SCW United States Ladder Match

[The Matt]

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August 2nd, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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The heavy mahogany door of the pub swung open, letting in a draft of muggy Boston night air that mixed with the ambient smell of stale beer, polished cedar, and frying grease. The establishment was a tucked away, low lit neighborhood joint near the edge of the South End, the kind of place that catered to a mix of tired hospital workers, local regulars, and the occasional out of town couple looking for a quiet corner booth. Soft jazz played from a set of vintage speakers mounted near the tin ceiling, barely cutting through the low hum of conversation and the clinking of heavy pint glasses behind the long bar. Sitting together in a leather booth tucked back in a dimly lit alcove were the identical twin sisters Marie Jones and Kimberly Williams, presenting a study in total stylistic and emotional contradiction.

Marie sat hunched slightly forward over a half empty glass of pinot noir, her posture radiating a profound, bone deep exhaustion. Even in a state of quiet despair, her innate sense of refined, classy style was obvious. She wore a tailored black silk camisole beneath a light beige cashmere cardigan, paired with dark, perfectly fitted designer denim and a pair of sleek almond toed leather boots. A delicate silver chain rested against her collarbone, catching the faint amber glow of the small candle burning in a glass jar on the center of the table. Her hair was pulled back into a loose, elegant twist, though a few stray strands had fallen around her face. Her eyes were rimmed with a faint red, staring blankly down at the condensation pooling around the base of her wine glass as she compulsively turned a silver ring around her index finger. The sudden news of Percy Matthews being taken back into custody for a parole violation had completely drained the life out of her, leaving her heavy with the hopeless weight of an uncertain future. The fact that he was arrested in her presence, while they were on a date at a fancy restaurant, only made things worse for The Phoenix. The Phoenix had given Percy so many opportunities to change his ways, so many opportunities to prove himself. Yet he failed time and again. He managed to convince Marie to pay his bond so he could get out of jail before his court date. Yet he again betrayed her. He skipped bail. The fact that Percy had lied to her about violating his parole, had lied when he said he was no longer doing drugs, further rubbed salt in the wound. She is here at this bar this evening with Kimmy hoping to drown her sorrows and try to forget.

Across the small table sat Kimberly, looking utterly unbothered by her sister’s dark mood and entirely in her element. Kimberly had interpreted typical bar wear in her own predictably bizarre fashion. She wore a tight, faded vintage leather motorcycle jacket over a ripped graphic tee that featured a cartoonish, roaring tiger, paired with distressed black jeans that looked like they had been personally dragged across gravel. Her dark combat boots rested flat on the floorboards under the table, tapping out a frantic, silent beat. Unlike her sister, whose grief was quiet and still, Kimberly was practically vibrating with a chaotic, restless energy. Her face carried a wide, slightly unhinged grin that seemed completely immune to the sombre mood of the booth. Resting precisely on the bench seat right beside Kimberly, propped up against the leather padding like a silent, heavy patron, was Wasley the penguin. The oversized plushie sat perfectly upright, his immense core of lead fishing weights causing the leather cushion beneath him to sink several inches lower than Kimberly’s side. For a night out on the town, Kimberly had dressed the deadly stuffed animal in a tiny, black leather vest that matched her own jacket, complete with a tiny metal stud pinned to the lapel. Wasley’s shiny black bead eyes stared straight ahead toward the bar taps, his yellow felt beak pointing directly at a bowl of complimentary salted peanuts sitting between the sisters.

Kimberly reached into the peanut bowl, tossing a handful into her mouth with a loud crunch before leaning her elbows heavily onto the table. Her sharp eyes locked onto Marie, taking in her twin's slumped shoulders and solemn expression with a look that hovered right on the edge of wild amusement.

“You look upset, Marie.”

“Sorry.” Marie sighs. “I’m just not in the mood to celebrate. I mean, everything has gone wrong for me lately. I made my triumphant return to SCW at Taking Hold of the Flame.” She points a finger at Kim. “I even got one over on you.”

“Yeah, that still bothers me.”

