06-23-2026, 11:11 AM
Marie RP 1
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May 29th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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The morning sun over Boston did not so much shine as it bruised its way through the heavy, low-hanging condensation that routinely rolled off the harbor. Inside the walls of the gym, a converted brick warehouse tucked deep within the industrial fringes of South Boston, the weather outside was entirely academic. The air in the facility was its own microclimate, a thick, stagnant soup brewed from decades of evaporated sweat, liniment oil, industrial-grade chalk, and the metallic tang of unpolished iron. It was a cathedral dedicated to the religion of physical exertion, where the hymns were sung in the clanking of weight stacks and the rhythmic, heavy thud of leather-soled boots hitting canvas. Marie Jones stood at the center of this kingdom, her boots planted firmly on the worn rubber matting that ringed the facility’s crown jewel: a slightly warped, twenty-by-twenty-foot professional wrestling ring. The Phoenix was in the absolute zenith of her physical prime, a masterpiece of functional athletics. Her hair, a vibrant, fiery shade of copper that she had inherited along with her stubborn chin, was scraped back into a series of tight, utilitarian Dutch braids that clung closely to her scalp, ensuring not a single strand would blind her during a sequence. She wore a faded, grease-stained black tank top that did little to hide the dense, compact musculature of her shoulders and upper back, and heavy-duty spandex shorts that showed off thighs built from a lifetime of squats and explosive dropkicks. Right now, her focus was entirely internal. She closed her eyes, listening to the familiar, comforting symphony of her own body. Her breath came in slow, measured expansions of her ribcage, a deliberate pacing she had spent a decade mastering to survive twenty-minute broadsides in unventilated armories across the country. Every muscle was awake, buzzing with the residual heat of a three-mile morning run through the chilly Boston mist, waiting for the next command. A few feet away, adjusting the heavy leather weight belt around her waist was Angelica Jones. At fifty two, Angelica was a monument to resilience. Her own red hair, lightly dusted with silver at the temples like frost on autumn leaves, was tied up in a messy, defiant topknot. She lacked the pristine, unblemished definition of her daughter’s youth, her skin bearing the honorable topography of a decades long career: a faint white line of scar tissue slicing through her left eyebrow, a slight hitch in her right hip when she stepped too quickly, and shoulders that looked as though they had been carved out of New England granite. Angelica didn’t move with the restless, kinetic energy of her daughter; she moved with a terrifying economy of motion. Every step was deliberate, every shift in weight calculated. She was a living relic of an era when the business was rougher, the rings were stiffer, and the road was longer.
The two women occupied the weight lifting section adjacent to the ring, a territory dominated by a massive, rusted power rack that had likely been bolted into the concrete floor before Marie was born. On the barbell rested a formidable stack of iron plates, forty-five-pound discs clotted with chipped black paint and surface rust. This was their shared sanctuary. In a world that constantly demanded they perform, preen, and project larger-than-life personas for the cameras and the screaming crowds, the gym was the only place where the weights never lied to them. Marie stepped up to the rack first. She coated her palms in a thick dusting of white chalk from a communal bucket, rubbing her hands together until a pale cloud drifted into the air, catching the dim beams of fluorescent light overhead. She stepped under the bar, settling the cold, knurled steel across the meat of her trapezius muscles. She took a deep, belly-expanding breath, gripped the bar with white-knuckled intensity, and lifted. The weights groaned in protest as she cleared the pegs. Angelica watched from a step behind, her arms crossed over her chest, her sharp green eyes tracking the alignment of her daughter’s spine with clinical precision. As Marie descended into a deep squat, her hips dropping below her knees, the tendons in her neck strained against her skin, flushing a deep, angry crimson. She paused at the absolute bottom of the movement, holding the immense pressure for a fraction of a second, before exploding upward. The plates rattled violently at the top of the extension, a sharp, metallic ring that echoed off the high rafters of the warehouse. Without a word, Marie dropped into the next repetition, her movement as smooth and mechanical as a piston in a steam engine. Angelica nodded to herself, a subtle gesture of approval that Marie caught in the reflection of the cracked, salt-stained mirror lining the wall. When Marie completed her set of ten and guided the bar back onto the safety catches with a resounding crash, she stepped back, her chest heaving, sweat glistening along the bridge of her nose and pooling in the collar of her shirt.
“You’re looking great, Marie.” Angelica quips. Marie sighs and nods her head, appreciating the approval from her mother.
“Thanks. It’s always a good idea to stay in ring shape. You know?”
“Of course.” Angelica agrees with a nod of her head. “And speaking of which, I can’t help but notice the fact that you are training and working out a lot more lately.” She arches her brow out of curiosity. “Is this a sign that you are getting yourself prepared for a return to the ring? Maybe a return to SCW?”
“Mom…” the frustration in Marie’s voice is evident but Angelica doesn’t let up.
“Seriously, now would be a great time for a return. It is that time of year; Taking Hold of the Flame.”
“Right, and you honestly think I could win?”
“I know you can win.” Angelica smirks knowingly. “I also know it’s something you really want. You are two championships short of Supreme Championship status and one of those titles you lack, that you need, is the SCW World Championship. You could be a secret entrant in Taking Hold of the Flame, win it all, and then go on and defeat the champion at Rise To Greatness.”
“That sounds like a great fairy tale, doesn’t it?” Marie shakes her head. “But fairy tales aren’t real, mom, and the idea of me entering Taking Hold of the Flame and winning it all just isn’t likely.”
