot he had occupied weeks prior. He didn't sit. Instead, he slowly turned around to face her, his sharp eyes taking in the pristine, immaculate surroundings before finally settling back on Marie. The warm, skeletal shadows cast by the streetlamps outside flickered across his face, highlighting the tense, mechanical set of his jaw and the complete absence of his usual relaxed posture. He stood there like a trespasser caught in the glare of a searchlight, waiting for the inevitable hammer to fall.

“You, uh,” Percy slowly begins, trying to find the appropriate words “you haven’t been answering my calls.”

“Really?” Marie sighs and rolls her eyes. “That makes us even. If I recall you never answered any of mine for weeks, months even. You fell off the radar until Kimmy and I happened to find you beaten half to death in front of that bar. And even when you were keeping in touch, you were staying out long nights without telling me where you were. You were just partying.”

“Yeah, I know.” Percy nods his head.

“You were partying. You were drinking. You were risking your very freedom by violating your parole. And you expected me to just let you get away with it. You expected me to not say anything.”

“You haven’t said anything, have you?” Percy asks, sounding a little concerned. Jones sighs.

“Your secret is safe, Percy.”

“Thank God.” Percy lets out a sigh of relief. “And I truly am sorry for dragging you into this, Marie. You are entirely right and I apologize.”

“Look, I accept your apology, and it is sweet that you came here wanting to make things right.” She shakes her head. “But I’m not sure an apology is enough to repair the damage that YOU did, Percy.”

“What are you saying?” Percy asks, afraid of what the answer is.

“Honestly? I’m just not sure that I can trust you right now.” She shakes her head. “I’m not sure I can trust you again. At least not yet.”

Those were the words that Percy was afraid to hear. It definitely indicates that this relationship is nearing its breaking point, if it isn’t permanently damaged and ended right this moment. Still, the ex-con must hear it for himself. He must hear the words.

“Does this mean that…does this we’re breaking up?”

“No, not yet.” Marie sighs and shakes her head. Percy seems to feel a great sense of relief, a weight lifted off of his shoulders. “God knows I have needed plenty of opportunities in my life to make things right. I have made mistakes and I get it, you have made so many mistakes in your criminal past. You want to turn over a new leaf and I believe you…”

“But?”

“But you need to work very hard to earn my trust back.” Marie states pointedly. “You hurt me, Percy. Your disappearing act scared me to death, the fact that you’ve been violating parole scares me to death, and you broke my trust. A healthy relationship is built upon trust.”

“I know.” Percy nods his head. “Trust me, as someone who spent time behind bars I know how important it is to earn trust again. I am prepared to do whatever it takes to earn your trust and save this relationship.”

“That’s great to hear, Percy.” Marie says. “And I am ready to give you that chance.”

“Then let’s start tonight.” Percy answers quickly. “I want to take you out and treat you to a nice meal. Just the two of us.”

“Percy, I…”

“I mean it.” He insists. “Let me do this. For you.”

“Fine…” she sighs “...let me get changed…”

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July 11th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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The soft, ambient glow of the crystal chandeliers at a fancy restaurant in Boston, one of Marie’s favorites, cast a warm, amber hue over the dining room, a stark contrast to the oppressive, humid night air outside on the streets of Boston. Tucked away in an exclusive enclave of the city, the restaurant was a masterclass in understated luxury, where the low hum of polite conversation was punctuated only by the delicate clinking of silver against fine bone china and the occasional, soft laugh from a neighboring table. The floors were covered in a dense, emerald green carpet that swallowed the sound of the waiters’ footsteps as they moved with practiced, silent efficiency between tables draped in pristine, starch white linen. In the center of their corner booth, a single candle flickered inside a frosted glass votive, casting long, dancing shadows across the polished silver wine bucket and the half empty crystal flutes of sparkling water.

