Marie Jones vs. Dexter Grant

[The Matt]

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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.