“Yet still each year forty people give it a shot anyway.”
“True but not me.” Marie shakes her head. “Not this year. I’ve had a nagging ankle injury that’s kept me out of action.”
The Matriarch of the Jones Family doubts her daughter’s words but she does not question her. Instead, without needing an invitation, Angelica stepped into the vacancy. She didn't adjust the weight. Despite the two-decade age gap, the elder Jones matriarch had no intention of letting her daughter out-work her today. Angelica spit on her palms, gripped the bar, and wedged herself beneath the steel. Her face contorted into a mask of grim determination, lines deepening around her mouth as she hoisted the weight clear. Her descent was slower than Marie’s, a cautious negotiation with her veteran knees, but her ascent was pure power, driven by a stubborn refusal to let the gravity of the world dictate her limitations. After several alternating sets, the physical toll began to manifest. Marie leaned against the vertical support of the power rack, a towel draped over her head, watching her mother finish a grueling set of overhead presses. Angelica locked the bar into place, her breath rattling in her throat, a triumphant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she looked over at her daughter.
“You’re a terrible liar, Marie. You know that?” Angelica says, grinning from ear to ear.
“Huh?”
“You really could take a lesson from your sister when it comes to being deceptive because you are really awful at it.”
“What am I lying about?” Marie asks, feigning innocence. Angelica snickers.
“Your nagging ankle injury.” Angelica shakes her head. “I don’t buy it. Even if you had an ankle injury, it wouldn’t keep you out of action that long. Plus you look pretty damn good this morning for someone with a bum leg.”
“Oh ok, fine.” Marie sighs and nods her head. “But I wasn’t lying, I did have a nagging ankle injury. Except I have been medically cleared to return to the ring for a long time now.”
“I knew it.” Angelica declares. “So what’s been keeping you away?”
“I don’t want to return unless I know I can be competitive.” Marie states flatly. “Fact is, in the latter days of my most recent run in SCW, I wasn’t very competitive.I was just there. I was basically taking up space. And I don’t want that to be my lasting legacy. I want that to be how the fans of SCW remember me. If I return, I want to know I can kill it again just like I used to.”
“Face it, Marie,” Angelica says, placing a comforting arm around her daughter’s shoulder “you suffer from the same problem all the wrestlers in our family suffer from; namely, a fierce competitive streak. You want to be a winner and if you can’t be a winner you don’t see any point to any of it. If you can’t win you get depressed, frustrated, angry.”
“Everyone in our family?” Marie appears skeptical. “Maybe you and me. Maybe even Jess. But what you just said doesn’t describe Kimmy at all. She creates chaos with a brilliant smile on her face and doesn’t seem to have a care in the world whether she wins or loses.”
“You’d be surprised at how well Kimberly is at hiding some of her fears.” Angelica points out. “But you are right about one thing, your sister is very laid back, she is very chill, and…” she sighs as her voice trails off “...I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think it might not hurt to be more like your sister.”
“You want me to be more like Kim?” Marie asks.
“Why not?” Angelica shrugs her shoulders. “It might help you get out of this funk.”
“Well,” Marie pauses for a few moments to consider the possibility “Kimberly certainly is very free spirited and fun loving. Where’s the harm in being like that? It might be good for a change to be more fun rather than be so serious all the time.”
“There you go.”
“You know what?” Marie’s face lights up. “I think I will enter Taking Hold of the Flame.”
“That’s great. See? All you needed is a gentle push, some confidence, and now you’re ready. I can reach out to CHBK and…”
“Whoa, hold up, mom,” Marie shakes her head “I appreciate the ‘gentle push’ but I want you keep this on the down low.”
“Really?” Angelica asks. Marie nods her head.
“I want to keep it a surprise. I want to shock everyone. You want me to be more like Kim? Well she’s the agent of chaos. No one is expecting me back anytime soon. So let’s throw in that element of surprise, that element of chaos into the mix and see what happens?”
“Very well.” Angelica nods her head. “I’ll make sure to keep your secret. Still, you will need to train even more now that you are returning for Taking Hold of the Flame. Winning that will take more than just a simple surprise return.”
“I know.” Marie nods her head as she wipes the sweat from her brow. “I will train and be ready. Don’t worry.”
“Good. Speaking of training, I’m surprised my grandson didn’t want to come along. He is back in the United States, isn’t he?”
Angelica asks. Marie smiles warmly as thoughts of Sean Connor Jones, her only child, her son who recently returned from London, England and his first few months at the Braddock Wrestling School. Another characteristic Marie inherited from her mother, other than the red hair, is her overprotective streak as a parent. Marie had difficulty in accepting the fact that Sean even wanted to follow her into such a dangerous sport as professional wrestling, let alone send him overseas to England, even if he was being supported by extended family. Having Sean back is very helpful for her mental and emotional state of mind.
“Yes, he’s back, and from what he’s told me his training is progressing really well.”
“I’m honestly surprised you let him go.” Angelica states. “You and I are not that much different.”
“I know. You always were very overprotective and I guess I got it from you.” Marie sighs. “Kimberly had to convince me it would be ok, that the Braddocks are our cousins and would take care of him. And I admit, I still do get worried about him, I am nervous about the day when he finally completes his time at the Braddock Wrestling School and makes his debut. But he’s determined to see this dream through.” Marie shrugs her shoulders. “I can’t stop him.”
“You could have forced him to stay here and get trained by me, or you, or your Aunt Kayla.” Angelica smirks. “Heck, even your boyfriend is a bit of a mixed martial artist isn’t he?”