“But ever since then I’ve had nothing.” She shakes her head. “Alistaire Allocco? Disqualified because Cruze decided getting his pound of flesh was more important than me finishing my match. I get a shot at the United States Championship, which also provides the opportunity to avenge that loss to Dexter Grant I suffered before I took a break, but Grant screwed me over. I get promised another opportunity at Rise To Greatness and people think I’m a sell out simply because the CEO Frank Delatosso was the one who offered that opportunity?” Marie’s voice is full of frustration. “What am I supposed to do, Kim? Say no thanks, I don’t want a title match and I just want to be left off the Rise To Greatness card altogether. And then there’s the idiot Glimmer Sisters who also think I’m on Frank’s payroll.”

“Are you?” Kim asks with a smirk on her face.

“NO!”

“Sorry!” Kim snickers. “I only asked to get rise out of you!”

“Well don’t do that.” Marie shakes her head. “I am not on anyone’s side. I am here to compete, nothing more.”

“I can maim them for you.”

“What?!”

“Percy. Dorkster. The Glimmers. Anyone who thinks you’re a sell-out. I can just maim them for you.”

“I don’t want you maiming anyone.” Marie insists.

“Fine.” She points a finger at Marie. “You maim them. Maiming people usually helps me feel better.”

“I’m not maiming anyone.” Marie insists. A smirk forms on her face slowly. “Although maiming people in that ladder match could help. And taking the United States Title in the process would be icing on the cake.”

“That’s the spirit!” Kim insists. “Good old fashioned bloodshed always lifts my spirits!”

“You DO know that when it comes to the ring, I always try to keep it competitive. Simply about competition and wanting to be the best I can be.” She sighs. “But…maybe I should be more like you…”

“What’s this?” Kim gasps. “Little Miss Perfect admits that Crazy Kim might be onto something?”

“I’m just saying…” Marie’s voice trails off “...I’m just saying that it couldn’t hurt to be a little more like you. A little more carefree. I mean, look at you. Nothing bothers you.”

“Hey, you’re wrong.” Kim insists. “The death of Optimus Prime in the original 1980s Transformers animated movie still hits me right in the feels. One shall stand, one shall fall.” Kim wipes a fake tear from her eyes. “Especially when you consider that unworthy fuck Hot Rod got to take his place when it was Hot Rod’s fault Prime died in the first place!”

“Huh?” Marie now looks thoroughly confused. Kim winks.

“Just think about it while I go order us some more drinks.”

Kimberly Williams practically jumps out of her seat and skips over towards the bar, leaving Marie alone. Well, not quite alone; she does have the company of Kim’s stuffed penguin pal Wasley. Marie sighs as she leans forward and studies the penguin closely.

“If I really want to be more like Kim I suppose I should start by talking to you, huh?” She laughs. “It’s sad. My boyfriend was arrested, skipped bail, and is now on the run from the law. I don’t even have you because you’re Kim’s stuffed toy, not mine.”

Marie let out a long, shuddering breath. She leaned back against the dark leather padding of the seat. The heavy weight of Percy’s arrest and subsequent run from the law was still sitting squarely on her chest, a suffocating mix of frustration, anger, and deep sadness that made the ambient noise of the bar feel miles away. Then, a shadow fell over the table.

A man in his late twenties, his button-down shirt unbuttoned one notch too far and his balance visibly compromised by a few too many draft beers, drifted over from the main bar rail. He held a half-empty tumbler of whiskey in one hand, his posture slouching into an easy, unearned confidence as he leaned his hip heavily against the wooden edge of the booth, encroaching on Marie’s space.

“Hey there,” he slurred slightly, a loose, lopsided smile spreading across his face as his eyes took in Marie’s tailored cardigan and elegant silhouette. “You look way too serious to be sitting in a corner all by yourself. Mind if I join you and brighten up your night a little?”

“No, I have company.”

“You mean the penguin?” He chuckles pointing at Wasley.

“No, as in an actual SOMEONE.” Marie insists. “Now go away.”

“Awww now don’t be like that…”

Just then, taking a page clearly out of her twin’s playbook, Marie lunges up and forward. She snatches the drunk by his throat and glares with hatred into his eyes.

“I said no…” Marie states pointedly “...now I suggest you leave unless you want me to peel the skin from your body.”

“Damn, you’re crazy!” The man pushes Marie away. He stumbles away from the table and away from The Phoenix as fast as he can. Jones gets comfortable again, leaning back in her chair. A smile forms on her face.

Crazy. Just like Kimmy. That felt empowering. It felt good. Maybe she should take more lessons from her identical twin? Being a little psychotic and unhinged ahead of a violent ladder match at Rise To Greatness could just be what the doctor ordered, especially if she hopes to become the SCW United States Champion.