Marie sat perfectly upright against the plush, leather banquette, the picture of upper class sophistication. For this evening out, she had chosen a tailored, sleeveless cocktail dress in a deep, matte crimson that highlighted the powerful, athletic lines of her shoulders while tapering elegantly at her waist. Her vibrant copper hair was styled into smooth, cascading waves that fell precisely over one shoulder, and a delicate gold chain caught the candlelight at her collarbone. Despite the serene, expensive atmosphere of the dining room, Marie’s green eyes were sharp, analytical, and entirely focused across the table, her manicured fingers lightly tracing the stem of her glass with a rhythmic, cautious deliberation.

Directly opposite her, Percy looked like a man trying desperately to play a part he hadn't fully memorized. He had traded his heavy leather motorcycle jacket for a tailored black blazer and a crisp, white dress shirt, left unbuttoned at the collar to reveal the rigid, tense muscles of his neck. His dark hair was neatly combed back, but the sharp, pale pink line of the faded scab at the corner of his mouth remained a stubborn reminder of the streets he had left behind. He sat with his elbows resting heavily on the white tablecloth, his large, calloused hands loosely clasped together as he stared down at the untouched plate of seared prime beef before him. The refined setting did nothing to soften the intense, quiet vigilance that radiated from his frame, his dark eyes occasionally darting toward the restaurant entrance before snapping back to Marie, waiting for the fragile peace of the dinner to shift.

“I can tell you’re not very comfortable right now.” Marie points out with a smirk on her face.

“Oh c’mon, Marie. You know I love this place.”

“You hate it.” Marie states. “You have never wanted to come here. It’s too high class for you.” She snickers. “Honestly, Percy, you’re trying too hard.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Yes.” Marie sighs. “You don’t have to bend over backwards to try and earn my trust back. I told you, we’re not breaking up. Things might be a little stressful right now but we’re not breaking up. If you want to win me back, Percy, the best thing you can do is to be yourself. That’s the guy I fell in love with.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” She nods her head.

“Good…” he chuckles “...because seriously, this place really isn’t my style…”

Jones laughs. Percy laughs along with her. Finally, for the first time in months, it appears as if things between the two of them are normal. Just like nothing had ever happened. As if Percy had never left.

“So tell me, babe.. What have you been doing since I disappeared?” Percy asks. The date turns to small talk, which both are very thankful for.

“My return to SCW has been going better than I had hoped.” Marie says. “Taking Hold of the Flame was great even though I lost. I got a loud ovation from the fans and I fooled Kimmy. She never saw it coming. I gave Allocco the fight of his life and I must have impressed the CEO because now I have an opportunity to challenge Dexter Grant for the United States Title.”

“Isn’t he the weirdo who hates social media?” Percy asks. Marie nods her head.

“And the weirdo who beat me right before I took my hiatus from the ring.” Marie smirks. “I am going to get my revenge and win that championship.”

“I know you will.” Percy sips his water. “I have faith in you.”

Marie sips her wine as she watches Percy sip on his water. She frowns.

“Percy?”

“Yeah?”

“I hate to bring it up again but…” she sighs “...be honest with me, have you fallen off the wagon? And I don’t just mean the drinking. I mean the drugs, the partying, getting involved in crime, all of it. The stuff you were forbidden from getting involved with as part of your parole. Did you fall off the wagon?”

“I understand why you’re concerned, babe, but trust me, I am fine.” He smiles warmly. “I have not fallen off the wagon. I will not fall off. I know if I fall off that wagon I risk losing you and you are the very best thing to happen to me, Marie Annabelle Jones.”

The fragile illusion of normalcy shattered before the warmth of Percy’s smile could even reach his eyes. From the far side of the dining room, the heavy, rhythmic thud of leather-soled uniform boots suddenly disrupted the quiet, synchronized ballet of the restaurant’s waitstaff. Two uniform officers from the Boston Police Department walked with purpose down the emerald green carpeted aisle, their heavy utility belts clinking sharply with handcuffs and flashlights, a sound that cut through the low murmur of polite conversation like ice. The low hum of the dining room dipped into an immediate, breathless silence as affluent patrons turned their heads, their forks hovering mid-air.