Percy Matthews, Marie’s latest boyfriend, an ex-convict trying to turn his life around, knows several moves and, yes, is a mixed martial artist. He taught Sean a few deadly strikes early on as Sean’s interest in wrestling grew. Though the name of Percy Matthews brings about a sad sigh from The Phoenix.
“Yeah, Percy…” her voice trails off. Angelica, with a maternal instinct, senses something is off.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure Percy will be able to work with Sean any longer.”
“Why not?”
“He’s, well,” Marie sighs “Percy has been staying way a lot longer lately. It has become harder for me to contact him.”
“Oh no.” Angelica gasps, holding a hand up to her mouth. “I’m sorry, I thought you two were such a perfect fit; a great couple.”
“We still are, mom.” Marie insists. “Things are just…complicated.”
“Complicated?”
“Complicated but fine.” Marie states. “Trust me, everything is fine.”
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June 5th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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Inside the master bedroom of Marie’s luxurious Boston home, the room was a sanctuary of soft cream tones, polished hardwood floors, and plush velvet furnishings. A sprawling king sized bed dominated the space, its silk duvet currently buried under a chaotic avalanche of discarded hangers, silk blouses, and leather jackets. Marie stood in front of a floor to ceiling gilded mirror, smoothing down the skirt of a tailored emerald green wrap dress that complemented her fiery hair perfectly. The fabric clung elegantly to her athletic frame, softening the powerful contours of her shoulders and highlighting a waist shaped by years of discipline. She leaned closer to the glass, carefully applying a touch of dark mascara to her lashes, her movements precise and practiced. Despite the bruises hidden beneath the expensive fabric, bruises earned from a lifetime on the canvas, she looked every bit the picture of refined, upper class sophistication.
Sitting cross legged on the bench at the foot of the bed, watching the transformation with a look of mild amusement, was Kimberly. Kimberly was drowning in an oversized, faded gray flannel shirt that looked like it had been salvaged from a construction site, left completely unbuttoned over a plain, threadbare black t shirt. Her legs were encased in a pair of baggy, oil stained cargo pants that bunched up over the tops of a pair of scuffed, heavy tread work boots. While Marie’s long hair was styled into soft, elegant waves that framed her face, Kimberly’s identical red locks were a wild, untamed mane, hastily brushed but left to fall wherever they pleased, creating a stark contrast against her aggressively casual, almost defensive wardrobe. She sat with her elbows resting on her knees, her posture wide and entirely unbothered by the delicate luxury of her surroundings.
“You’re boring me, sis…” Kimberly feigns a yawn which Marie ignores.
“Hush, you.” Marie states. “We’re just going out.”
“And you look like you’re getting ready for some kinda gala.”
Marie reached for a pair of gold hoop earrings on her vanity, her heels clicking softly against the hardwood as she shifted her weight. She glanced at her sister's reflection in the mirror, watching Kimberly idly pick at a loose thread on her cargo pants. The room was thick with the scent of high end perfume clashing directly with the faint, stubborn smell of pine industrial cleaner that seemed to follow Kimberly everywhere.
“I’m surprised you’re taking me out.” Kim winks. “Aren’t you ashamed to be seen with me?”
“No, never.” Marie shakes her head. “In case you forgot, you’re my twin sister and I love you, you dope.”
“Awwww!” Kim folds her hands over her chest, acting as if the love Marie just declared melted her heart. “Buuuuuut c’mon, Marie, you can relax and chill once in awhile, y’know? You don’t have to be such a…”
“Prude?” Marie asks, turning to face Kim, placing a hand on her hips. Kim instantly nods her head.
“Yeah. A prude.”
“Well this prude has been cooped up inside for far too long and she needs to get out and enjoy herself.” Marie smirks.
“You only have yourself to blame for being cooped up.” Kim states. “Or you can blame your boyfriend for being a no-show lately. Or blame yourself, you could be on tour with SCW. It is Rise To Greatness season, Taking Hold of the Flame is coming up!”
It takes all of Marie’s will power not to blurt out that she is actually going to enter Taking Hold of the Flame, that she is going to try and shock the world and win the whole thing. But The Phoenix keeps her cool and composure. She shakes her head.
“Maybe another time. Besides, why talk shop when we can party?” Marie grins knowingly. Kim claps happily.
“That’s the spirit!” Kim says gleefully. “Maybe there’s a bit of a rebellious spirit in you after all! Now if only I can do something about your clothes…”
“Don’t get your hopes up, Kimmy. I’m just trying to enjoy myself, that’s all. Like I said, I’ve been staying inside far too long. I need to get out and have fun. I can’t just sit around and wait on Percy…” her voice trails off.
“Hey, speaking of your old ball and chain, where is he?” Kim asks curiously.
“Your guess is as good as mine.” Marie shrugs her shoulders.
“Oh yeah?” Kim frowns. “That isn’t a good sign, Marie. Wasn’t he staying here with you?”
“He was…” Marie sighs “...still is, I thought…”
“Exactly.” Kim states. “He’s been gone for how long now?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Marie insists, shaking her head. “Everything is fine between me and Percy.”
“You think.”
“I know it’s fine.” Marie says, growing frustrated with having to defend herself and her mia boyfriend. “I just…”
“Look, you don’t have to pretend with me.” Kim places a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Trust me, I get it. I’ve been there myself in his situation, worried that I would fall back into my old criminal ways.”