But Jones does not get the opportunity to revel in her minor triumph long before she hears more footsteps approaching. Is this loser back again?

“I told you, I’m not interested.” Marie says, not even bothering to look and see who it is.

“You might be, but not for the reasons you think.” This voice is different, but definitely male. Jones turns and sees another man, slightly older than the last one who had just made a pass at her. He’s dressed nicer too; in nice denim jeans, a white polo, and a blazer. Still, dressed nice or not, Marie has no patience for him. She waves her hand dismissively at him.

“I’m not interested. Go away.”

“Oh I knew it was you the moment I saw you.” He remarks. “I don’t forget a face.”

“Do I know you?” Marie arches her brow out of curiosity.

“Don’t play coy with me, Ms. Jones.” He chuckles. “I am Marcus Archer. I was your agent for a very brief time when you insisted on doing that nude photoshoot almost a decade ago.”

The mention of the nude photoshoot instantly brings back Marie’s memories. Back when her identical twin sister Kimberly Williams was even more unhinged than before, back when Kim was so insane that she thought taking Marie’s place was the only way she could have happiness, Kim had done just that; she kidnapped Marie, took her place in her life, and tried to ruin her reputation by posing nude in a magazine under her name. It was an embarrassment for Jones and, despite getting the truth out, people to this day don’t believe her.

“You always were a unique, strange person, Ms. Jones, and the way you handled that drunk just proves how special you are.”

Marie’s initial reaction is to tell this guy the truth and convince him to get lost. But then another idea sparks into her head. A smirk forms upon her face.

“Yeah, that’s me, I am special, I am so special that I have fake names and pseudonyms galore.”

“So you’re telling me that Marie Jones isn’t your real name?”

“Nope.”

“So what shall I call you?”

“Kimberly. Kimberly Williams.”

“Well, Kimberly,” he chuckles “do you think I could interest you in another photoshoot sometime? You can keep your clothes on this time if you like?”

“Sure. But only under my real name.” She smirks. “I think it’s time the world met the real Kimberly Williams.”

“Wonderful.” He reaches into his coat pocket and produces a card. He hands it to Marie. “Call me.”

“I will.”

Marcus Archer walks away. Marie places his card in her pocket and smirks knowingly. She notices Kimberly walk back to the table and take her seat next to Wasley the penguin. Kimmy watches Marcus walk away with curiosity. Marie can’t help but wonder if Kim even remembers him. But Kim’s next question seems to answer that for her.

“Who was that?”

“Oh, it was no one important. Just some idiot trying to make a pass at me. I told him to get lost.”

“Good for you.” Kim says. She has two drinks in her hand, one of which she passes to Marie. “This is the strongest stuff they had. It’s time for you to start being like me, sis!”

“Way ahead of you.” Marie says as she takes a sip of the drink.

“Oh and sis?”

“Yeah?”

“The bartender gave me this.” She passes Marie a note. “The bartender says he didn’t recognize the guy who gave it to him, just that it was meant for you.”

“What is it?” Marie opens up the note and begins to read it out loud. “Marie…I hope you find this and I am sure you are tired of hearing this, but I am sorry. I am sorry for letting you down. I am sorry for causing so much trouble in your life. I need you, Marie. I need you more than anything. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me then please, join me, join me and…” Marie cannot bear to read any more of the note. She stops as her emotions overwhelm her. Kim drops her jovial facade for a moment and stares at her with genuine concern.

“What is it?”

“It’s Percy.” Marie sighs. “He wants me to run away with him.”

“That jerk.” Kim growls. “Are you sure you don’t want me to maim him?”

Marie balls up the note and shoves it into her pocket. Before Marie could smooth over the sudden flare of emotion or take another sip of her drink, a heavy, measured shadow crossed the booth’s wooden table, cutting through the warm amber glow of the candle. The newcomer didn't possess the staggering sway of a patron who had indulged too freely at the bar rail, nor did he carry the polished, predatory swagger of the talent agent who had just walked away. His presence was deliberate, grounded, and unmistakably institutional, radiating the kind of quiet, cold authority that instantly dialed down the ambient noise of a room.

