SCW United States Ladder Match

[The Matt]

2 of 2
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August 5th, 2026
Albany, New York
Off Camera
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The damp, heavy heat seemed to pool in the narrow, outdoor walkway of the crumbling, low slung motel tucked behind an overgrown stretch of state highway just outside of Albany. The neon sign at the front office flickered with a rhythmic, buzzing hum, casting a sickly yellow light over a cracked parking lot that smelled faintly of sour garbage and old motor oil. It was the exact kind of place that thrived on invisibility, a transient haven where the night clerk barely looked up from his black and white television and the paper registration cards were filled out under fake names with zero questions asked. Marie stood outside room one fourteen, her shadow stretched long and thin across the peeling yellow paint of the door. She was dressed down for the trip in a slate gray zip up hoodie over a black tank top, her fitted dark jeans tucked into sturdy leather boots that made no sound against the concrete. Her coppery red hair was gathered into a loose braid draped over one shoulder, but her face was a carved mask of cold, unyielding purpose. The days of searching, of chasing down quiet leads through old street contacts while trying to keep her Supreme Championship Wrestling obligations from unspooling, had stripped away whatever gentle patience she had left.

Without knocking, she inserted the cheap plastic keycard she had managed to acquire into the lock. The small light flashed green, and with a sharp, heavy turn of the handle, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room smelled instantly of stale tobacco smoke, damp carpet, and the sharp, chemical tang of cheap disinfectant trying to cover up decades of neglect. The only light came from the pale blue glow of an old tube television mounted in the corner, its volume muted, casting eerie, shifting patterns over the faded floral bedspread and the water stained ceiling tiles. Near the far wall, squeezed into the narrow space between the squeaking bedframe and the curtained window, was Percy. The change in him since he had fled her luxurious home in Boston was startling. He looked like a man who hadn't slept a full hour in a week. He was hunched over, his broad shoulders drawn up tight to his ears, dressed in a wrinkled black t-shirt and dirt smeared jeans. His hair was wild and unwashed, sticking out in dark tufts, and a heavy stubble shadowed his jaw, accentuating the hollows of his cheeks.

When the door swung open, he didn't just turn; he practically leaped out of his skin. He backed hard against the thin drywall, his hands coming up in a instinctual, guarded posture, his dark eyes wide, bloodshot, and frantic as they darted around the dim room as if he expected a tactical squad to burst through the bathroom door right behind her. A nervous, sweat sheen covered his forehead despite the weak chill of the wall mounted air conditioner, and his fingers twitched wildly against his thighs, constantly opening and closing in a manic rhythm. He was practically vibrating with pure, unadulterated paranoia, looking less like a man on the run and more like a cornered animal waiting for the net to drop.

“Marie?!” Percy seems shocked, stunned that she actually showed up despite the fact that he himself got that note to her. “Is it…is it really you?”

“It’s not Kimmy if that’s what you’re worried about.” Marie says playfully.

“Oh God, Marie, I didn’t think you would actually show up!” He exclaims approaching her cautiously. “I knew I was taking a huge risk in reaching out to you with that note but I…I just had to see you. I can’t live without you.”

“I know.” Marie nods her head. “I know.”

The paranoid fugitive looks around. He rushes past Marie and briefly looks outside the door from side to side before stepping back inside and shutting it. Marie doesn’t let his paranoia bother her. He is on the run from law enforcement. She understands. Percy looks at her nervously, his eyes twitching.

“Were you followed?”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Marie insists, lovingly rubbing her hands across his chest. “It’s just us.”

“Oh thank God.” Percy sighs. He walks over to the bed and sits down on it. “I am so sorry, Marie. I am sorry for running off like I did. I am sorry for violating parole and then skipping out on the court date. I am so very sorry but…”

“But what?” Marie asks sternly.

“I was just afraid.” Percy admits. “I was afraid of going back to prison.”

The Phoenix sighs, listening to him whine. Listening to him cry. She calmly and quietly walks over to the bed and sits down next to him. She looks over at him, into his eyes, and what comes out of her mouth isn’t warmth, love, and understanding. It is simple, cold judgment.