“Percy isn’t falling off the wagon.” Marie insists. “He’s reformed…”
“But you’re worried that he might not be reformed.” Kim states, totally serious, devoid of her usual humor.
“I admit, I am concerned.” Marie shakes her head. “I’m concerned that his past may have come back to haunt him.”
Kimberly held her sister’s gaze, the playful teasing completely evaporated from her face. For all their differences in lifestyle and wardrobe, the shared intuition of a twin was impossible to mask. She squeezed Marie’s shoulder gently, the heavy fabric of her flannel shifting as she offered a rare moment of grounded, silent solidarity.
Marie took a deep, shuddering breath, letting the facade of her pristine composure slip for just a second. The elegant emerald dress suddenly felt like armor she was wearing to protect herself from a reality she wasn’t ready to face. The mention of Percy’s past, combined with the secret burning in her chest about entering the grueling Taking Hold of the Flame battle royal, created a heavy, suffocating pressure.
But as quickly as the vulnerability appeared, Marie blinked it away. She smoothed down the front of her skirt, straightened her posture, and forced a soft, determined smile back onto her face. There would be time to worry about Percy later, and time to worry about the ring tomorrow. Today was about survival of a different kind. Grab her designer purse from the vanity, she signaled that the heavy conversation was officially over. It was time to leave the sanctuary of her home and step out into the Boston night.
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Marie RP 2
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June 5th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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The neon glow of the bar washed over the packed crowd in a haze of electric blue and crimson, casting long, vibrating shadows across the wood paneled walls of the South Boston dive. The venue was a local institution, a place where the floorboards were permanently sticky and the marine memorabilia hanging from the rafters had a thick coating of dust. Tonight, the usual low hum of sports commentary from the television sets was completely drowned out by the amplified, screeching feedback of a sound system that had seen far better days. Deep in the center of the chaos, tucked into a vinyl booth that had a prominent piece of duct tape patching the seat, Kimberly sat with a half empty pitcher of cheap amber ale between her elbows. Her oversized gray flannel shirt was pushed up to her forearms, and her heavy work boots were resting comfortably on the footrail of the table. She looked entirely in her element amid the smoke and the shouting, a stark contrast to the refined, pristine energy of her sister. But right now, Kim’s attention was entirely fixed on the small, elevated plywood platform at the far end of the room that served as the bar's makeshift stage. Up under the harsh glare of a pair of mismatched spotlights, Marie looked completely out of place and entirely mesmerizing all at once. The emerald green wrap dress that had looked so demure and sophisticated in the quiet luxury of her home now shimmered like a beacon under the cheap bar lights. Her fiery red hair, still styled in those elegant, perfect waves, seemed to catch every ounce of illumination in the room, making her stand out against the dark, grimy backdrop of the stage like a classical painting dropped into a garage sale.
She held the scuffed black microphone close to her lips, her knuckles pale against the plastic casing. For someone who made a living executing high risk maneuvers in front of thousands of screaming wrestling fans, the intimacy of a small neighborhood bar crowd was a completely different kind of pressure. It was just Marie, a handful of lyrics scrolling across a pixelated monitor, and a room full of strangers holding lukewarm pints of beer. The intro to a classic, soaring eighties rock anthem began to pump through the blown out speakers, the bass vibrating so intensely that it rattled the framed pictures of local sports legends on the wall. Marie took a deep, centering breath, a movement that tensed the powerful muscles of her back and shoulders, stretching the silk of her dress taut. When she hit the first note, any lingering doubt about her presence in the room vanished instantly. Her voice didn't just carry; it commanded the space. It was a rich, powerful alto that possessed a surprising amount of raw, gravelly edge, a testament to the grit that ran deep through the entire Jones family lineage. She didn't sing with the fragile precision of a studio pop star; she sang with the explosive energy of an athlete, utilizing her incredible lung capacity to hold notes that made the patrons at the bar stop midway through their drinks to look up.
As the song built toward its crescendo, Marie’s initial hesitation melted away entirely. The stage presence she had cultivated through years of performing in packed arenas took over. She began to move with a fluid, natural confidence, her heels clicking in time with the driving drumbeat, one hand gripping the microphone stand while the other gestured to the crowd. She wasn't just performing a song; she was owning the room, channeling every ounce of the frustration, anxiety, and secret ambition that had been building up inside her townhouse all week into the lyrics. Down in the booth, Kim watched the transformation with a massive, triumphant grin stretching across her face. She raised her plastic cup high in the air, letting out a piercing, two fingered whistle that cut through the musical arrangement, earning a few startled glances from the patrons in the neighboring booths. Kim didn't care. She knew exactly what it took for her sister to let her guard down like this, to step out of the rigid, protected bubble of her professional life and just exist in the messy, loud reality of the world. Marie caught her sister’s eye from across the smoky room, a genuine, radiant smile breaking through her performance. For a brief few minutes, the mystery of Percy's whereabouts, the looming pressure of the Taking Hold of the Flame battle royal, and the weight of everyone's expectations didn't exist. There was only the driving beat of the music, the warmth of the spotlights, and the undeniable thrill of a Boston crowd roaring its approval.