Percy’s entire body went rigid instantly, his elbows lifting off the starched white tablecloth as his hands instinctively curled into tight, defensive fists. The color drained from his face, leaving the pale pink line of his scab standing out like an angry brand. Across the table, Marie felt a cold knot of dread tighten violently in her stomach, the stem of her wine glass freezing between her manicured fingers. She watched the lead officer, a burly sergeant with a weathered face, come to a definitive halt right at the edge of their white-linened booth, his sharp eyes locking onto Percy with absolute, undeniable recognition. The second officer stepped slightly to the side, his hand resting with casual, practiced authority near his holster, cutting off any possible exit into the main dining room.

“Percy Matthews?”

“Y…yeah?” Percy is noticeably concerned and anxious. Marie Jones is equally nervous. She had decided to give him a chance, she had decided to try and let him earn her trust back. Had he failed this quickly?

“Stand up.” One officer remarks coldly. Percy reluctantly obeys. They frisk him. Then, much to Marie’s horror, one officer finds a baggie on his person.

Drugs.

“Look at what I found?” The officer remarks with a smirk.

“Percy!” Marie exclaims, angry and embarrassed. “How could you?!” She hisses. “You said…you promised…”

“I’m sorry.” Percy shakes his head.

“Save it.” The officer states. “You are under arrest.”

The metallic click of the handcuffs clamping down around Percy’s wrists sounded like a final, definitive gavel slam in the stunned silence of the dining room. Every eye in the restaurant remained glued to the corner booth, the surrounding affluent patrons looking on with a mixture of collective horror and morbid fascination as the two officers roughly turned Percy around. For Marie, the world seemed to lose its color, the vibrant crimson of her elegant dress suddenly feeling like a mockery of the cold, crushing reality settling into her chest. The anger that had flared up instantly gave way to a profound, hollow exhaustion. She had defended him to her sister, she had bargained with her own morality to shield his secrets, and she had spent the entire evening desperately trying to convince herself that the man she loved was capable of redemption. Yet, right there on the pristine white linen tablecloth, the small plastic baggie sat like an unyielding monument to his betrayal, a truth she could no longer rationalize or ignore.

Percy kept his head bowed, refusing to meet her gaze as the officers began to guide him out of the booth, his heavy leather boots dragging slightly against the emerald green carpet. The frantic, defensive posture he had maintained all evening had completely evaporated, replaced by the hollow, defeated slump of a man who knew he had finally run out of chances. As he passed her, he opened his mouth as if to offer one last, desperate plea, but the look in Marie’s sharp green eyes silenced him completely. There were no tears on her face, only a rigid, terrifying clarity. The Phoenix had spent her entire life fighting through adversity inside the squared circle, but looking at the empty seat across from her, she realized some matches were lost before the bell even rang. She was a mother, a professional, and a woman who had given everything to afford a life of peace, and in a single, devastating moment, Percy had threatened to pull her back down into the gutter with him.

The heavy thud of the officers’ boots faded down the aisle, followed by the distant, muffled chime of the restaurant’s glass entryway doors opening to the humid Boston night outside. Gradually, the low hum of polite conversation began to drift back into the room, though the glances cast toward Marie’s solitary booth remained heavy with judgment. Marie sat perfectly still, her manicured fingers resting against the cold table, staring at the untouched plate of seared beef across from her. Her upcoming battle against Dexter Grant for the United States Championship suddenly took on a completely different meaning. The ring was no longer just a platform for championship gold or a stage to avenge an old loss; it was the only place left where the rules were absolute, where the threats were entirely in front of her, and where she didn't have to guess who to trust. She took one final, slow breath, letting the lingering vulnerability of the evening harden into pure, competitive armor. Percy Matthews was headed back behind bars, his promises scattered on the restaurant floor, and Marie Jones was left alone to pick up the pieces and prepare for war.