“You hurt me.” She says. “You lied to me when you told me you had quit drinking. You fell right off the wagon and starting getting drunk again and partying, back to your old ways. Then you lied to me about the drugs…”

“No, I didn’t lie.” Percy insists. “I said I wasn’t using drugs and I wasn’t.”

“But you were DEALING the drugs. You were PUSHING them.” Marie snaps at him angrily. “Quit splitting hairs about drug use.” She sighs. “And when you got arrested for violating parole, you begged me to bail you out so I did. I paid your bond because you promised me you would face the court, trust the justice system, and do your time. But what did you do? You lied to me again. You skipped town and ran.”

“I know, I have been awful.” Percy admits shaking his head. “But I missed you terribly, Marie. I really have. And being on the run, away from you, it drove me crazy. It made me realize that I have to have you. I have to be with you. That’s why I took this risk, that’s why I risked everything to be with you. I missed you, Marie.”

“I…” her voice trails off “...I missed you too, Percy.” Their lips meet and they passionately kiss. For a brief moment they both forget about their troubles. The only think of themselves and this very moment of love.

“So tell me, how is that boy of yours?”

“Sean?” Marie smiles proudly. “He is still training at my cousins wrestling school overseas in London. He’s back right now briefly on a break.”

“Wow, he’s really doing it isn’t he? He is following in his mom’s footsteps.” Percy says. “He’s going to be a third generation wrestler someday.”

“Hopefully.”

“I wish I could have spent more time with the kid.” Percy says, sounding regretful.

“Sean adored you.” Marie admits.

“I loved him as if he were my own son.” Percy says quietly. “Marie…”

“Yes?”

“Is there any chance that you and Sean might trust me again?”

“Maybe.” Marie says quietly. “But only if you legitimately straighten your life out. If you legitimately turn your life around and start doing the right thing.”

“I know that’s what you want, and I swear I will try, but I can’t…” he shakes his head “...I can’t go back to prison. You have no idea what it’s like, Marie. I just can’t turn myself in. I can’t go back.”

“Yeah, I understand.” Marie nods her head. “You’re right, I have no idea what prison is like. It must be hell.”

“It is.” Percy sighs. “But look, let’s forget about that. We’re together again, just like were meant to be. So let’s go out, huh? I know of a small bar that i slow key and no one will ask questions and no one will notice them.” He chuckles. “It may not be up to your standards but it is the best someone on the run can do. You know?”

“Yes, I would like that.”

The heavy wooden door of room one fourteen swung open, letting in the thick, oppressive heat of the upstate New York night. Percy stepped out first into the dim glow of the flickering yellow neon sign, a fleeting, foolish sense of relief relaxing the hard line of his shoulders as he turned to hold the door for Marie. He offered her a faint, conspiratorial smile, genuinely believing that the dark storm between them had finally passed, that he had somehow managed to manipulate his way back into her good graces.

That fragile illusion lasted for less than three seconds.

Out from the deep shadows of the overgrown tree line and from behind the rusted dumpsters at the edge of the cracked parking lot, half a dozen armed officers from the local police department and state troopers swarmed the narrow walkway. Tactical flashlights cut through the murky yellow haze with blinding, piercing intensity, blinding Percy instantly as harsh, echoing commands roared out through the muggy air, demanding he drop to the pavement.

Percy didn't even have the chance to react or run. Before his brain could process the trap closing in around him, two heavy hands grabbed him by his black t-shirt, yanking him violently off the walkway and slamming him face first onto the hood of an unmarked cruiser. The cold metal dented under his weight as his arms were wrenched behind his back, the sharp, metallic double click of the handcuffs echoing clearly over the idling police engines.

Panicked and gasping for air against the hot hood of the car, Percy twisted his neck frantically, his bloodshot eyes searching through the harsh glare of the flashlights for Marie. He expected to see terror on her face, expected her to be screaming or caught in the crossfire of his mess.