As the final, soaring note of the anthem echoed off the tin ceiling, Marie held the microphone high, her chest heaving as the entire bar erupted into a genuine wave of cheers, whistles, and the rhythmic thumping of pint glasses against wood. A flush of pure, adrenaline fueled color coated her cheeks as she offered a breathless bow, stepping down from the plywood stage with the practiced grace of someone used to navigating unstable platforms. Navigating the crowded aisle of the dive bar felt like walking a gauntlet of sudden celebration, with strangers nodding in approval and leaning out from their stools to offer enthusiastic high fives that she accepted with a radiant, uncharacteristic grin. By the time she slid back into the vinyl booth opposite her sister, the sophisticated, guarded exterior she had worn all morning had completely dissolved, replaced by a raw, glowing energy. She grabbed her condensation chilled glass of water, taking a long, grateful swallow before looking across the table at Kim, her green eyes bright with the lingering thrill of the performance.
“Look at you!” Kim exclaims, grinning from ear to ear. “You inherited mom’s vocal chords!”
“I wasn’t that good.” Marie insists, shaking her head.
“Sure you were. Just ask Wasley.”
“Your boyfriend?” Marie shakes her head. “He isn’t here. Or did he sneak in unannounced?”
“Not THAT Wasley.” Kim reaches underneath the table and produces her penguin plushie Wasley, dropping him on the seat next to her, causing a thud due to the lead weights within the penguin. Marie can’t help but laugh.
“You brought your penguin?!”
“Of course!” Kim exclaims. “I never go anywhere without him!”
“Well, since you brought him,” Marie leaned in close, “Wasley, did I sing well tonight?”
Marie pauses for a moment, as if listening intensely to what this penguin plushie has to say. Kimberly, for her part, is enjoying this; she isn’t used to her sister letting loose like this. She is singing karaoke, she is even talking to the plushie. The usually prudish Jones is actually enjoying herself.
“What did he say?” Kim asks, eager to see what Marie will do next. Marie winks playfully.
“He says I should quit the wrestling business and become a singer.”
“He’s got a point!” Kim declares. “Mom almost did that!”
“Yeah, well, she does have three records out from her very brief singing career, but I think when you compare three records to thirteen world titles, it’s obvious that mom fits in better with the professional wrestling. Hell, she’s doing good as a manager, specifically yours.”
“Someone has to keep me on a leash.” Kim snickers. “Now why don’t you get up there and sign up for another, tiger?”
“Oh no way.” Marie shakes her head. “Not tonight. You and I have to leave.”
“What? Why?!”
Kim sounds disappointed. The truth of the matter is that Marie Jones knows what is coming up; Taking Hold of the Flame. It is one of the toughest challenges a wrestler can endure. It is very difficult to win. The Phoenix wants to be ready and she cannot rest on her laurels by wasting time in this bar singing karaoke all night. She wants to get home early so she can get plenty of sleep and wake up tomorrow, rested and refreshed so she can continue her training and preparation for one of the biggest nights on the SCW calendar.
Unfortunately she cannot tell that to Kimberly. Jones wants this to be special. She wants everyone to be surprised when she returns to SCW as a participant in Taking Hold of the Flame and that everyone includes Kimberly herself. Marie just hopes she can come up with a lie good enough that Kimmy, a master manipulator herself, will believe.
“What can I say, Kimmy? I am a prude.”
“Yeah, you’re definitely a prude alright.” Kim smirks. “And a party pooper.”
Well the lie worked. Technically, it’s not even entirely a lie. Marie knows that she is a bit of a prude, but she is actively working to be different. She is trying something new. Her mother encouraged her to try being more like Kimberly and that is precisely the purpose of the karaoke night. No one would have expected Marie to put herself out there like this; but Kim? Definitely. And so Kimberly Williams rises out of her seat, followed by Marie Jones. The identical twins methodically make their way through the crowd and out of the bar.
The cool, damp night air of Boston hit Marie like a physical slap. The alleyway alongside the bar was illuminated only by a single, flickering halogen security light that buzzed like a trapped insect, casting long, fractured shadows across the damp asphalt. The laughter that had been bubbling in Marie’s throat froze instantly. Just past the shadow of the commercial grease dumpsters, crumpled on the wet ground like a discarded jacket, was a figure. Marie’s breath caught in her lungs as she recognized the dark leather jacket, now torn and smeared with city grime. It was Percy.
“Oh my God! Percy!”
She dropped her designer purse without a second thought, the expensive leather splashing into a puddle as she sprinted forward and dropped to her knees on the cold, gritty pavement. Her emerald green dress pooled around her in the dirt as she reached out with trembling hands. Percy was breathing, but his respirations were shallow and ragged, his chest rising and falling in erratic, painful hitches. The harsh overhead light caught the severe damage to his face: a deep, jagged laceration split his left eyebrow, swelling his eye completely shut, and a dark smear of crimson trailed from his nose down across his split lips, staining his collar.
Kimberly was right behind her, the playful, rebellious energy completely wiped from her demeanor. She squatted down on the opposite side, her heavy work boots grounding her as her sharp green eyes instantly scanned the alley for threats, her body language shifting into a defensive, protective posture. Her hands stayed steady, but her face grew incredibly grim as she took in the severity of the beating.
“He’s certainly seen better days.” Kim remarks.
“Tell me about it.” Marie answers back. She turns back to Percy. “Percy? Are you ok?! What the hell happened?!” She looks back at Kim. “Call the police!”
“On it!”
Percy groaned, a low, guttural sound of pure agony, as Marie gently cradled his head, her manicured fingers coming away slick with his blood. The very thing she had spent the entire evening trying to outrun had just caught up to them in the dark, and the fragile peace of the night was shattered completely.
“No…” Percy barely manages to speak, but the word was clear.