[Digitox]

RP 1: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1hiuV...sp=sharing

[The Matt]

2 of 2
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July 12th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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The bright, aggressive glare of the mid morning July sun cut directly through the towering sheer curtains of the luxurious home of Marie Jones, exposing every speck of dust dancing in the stagnant air of the living room. The artificial coolness of the air conditioning did nothing to cut through the heavy, suffocating atmosphere of the space. The room was no longer a sanctuary of quiet luxury; it had become an arena. Marie stood in the center of the polished mahogany floor, her body vibrating with a silent, volatile fury that seemed to fill every corner of the high ceilinged room. She was dressed in a pristine white cotton blouse, the sleeves rolled sharply to her elbows, and a simple black skirt, her feet bare against the cool wood. Her copper red hair was scraped back into a remarkably tight, severe ponytail that pulled at the corners of her eyes, giving her face a sharp, predatory look. She didn't pace. Instead, she stood with her feet planted wide, her hands clamped tightly onto her hips, her posture identical to the one she assumed when staring down an opponent in the center of the ring. Her green eyes, usually warm and expressive, had hardened into two chips of emerald ice, locked onto the couch with a gaze so hot it could have singed the velvet upholstery. Every muscle in her back and shoulders was coiled like a spring, holding back a reservoir of explosive anger that had been building since the first metallic click of the handcuffs the night before.

Across from her, slumped deep into the cushions of the ivory tufted sofa, Percy looked like a man who had been dragged through the absolute depths of the city. He had been released on bond just hours ago, and the physical and mental exhaustion of the ordeal clung to him like soot. His white dress shirt from the restaurant was now heavily wrinkled, the collar frayed and half unbuttoned, revealing the pale, tense skin of his collarbone. He had lost his tailored blazer somewhere in the system, leaving him exposed and looking entirely out of place against the expensive, clean fabric of the couch. His dark hair was a disheveled mess, falling over his forehead and casting dark shadows over his face. He kept his elbows on his knees and his head hung low, staring intently at the intricate patterns of the Persian rug between his boots, utterly unable to lift his gaze to meet the terrifying glare of the woman standing before him. The physical aftermath of his arrest was etched into the tight, defensive curve of his spine. His hands, usually so strong and steady, were clasped loosely between his knees, his fingers twitching occasionally as if he were still feeling the cold pressure of the steel cuffs around his wrists. The silence in the room was deafening, punctuated only by the slow, mechanical tick of the grandfather clock in the foyer and the ragged, shallow breathing of a man who knew he had finally pushed his luck past the point of no return. Marie’s silence was a physical weight, pressing down on him, demanding an explanation that they both knew would never be enough to repair the massive, gaping crater he had just blown through the foundation of their lives.

“I can’t believe it, I still cannot believe it,” Marie says, shaking her head “you lied to me. Again.”

“I’m sorry.” Percy says quietly.

“You have said that again and again and again.” Marie spits out venomously. “I’m tired of hearing it.”

“What do you want me to say?” Percy asks. “I’m…I’m so sorry…”

“Instead of these nonstop apologies, what I would really like is an explanation.” The Phoenix insists. “You lied to me. You said you weren’t violating parole but obviously you were otherwise you wouldn’t have been arrested last night. You lied to me about how you were done, you were going straight, you weren’t doing drugs anymore…”

“I swear to you that the cops have it wrong!” He insists. “I am not doing drugs!”

“Don’t lie to me!” She shouts angrily. “You had the drugs on your person last night!”

“Marie…” Percy sighs, his voice trailing off.

“What? Did they plant it on you? Is that your excuse?”

“I’m telling the truth. I haven’t done drugs in years.” He sighs and shrugs his shoulders. “But the thing is, I am in serious financial trouble. I have been trying to go straight, honestly I have. I have tried to get hired on with a legitimate job to make an honest living. But no one will hire a convicted felon. No one with a record will even get an interview.”

“So you went back to your old ways?” Marie asks.

“To help pay some bills I went back to dealing drugs, yes.” He nods his head. “But I’m just dealing. I am not using.”