Instead, Marie stood perfectly still on the concrete walkway, completely unbothered by the sudden, overwhelming chaos surrounding them. She didn't flinch at the shouting, nor did she make a single move to step in or defend him. Her slate gray hoodie was zipping smoothly up to her throat as she calmly adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder. Her vibrant copper braid fell neatly over her chest, and her sharp green eyes watched the arrest unfold with a terrifying, absolute detachment. There was no sadness in her expression, no lingering warmth from the kiss they had shared moments ago, and not a single shred of surprise. As the lead detective offered her a brief, silent nod of acknowledgment for delivering the fugitive on a silver platter.

“Marie!” Percy shouts. “You…you set me up!”

“Damn right I did!” She shouts angrily at him. “You lied to me so many times, Percy! You betrayed me! Now you know what it feels like!”

“But…”

“No!” She shouts angrily. “I’m done listening to your pathetic excuses! You claim you want to turn your life around for me? Now you get the chance…IN PRISON! Do your time, Percy. Prove you are sincere.”

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August 7th, 2026
Detroit, Michigan
On Camera
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The camera begins to roll. Perched atop a steel A-frame ladder, situated outdoors amidst a vibrant, sunlit garden, is “The Phoenix” Marie Jones with long, cascading red hair and green-hazel eyes. She wears a vibrant red sleeveless top with a plunging v-neckline, made of a crinkled fabric. She is also wearing a black mini-skirt and distinctive black and white herringbone patterned tights. Around her neck is the layered necklace with a prominent black pendant, and her wrist is adorned with stacked bracelets. Her pose on the ladder is casual; she is balanced on the top step, hands casually linked and resting in her lap, looking out with a direct, slightly contemplative expression. A light, warm breeze slightly lifts strands of her long red hair, and her features are bathed in natural sunlight. Her black open-toed shoes are resting on the step below.

“You know, it is ironic, because one thing I like to say…my catchphrase if you will…is that this Phoenix will rise. And I mean it. I am the mythical phoenix who keeps rising up from the ashes no matter how many times she keeps getting knocked down. So yeah, it is ironic that this Phoenix will get the opportunity to Rise…To Greatness…” Jones snickers “...except I am growing sick and tired of the constant ups and downs that goes with being the mythical Phoenix. But what can you do, right? It goes with the territory. The Phoenix constantly rises, falls, dies, and is reborn, and rises again. A constant never ending vicious cycle of violent death and rebirth. So maybe it’s a good thing that this year in Detroit, Michigan at Ford Field, this fire bird doesn’t have to rise through flight. I can RISE up from the ashes and RISE to greatness through the use of a ladder. I like that. And I like the fact that this is a ladder match. Why?” She smirks knowingly.

“Because it is different. I’m willing to admit that I have made mistakes, I am willing to admit that I need to look in the mirror, find out what I have done wrong, and try to do something different, because the past few years have not been kind to me. My previous runs in SCW have been up to the lofty standards of the Jones Wrestling Family. I know I can do better, I know I can be better, so maybe I do need to try something different for a change and you don’t get much more different or unique than this insane ladder match at Rise To Greatness.” She points up into the sky. “The United States Championship will be dangling high overhead and the only way to retrieve it is by a ladder. Everything is legal. Quite like my sister Kimmy’s Underground. Anything goes. So perhaps maybe, just this once, it’s time for The Phoenix to be just a little more violent, be a little more ruthless, and be a little more hardcore? I admit, it isn’t what I’m known for, but if you have watched my family then you know that violence runs deep in our bloodline. My mother wrote the book on ultra violence long before Kimmy became the Queen of the Death Match. So do you think The Phoenix can take it to the extreme in this ladder match all in the name of becoming champion?” She nods her head. “You damn right I can.” Jones pauses and then shakes her head.

“But there is one thing I do not like…Dexter Grant, you smug son of a bitch, I had you beaten. I had you dead to rights and like the coward you are, you screwed me and the great fans out of a true finish. You know I had your number, you knew I was going to beat your ass, so you screwed me over. By all rights it should be you and me one on one in this ladder match at Rise To Greatness. It should be me with the opportunity to beat your ass from pillar to post, bloody you, bludgeon you, maim you, and hell, maybe even cripple you with that ladder. It should be me beating you until you can no longer move, forcing you to lay there flat on your back and watch as I climb that ladder, retrieve the championship, and become the NEW SCW United States Champion. That is what it should be.” Marie laughs sarcastically.