“What? Are you crazy? You need help!”
“Yeah. Even I know you need the cops and I’m supposed to be the crazy one.” Kim quips.
“No, don’t get the police involved.” Percy says, almost pleading. Please don’t.”
Kim, with phone in hand, looks over at Marie, ready to do whatever she asks, waiting on an answer. The Phoenix knows what the right thing to do is; call the police. But something is off here. She doesn’t feel right about getting them involved; not yet. She sighs.
“Alright, fine.” She says. “Let’s get you out of here.”
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June 6th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
On Camera
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The camera begins to roll and we immediately see “The Phoenix” Marie Jones with her striking, wavy red hair parted down the middle, sitting gracefully on a polished hardwood floor. Jones looks directly at the camera with a calm, composed expression. Her elegant gown features a deep V-neckline and a stark contrast of colors and textures, combining structured cream-colored fabric across the shoulders and bodice with sheer, dark dotted mesh sleeves and a matching flowing skirt. A cream fabric belt with a distinctive gold clasp cinches her waist, while a delicate silver necklace and several rings on her right hand add a subtle touch of shimmer to her ensemble. The Phoenix is positioned indoors just before a threshold leading to an outdoor in her home of Boston, Massachusetts separated by an intricate, dark metal railing. Beyond the balcony rail, vibrant green foliage and leafy trees are visible.
“Surprise!” She starts grinning from ear to ear. “I know, I know, is it really a surprise? I mean, how many times has The Phoenix made a grand return to SCW? How many times have I declared that I would rise from the ashes much like the mythical phoenix and make history once again in SCW only to come up a little short? Hell, if we’re being completely honest, just about everyone says that from time to time. And especially around this time of year, Taking Hold of the Flame, the one night when you can single handedly make history, this company tends to have several people crawling out of the darkness, making secret deals and signing secret contracts, making their surprise return in Taking Hold of the Flame. And by the time you see this, you’ll probably have noticed that I have become one of those many making her own grand return in the legendary battle royal. And the same question has to be asked, the same question I have often asked all the other surprise entrants in the past…” she pauses for a moment before shrugging her shoulders.
“Why now? What makes this time different? My absence from SCW has been longer than usual. I had been dealing with a nagging injury that forced me to stay sidelined. Ask any wrestler worth their salt and they’ll tell you that they hate being sidelined. They want to be in the middle of the action. But I am woman enough to admit that I have been medically cleared for quite some time. So why haven’t I returned sooner? Why haven’t I been right there in the midst of the action fighting side by side with my sister Kimmy?” She sighs and shakes her head. “I was scared that SCW had passed me by, I was scared of returning only to be useless, just taking up a space in catering because I couldn’t hack it. Yes, I was suffering from a bit of a crisis of confidence. But then one day, while working out with my mother, the great Angelica Jones, matriarch of our family, I realized that I cannot and will not allow fear to govern my life. I refuse to let fear dictate my actions.” The Phoenix stands up.
“I am choosing to stare fear right in the eyes and fight back. I choose to spit in the face of fear itself. I choose to return to Supreme Championship Wrestling and have the run I know I am capable of having. I choose to return to SCW because I have a sister who I still want to raise hell with. I choose to return to SCW because I want to fight for what’s right. More importantly, I choose to return to SCW because there is a hell of a lot more left for me to do; I still have a ton of unfinished business. Namely, I am two championships shy of becoming a Supreme Champion. All I need is to win the Adrenaline Title and then the big one, the SCW World Championship.” She snickers knowingly. “Oh and what a coincidence! The winner of Taking Hold of the Flame will be in the main event of Rise To Greatness challenging for the SCW World Championship!” Jones shakes her head.
“And there is no bigger proving ground than Taking Hold of the Flame. If I want to prove to myself, to my fans, and to the locker room that The Phoenix can still go, that The Phoenix is still a threat, and that The Phoenix belongs in the main event of Rise To Greatness than this is the event I need to win. I need to show up and show out with the very best performance I can muster. I need to run the gauntlet of Taking Hold of the Flame. That’s why I choose to return here and now. Returning at a random Breakdown would be just too easy. Taking on thirty nine other competitors in the toughest battle royal in the business today?” She nods her head. “Now we’re talking!”
“This isn’t going to be a flash in the pan. This isn’t going to be a nostalgia run. And I can guarantee you that this time everything will be different. I promise each and every single one of my fans who have never stopped believing in me, I promise all of my supporters, especially Kimmy and our mother, that this run will be monumental, it will be one of the very best runs of my career. Don’t be surprised when you are watching this, post Flame, and you realize you are hearing the words of the WINNER of the 2026 Taking Hold of the Flame and the NEXT SCW World Champion!”