He was a broad-shouldered man in his late forties, wearing a dark gray, rain-slicked trench coat over a rumpled charcoal suit and a muted tie. His dark hair was silvering at the temples, cut short and practical, and his face was etched with the worn, tired lines of someone who spent most of his life working late shifts under flickering precinct fluorescents. He stood at the edge of their table with his hands tucked loosely into his coat pockets, his sharp, tired eyes dropping first to the balled-up piece of paper bulging slightly in Marie’s pocket, then sweeping over Kimberly’s leather jacket, before finally settling on Marie with a look of stern, professional recognition.

Without saying a word, he slowly unbuttoned his coat and shifted it back just enough to reveal a polished silver detective’s badge pinned to his leather belt next to a holstered sidearm. He didn't rush to pull out a notepad or demand an immediate accounting of their evening. He simply stood there, an anchor of cold reality disrupting the sisters' chaotic night, waiting for the heavy silence to settle over the booth so he could state his business.

“Ms. Jones?”

“Who wants to know?” Marie asks.

“I’m Detective Vance.” He answers. “I’m currently looking for your boyfriend, Percy Matthews.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” Marie states angrily.

“That’s not what I heard.” Vance says. “I heard you were his latest main squeeze.”

“We WERE an item, past tense.” Marie corrects him. “That was until I learned he had been lying to me this entire time about his parole violations and drug use. Quite honestly, detective, I don’t really care what happens to him at this point. I have washed my hands of him. I am through with him.”

“Unfortunately it doesn’t work that way, Ms. Jones.” Detective Vance remarks. “I cannot take your word for it. Fugitives on the run typically run towards their loved ones for help and support. It is very possible that he has approached you looking for help.” He narrows his brow, studying her intensely. “Are you hiding him, Ms. Jones? Do you know where he is?”

“I have no idea where he is.” Marie insists. “If I did, I would tell you, because I want you to lock him up and throw away the key.”

“Again, I cannot just take your word for it.” Vance remarks. “You DO know the consequences of harboring a fugitive, correct?”

“I do.” She nods her head. “But trust me, I am not helping him. I am DONE helping that asshole.”

“Very well.” The detective hands Marie his card. “If you hear something, or if he DOES try to contact you, this is my card. Call me immediately.”

The detective turns and walks away. Marie and Kim watch him carefully as he slowly gets out of sight. Once he is gone Kim leans forward and whispers quietly to her twin sister.

“Well…that was interesting timing…”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know what you’re going to do?”

“Yes.” Marie smirks knowingly. “I know exactly what I’m going to do.”

Marie reached into her pocket, her fingers brushing past the fresh business card from Marcus Archer before wrapping around the crumpled ball of paper Percy had sent her. Slowly, methodically, she pulled the note out and smoothed it flat against the dark wood of the table, right next to the condensation rings left by her wine glass. Her eyes traced the desperate, scribbled handwriting one final time, the amber candlelight catching the slight tremor in her hands. Across the booth, Kimberly watched her sister with rare, unblinking stillness, her usual manic grin replaced by a sharp, quiet focus as she waited to see which path her twin would choose. Even Wasley seemed to stare with weighted anticipation from his leather-vested perch.

With a cold, decisive motion, Marie pulled Detective Vance’s business card from where it sat on the table. She didn't hesitate. She took the crumpled note, folded it neatly around the detective's card, and slipped both into the pocket of her tailored cardigan. The anger that had been simmering beneath her elegant facade all evening had finally crystallized into something absolute. Percy Matthews had taken her money, her trust, and her patience, relying on her grace as a shield while he ran from his own bad choices. But the days of playing the soft-hearted, forgiving partner were officially over. She picked up her glass of heavy spirits, tilting it toward Kimberly in a silent, solemn toast. A subtle, sharp smirk touched the corners of her lips, reflecting a flash of the unyielding, unpredictable fire that usually belonged exclusively to her twin.

Kimberly’s face instantly split into a wide, triumphant grin. She slammed her own glass against Marie’s with a clink that rang out over the pub's low background noise, completely satisfied with her sister's subtle descent into vengeance. The Phoenix wasn't just preparing for a violent ladder match at Rise To Greatness; she was burning down the remnants of her past and taking total control of her own narrative. As Marie took a long, slow sip of her drink, the quiet bar felt less like a place to drown her sorrows and more like the launching pad for a far more dangerous version of Marie Jones.