“Oh but we can’t do anything that makes sense, can we? We have to open the door to anyone who wants to play! Chris Lawler hasn’t won squat in months. But so what? Let’s put him in there! The European Fiery Nation has been reduced to being the CEO’s hired guns and, like Lawler, haven’t won anything in a long time. But sure! Throw Oskar Theron in the mix!” She places her hand over her mouth. “Oops, I just spoke ill of Frank’s favorites. But I thought I was a sell-out? There goes that logic! And then there’s the two idiots trying desperately to spread that crappy tale; The Glimmer Sisters.” She snickers.

“I have tried to be nice and respectful ever since I returned because I’m not here looking to make enemies. I just want to compete. That’s all. Yet you went out of your way to pick a fight with me? So the nice and respectful bit is over. Let me be completely honest with you as to why you are in this match. You are in this match because of me.” Marie nods her head. “Apologies to all of my fans if I sound narcissistic or arrogant but it’s true. You are in this match because you picked a fight with me and so it just makes sense to throw you in the match, otherwise you two clowns will have to sit on the sidelines and do absolutely nothing. I mean, you certainly wouldn’t have a spot on the Rise To Greatness card based on anything you earned. You had a Trios Contract, girls, and you squandered it. You blew it. You put yourselves in a situation where you could compete against Light in the Darkness…they had to tag and abide by the rules but you could do whatever the hell you liked…and YOU STILL LOST!” She shakes her head in disgust. “This is a sympathy match for you two, plain and simple.”

“But me…and I want everyone to hear this…I EARNED this spot on the Rise To Greatness card. I EARNED this shot at the United States Championship. I earned it because I had Dexter Grant beaten until he cowardly ran away. And to anyone who thinks I’m a sell-out, who thinks Franky has bought me? Let me remind you that clown could have named me champion and if I was a sell-out I would have taken it and walked away but I didn’t. Even though Grant ran away like a coward and screwed me over, I STILL want to win the championship the right way. I do not want anyone handing me a god damn thing. If I was kissing ass or someone’s favorite or a sell-out, this match would be one on one and not me against everyone and their cousin. But I don’t need to prove myself to anyone because I know who I am and where my loyalties lie.”

“I am The Phoenix. I am Marie Jones. My loyalties lie with my fans, my family, and everyone who has stood by me even when the times were tough. And yes, things just keep getting tougher. You don’t get much tougher than a multi-person ladder match where literally anything could happen. Yet still I am ready to embrace the challenge, I am ready to climb the ladder and rise from the ashes yet again just like the mythical of phoenix. I am ready to RISE…to Greatness…and become the NEW SCW United States Champion.” A soft, determined chuckle escapes her lips as she leans slightly forward on the top rung of the ladder, her green-hazel eyes locking directly into the camera lens with absolute intensity.

“So to Dexter, Oskar, Lawler, and the Glimmer Sisters; enjoy the view from the bottom while it lasts. You can throw every obstacle, every piece of steel, and every dishonest trick you have at me in Detroit. It won’t change a damn thing. I have bled in this ring, I have fallen more times than I care to count, and every single time, I have clawed my way back to my feet. That is what a Jones does. That is what I do.” She gestures toward the skyline behind her, the bright sunlight catching the fiery strands of her hair as a confident smile plays across her face.

“Ford Field is going to witness history. I am taking every bit of frustration, every piece of violence hardcoded into my DNA, and I am turning it into momentum. When the dust settles and the bodies are scattered across that canvas, it won't be Frank's favor or a handout taking that belt home. It will be heart. It will be pure, unadulterated grit. I’m climbing to the very top, reaching out, and bringing that United States Championship down where it belongs.” Marie slowly shifts on the step, extending one hand toward the lens, her fingers curling into a tight, decisive fist.

“You wanted extreme? You’re about to get it. Watch me rise.” With a final, sharp nod, she leans back into her casual perch. The camera holds on her striking, unyielding gaze for a beat before fading to black.