==========
May 29th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
==========
The morning sun over Boston did not so much shine as it bruised its way through the heavy, low-hanging condensation that routinely rolled off the harbor. Inside the walls of the gym, a converted brick warehouse tucked deep within the industrial fringes of South Boston, the weather outside was entirely academic. The air in the facility was its own microclimate, a thick, stagnant soup brewed from decades of evaporated sweat, liniment oil, industrial-grade chalk, and the metallic tang of unpolished iron. It was a cathedral dedicated to the religion of physical exertion, where the hymns were sung in the clanking of weight stacks and the rhythmic, heavy thud of leather-soled boots hitting canvas. Marie Jones stood at the center of this kingdom, her boots planted firmly on the worn rubber matting that ringed the facility’s crown jewel: a slightly warped, twenty-by-twenty-foot professional wrestling ring. The Phoenix was in the absolute zenith of her physical prime, a masterpiece of functional athletics. Her hair, a vibrant, fiery shade of copper that she had inherited along with her stubborn chin, was scraped back into a series of tight, utilitarian Dutch braids that clung closely to her scalp, ensuring not a single strand would blind her during a sequence. She wore a faded, grease-stained black tank top that did little to hide the dense, compact musculature of her shoulders and upper back, and heavy-duty spandex shorts that showed off thighs built from a lifetime of squats and explosive dropkicks. Right now, her focus was entirely internal. She closed her eyes, listening to the familiar, comforting symphony of her own body. Her breath came in slow, measured expansions of her ribcage, a deliberate pacing she had spent a decade mastering to survive twenty-minute broadsides in unventilated armories across the country. Every muscle was awake, buzzing with the residual heat of a three-mile morning run through the chilly Boston mist, waiting for the next command. A few feet away, adjusting the heavy leather weight belt around her waist was Angelica Jones. At fifty two, Angelica was a monument to resilience. Her own red hair, lightly dusted with silver at the temples like frost on autumn leaves, was tied up in a messy, defiant topknot. She lacked the pristine, unblemished definition of her daughter’s youth, her skin bearing the honorable topography of a decades long career: a faint white line of scar tissue slicing through her left eyebrow, a slight hitch in her right hip when she stepped too quickly, and shoulders that looked as though they had been carved out of New England granite. Angelica didn’t move with the restless, kinetic energy of her daughter; she moved with a terrifying economy of motion. Every step was deliberate, every shift in weight calculated. She was a living relic of an era when the business was rougher, the rings were stiffer, and the road was longer.
The two women occupied the weight lifting section adjacent to the ring, a territory dominated by a massive, rusted power rack that had likely been bolted into the concrete floor before Marie was born. On the barbell rested a formidable stack of iron plates, forty-five-pound discs clotted with chipped black paint and surface rust. This was their shared sanctuary. In a world that constantly demanded they perform, preen, and project larger-than-life personas for the cameras and the screaming crowds, the gym was the only place where the weights never lied to them. Marie stepped up to the rack first. She coated her palms in a thick dusting of white chalk from a communal bucket, rubbing her hands together until a pale cloud drifted into the air, catching the dim beams of fluorescent light overhead. She stepped under the bar, settling the cold, knurled steel across the meat of her trapezius muscles. She took a deep, belly-expanding breath, gripped the bar with white-knuckled intensity, and lifted. The weights groaned in protest as she cleared the pegs. Angelica watched from a step behind, her arms crossed over her chest, her sharp green eyes tracking the alignment of her daughter’s spine with clinical precision. As Marie descended into a deep squat, her hips dropping below her knees, the tendons in her neck strained against her skin, flushing a deep, angry crimson. She paused at the absolute bottom of the movement, holding the immense pressure for a fraction of a second, before exploding upward. The plates rattled violently at the top of the extension, a sharp, metallic ring that echoed off the high rafters of the warehouse. Without a word, Marie dropped into the next repetition, her movement as smooth and mechanical as a piston in a steam engine. Angelica nodded to herself, a subtle gesture of approval that Marie caught in the reflection of the cracked, salt-stained mirror lining the wall. When Marie completed her set of ten and guided the bar back onto the safety catches with a resounding crash, she stepped back, her chest heaving, sweat glistening along the bridge of her nose and pooling in the collar of her shirt.
“You’re looking great, Marie.” Angelica quips. Marie sighs and nods her head, appreciating the approval from her mother.
“Thanks. It’s always a good idea to stay in ring shape. You know?”
“Of course.” Angelica agrees with a nod of her head. “And speaking of which, I can’t help but notice the fact that you are training and working out a lot more lately.” She arches her brow out of curiosity. “Is this a sign that you are getting yourself prepared for a return to the ring? Maybe a return to SCW?”
“Mom…” the frustration in Marie’s voice is evident but Angelica doesn’t let up.
“Seriously, now would be a great time for a return. It is that time of year; Taking Hold of the Flame.”
“Right, and you honestly think I could win?”
“I know you can win.” Angelica smirks knowingly. “I also know it’s something you really want. You are two championships short of Supreme Championship status and one of those titles you lack, that you need, is the SCW World Championship. You could be a secret entrant in Taking Hold of the Flame, win it all, and then go on and defeat the champion at Rise To Greatness.”
“That sounds like a great fairy tale, doesn’t it?” Marie shakes her head. “But fairy tales aren’t real, mom, and the idea of me entering Taking Hold of the Flame and winning it all just isn’t likely.”
“Yet still each year forty people give it a shot anyway.”
“True but not me.” Marie shakes her head. “Not this year. I’ve had a nagging ankle injury that’s kept me out of action.”
The Matriarch of the Jones Family doubts her daughter’s words but she does not question her. Instead, without needing an invitation, Angelica stepped into the vacancy. She didn't adjust the weight. Despite the two-decade age gap, the elder Jones matriarch had no intention of letting her daughter out-work her today. Angelica spit on her palms, gripped the bar, and wedged herself beneath the steel. Her face contorted into a mask of grim determination, lines deepening around her mouth as she hoisted the weight clear. Her descent was slower than Marie’s, a cautious negotiation with her veteran knees, but her ascent was pure power, driven by a stubborn refusal to let the gravity of the world dictate her limitations. After several alternating sets, the physical toll began to manifest. Marie leaned against the vertical support of the power rack, a towel draped over her head, watching her mother finish a grueling set of overhead presses. Angelica locked the bar into place, her breath rattling in her throat, a triumphant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she looked over at her daughter.