“Oh great, that really puts my mind at ease.” She rolls her eyes. “Even IF I believe you, which I don’t because you’ve lied to me so much already, me and my soon Sean ONLY have to worry about one of your ‘clients’ targeting us because they think you ripped them off.”

“I’m sorry, babe…”

“Do not apologize.” Marie states cooly. “Just tell me, when is your court date? When is this nonsense over?”

“In a few weeks.” Percy says quietly. “But I’m scared.”

“Scared?”

“I’m scared because I’ve violated parole. I’m certain I’m going back to prison this time.”

Jones is still fuming, angry that she has been lied to; yet, as she looks deep into his eyes, she can sense that he truly is afraid. She can sense the genuine and sincere fear that he has right now. This fear finally softens her heart. The anger subsides. She approaches him and takes his hands into her hands, holding them tightly.

“Listen to me. You need to be brave. You need to go to court.”

“But…”

“No…” she shakes her head “...you have to take responsibility for your actions. Face it with courage. Trust the system.”

“I don’t want to go back to prison.” He shakes his head.

“You don’t know what the judge might rule. I promise to help you. I will be there by your side every step of the way no matter what happens.”

“You mean it?”

“Of course I do.” She nods her head. “Now just get some rest, ok? You don’t need to worry yourself over this right now.” She kisses him on his cheek. “Stay here. I’m going out to my mom’s and workout with her, spar with her. I have a SCW United States Title to win.”

“Ok…” his voice trails off.

“I’ll be back later.”

Marie pulled away from the embrace, the crisp white fabric of her blouse rustling softly as she straightened her posture and stepped back onto the cool mahogany floorboards. She cast one final, long look at Percy, her sharp green eyes tracking the heavy, exhausted slump of his shoulders before she turned and gathered her athletic gear from the entryway bench. The heavy front door clicked shut behind her with a definitive, solid thud that seemed to echo through the empty foyer, sealing the quiet tension inside the townhouse. As she stepped out into the muggy, blinding heat of the afternoon, her bare feet slipping into her white canvas sneakers, she forced her mind to pivot completely toward the gym. She needed the rhythmic, predictable violence of the squared circle; she needed to sweat out the lingering taste of betrayal and channel every ounce of her emotional turmoil into the grueling training session ahead with Angelica. For the next several hours, the slam of her body against the canvas and the burning in her lungs during her title match preparation were the only things keeping her grounded.

By the time Marie returned, the bright, aggressive morning sun had surrendered to the long, heavy shadows of twilight, casting a dim, amber glow across the front porch. She pushed the front door open, her gym bag slung heavily over her shoulder, fully expecting to find the living room exactly as she had left it, perhaps with the low hum of the television cutting through the stillness. Instead, the house met her with a chilling, total silence that immediately made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

“Percy?” she called out, her voice flat and hollow in the expansive entryway.

There was no answer. The central air conditioning hummed its monotonous tune, but the living room felt entirely devoid of life. Marie dropped her gym bag to the floor and stepped onto the Persian rug, her eyes sweeping over the ivory tufted sofa. The cushions were empty, the fabric smooth as if no one had sat there for hours. Her stomach dropped into a cold, heavy knot as she noticed the small, rectangular piece of white paper resting dead center on the dark marble mantle of the fireplace, held down securely by Percy's heavy silver ring.

Her heart hammered against her ribs as her bare feet moved her across the floorboards. She picked up the paper, her manicured fingers trembling slightly as she unfolded it under the dim light of the streetlamps filtering through the curtains. Written in Percy's hurried, uneven scrawl, the brief message confirmed the exact cowardice she had desperately hoped he would overcome. The ink blurred slightly under her gaze as she read his frantic confession; he couldn't face the court date, he couldn't risk the walls of a prison cell closing in on him again, and so he had packed what little he had and gone on the run. The note ended with a string of desperate, hollow apologies, begging her to understand that he loved her too much to drag her down with him. Marie let out a slow, shuddering breath, her grip tightening until the paper crinkled in her fist. He hadn't just broken his parole; he had shattered the final, fragile piece of trust she had fought so hard to give him, leaving her alone in the quiet luxury of an empty home.

==========
July 13th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
On Camera
==========

The camera begins to roll. We see Marie Annabelle Jones seated with a poised and confident posture, looking directly forward with a serious, captivating expression. Her shoulder length red hair is styled in soft, loose waves parted down the middle. Her makeup features a bold, vibrant crimson lipstick that sharply contrasts with her complexion. The Phoenix is dressed in a sophisticated black blazer dress with thin, white vertical pinstripes, featuring a deep V-neckline. Adorning her neck is a delicate gold chain with a prominent star-shaped pendant, and on her left hand, which rests elegantly on her lap, she wears a couple of silver bands. Her fingernails are painted in a muted, cool gray polish. Jones sits with her legs crossed at the thigh, leaning back slightly in her seat. Her surroundings evoke a dramatic, theatrical atmosphere. She is positioned in a modern lounge chair upholstered in black leather, distinguished by its curved, wing-like silhouette and a visible wooden trim along the edge of its frame. Directly behind her, a heavy, deep burgundy curtain hangs in soft vertical folds, creating a rich, textured backdrop that enhances the moody tone.

“Greetings to all of my Phoenix Fans! Make sure to hashtag that, sweeties, because I am determined to make it a thing. It started at Taking Hold of the Flame when I had arguably the most entertaining surprise return of them all. I think I even fooled my sister which has to drive her crazy, assuming she can be driven any crazier than she already is. And then despite certain annoying outside interference, I put on a hell of a show against Alistaire Allocco. Me and Ali stole the show in both of our singles returns to the ring. I promised to make an impact. I promised that this would be much more than a mere nostalgia tour and I am already proving it week in and week out. So that term, Phoenix Fans, it will become a thing. It will be trending all over social media when I defeat Dexter Grant and become SCW United States Champion.” Marie nods her head.

“Now I am not trying to start a fancy social media hashtag just to drive old Dexter crazy. I mean, there’s enough hashtags out there to do that. All I have to do is show him the fun and beautiful displays from Tush Tuesday or Woman Crush Wednesdays or Thirsty Thursdays or any of the other sexual innuendo hashtags out there. If I was really being spiteful or if I just wanted to play mind games with that weirdo Grant, I would do something like this…” a cat plushie comes flying in from off camera. Marie catches it and holds it up to face the camera “..meet Boo! He is a cat and he is my new best friend! Boo says that he is looking forward to watching me kick Dexter’s ass from pillar to post and take that championship away from him on Breakdown.” The Phoenix smirks.

“Oh I can do this all day. But I’m not because as fun as it is to get under the skin of someone like Grant who thinks social media, technology, and the like is the worst thing to happen to the human race, as fun as it is to poke fun at him, his philosophy, his beliefs, and just utterly and completely demean him in every way possible, that’s just not what I’m here to do.” She shakes her head. “Honestly, Kimmy is better off at that kind of psychological warfare than I am. I am here for two reasons.” She holds up two fingers.

“The first and most obvious reason is the fact that you have something that I want; the SCW United States Championship. I never look a gift horse in the mouth, I never take opportunities for granted, and now I have this opportunity to win championship gold in SCW, gold that isn’t called the Television Title. Nothing against the Television Title, mind you, but in my last run it seemed as if I could not quite get over that TV Title hump. I couldn’t quite achieve much more beyond that. Yet I know in my heart of hearts what I am capable of. I know that I am capable of great things. I have the potential to be one of the best wrestlers SCW has ever seen. The proof is in the fact that I have already won the United States Title before. Hell, I am just two championships shy of becoming a Supreme Champion. The Phoenix Fans out there who have supported me through thick and thin, through the good times and the bad, who were there for me when I made horrible mistakes and made bad judgments, who were there for me when I was riding high on cloud nine, they believe in me. They know what I am capable of. And they know that all I need is one opportunity, just one fair shot in order to rip that United States Title away from you, Grant. I have that opportunity and I will not let it go to waste.”

“But the other reason I am here is for you, Grant. You might not have been the last person I lost to before I took my lengthy hiatus, but you were among the last. Then while I was sitting at home, watching my sister Kimmy thrive, watching Kimmy defeat you for the Adrenaline Championship, it ate me up inside because I knew that I could do it too. I knew I was every bit as good as Kimmy, I was every bit as talented as her, and I knew that I could have beaten you. I could have beaten you and my career trajectory could have taken a different turn. Instead I couldn’t get the job done. Instead I took a break from the ring to reevaluate myself. To fix my own mistakes, to improve, to get better. Now I have returned and yes, I am better than ever. Yes, I am a new and improved Phoenix. But saying it is one thing and proving is something completely different.” She shakes her head.

“So this isn’t just about the SCW United States Championship. I don’t want to pin your shoulders to the mat or make you submit just to win a piece of gold…although gold does look damn good around my waist…I want to beat you to prove to the entire world that I have improved and that I am serious about making a real impact in my return to SCW. And to do that I have to confront my past demons, I have to face my past failures, and that means I have to punch your teeth down your throat, Grant.” The Phoenix smirks.

“Tell me something, Dorkster; does this make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside? It should. You’re always ranting and raving about how the SCW titles mean nothing to you and are worthless. Does it make you feel all happy knowing that I’m not just going to rip your throat out for a championship, I’m ripping your throat out to make a statement? Be careful of what you wish for, Grant, because you just might get it. I am going to tear you apart, I am going to get my win back, I will get my revenge. Then I will take that United States Championship and make it meaningful. I will make it worthwhile. And you? You can fall because this Phoenix will rise.”

Marie pauses, letting the weight of her final words hang in the heavy air of the lounge. The playful, mocking smirk slowly melts away, replaced by a razor-sharp gaze that pierces straight through the camera lens. She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, the gold star pendant swinging slightly against the black pinstripes of her dress. The theatricality of the room seems to dim as her tone shifts from lighthearted mockery to a chilling, calculated intensity.

"You see, Dexter, for all your high and mighty speeches about the decay of modern society and the superficiality of this business, you forget one fundamental truth. When the bell rings, none of your philosophical grandstanding can save you from a physical reality check. You can call me shallow, you can call my fans mindless, but you cannot call me unprepared. I have spent every single day of my absence rebuilding myself from the ashes of my own doubts. I didn't just sit at home watching the screen; I dissected my flaws, I studied tape, and I internalized the exact moment I let victory slip through my fingers the last time we shared a ring. I know your weaknesses better than you know your own sanctimonious virtues." Jones smirks.

"When we step into the ring at Breakdown, you aren't going to face the Marie of old. You are getting a competitor who has nothing left to fear because she has already stared her worst failures in the face and smiled. I know exactly how you fight, Dexter. I know you want to drag me down into the mud, to make this a grueling, ugly affair to prove some twisted point about suffering. But I am the Phoenix for a reason. Fire doesn’t get dirty; it purifies. I will match your grittiness with my sheer athleticism, and I will counter your cynical desperation with my absolute, unyielding desire to be the best. Every strike I land will carry the weight of every critic who ever counted me out, and every breath I draw will be fueled by the roar of the Phoenix Fans who know exactly what happens when I am pushed to the edge." She points at the camera.

"So hold onto that United States Championship as tightly as you can for these next few days. Polish it, whisper your nihilistic sweet nothings to it, and pretend that you are above the glory of holding it. Because when Breakdown is over, that gold is coming home with me. I am going to elevate that title to heights you couldn’t even dream of, and I am going to leave you lying in the center of the ring, staring up at the lights, wondering how a 'social media distraction' completely dismantled your entire existence. The countdown has begun, Dorkster. Enjoy your final moments at the top, because the fire is catching, and you are about to burn."

[Digitox]

RP 2: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1iAgJ...sp=sharing