“You’re a terrible liar, Marie. You know that?” Angelica says, grinning from ear to ear.
“Huh?”
“You really could take a lesson from your sister when it comes to being deceptive because you are really awful at it.”
“What am I lying about?” Marie asks, feigning innocence. Angelica snickers.
“Your nagging ankle injury.” Angelica shakes her head. “I don’t buy it. Even if you had an ankle injury, it wouldn’t keep you out of action that long. Plus you look pretty damn good this morning for someone with a bum leg.”
“Oh ok, fine.” Marie sighs and nods her head. “But I wasn’t lying, I did have a nagging ankle injury. Except I have been medically cleared to return to the ring for a long time now.”
“I knew it.” Angelica declares. “So what’s been keeping you away?”
“I don’t want to return unless I know I can be competitive.” Marie states flatly. “Fact is, in the latter days of my most recent run in SCW, I wasn’t very competitive.I was just there. I was basically taking up space. And I don’t want that to be my lasting legacy. I want that to be how the fans of SCW remember me. If I return, I want to know I can kill it again just like I used to.”
“Face it, Marie,” Angelica says, placing a comforting arm around her daughter’s shoulder “you suffer from the same problem all the wrestlers in our family suffer from; namely, a fierce competitive streak. You want to be a winner and if you can’t be a winner you don’t see any point to any of it. If you can’t win you get depressed, frustrated, angry.”
“Everyone in our family?” Marie appears skeptical. “Maybe you and me. Maybe even Jess. But what you just said doesn’t describe Kimmy at all. She creates chaos with a brilliant smile on her face and doesn’t seem to have a care in the world whether she wins or loses.”
“You’d be surprised at how well Kimberly is at hiding some of her fears.” Angelica points out. “But you are right about one thing, your sister is very laid back, she is very chill, and…” she sighs as her voice trails off “...I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think it might not hurt to be more like your sister.”
“You want me to be more like Kim?” Marie asks.
“Why not?” Angelica shrugs her shoulders. “It might help you get out of this funk.”
“Well,” Marie pauses for a few moments to consider the possibility “Kimberly certainly is very free spirited and fun loving. Where’s the harm in being like that? It might be good for a change to be more fun rather than be so serious all the time.”
“There you go.”
“You know what?” Marie’s face lights up. “I think I will enter Taking Hold of the Flame.”
“That’s great. See? All you needed is a gentle push, some confidence, and now you’re ready. I can reach out to CHBK and…”
“Whoa, hold up, mom,” Marie shakes her head “I appreciate the ‘gentle push’ but I want you keep this on the down low.”
“Really?” Angelica asks. Marie nods her head.
“I want to keep it a surprise. I want to shock everyone. You want me to be more like Kim? Well she’s the agent of chaos. No one is expecting me back anytime soon. So let’s throw in that element of surprise, that element of chaos into the mix and see what happens?”
“Very well.” Angelica nods her head. “I’ll make sure to keep your secret. Still, you will need to train even more now that you are returning for Taking Hold of the Flame. Winning that will take more than just a simple surprise return.”
“I know.” Marie nods her head as she wipes the sweat from her brow. “I will train and be ready. Don’t worry.”
“Good. Speaking of training, I’m surprised my grandson didn’t want to come along. He is back in the United States, isn’t he?”
Angelica asks. Marie smiles warmly as thoughts of Sean Connor Jones, her only child, her son who recently returned from London, England and his first few months at the Braddock Wrestling School. Another characteristic Marie inherited from her mother, other than the red hair, is her overprotective streak as a parent. Marie had difficulty in accepting the fact that Sean even wanted to follow her into such a dangerous sport as professional wrestling, let alone send him overseas to England, even if he was being supported by extended family. Having Sean back is very helpful for her mental and emotional state of mind.
“Yes, he’s back, and from what he’s told me his training is progressing really well.”
“I’m honestly surprised you let him go.” Angelica states. “You and I are not that much different.”
“I know. You always were very overprotective and I guess I got it from you.” Marie sighs. “Kimberly had to convince me it would be ok, that the Braddocks are our cousins and would take care of him. And I admit, I still do get worried about him, I am nervous about the day when he finally completes his time at the Braddock Wrestling School and makes his debut. But he’s determined to see this dream through.” Marie shrugs her shoulders. “I can’t stop him.”
“You could have forced him to stay here and get trained by me, or you, or your Aunt Kayla.” Angelica smirks. “Heck, even your boyfriend is a bit of a mixed martial artist isn’t he?”
Percy Matthews, Marie’s latest boyfriend, an ex-convict trying to turn his life around, knows several moves and, yes, is a mixed martial artist. He taught Sean a few deadly strikes early on as Sean’s interest in wrestling grew. Though the name of Percy Matthews brings about a sad sigh from The Phoenix.
“Yeah, Percy…” her voice trails off. Angelica, with a maternal instinct, senses something is off.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure Percy will be able to work with Sean any longer.”
“Why not?”
“He’s, well,” Marie sighs “Percy has been staying way a lot longer lately. It has become harder for me to contact him.”
“Oh no.” Angelica gasps, holding a hand up to her mouth. “I’m sorry, I thought you two were such a perfect fit; a great couple.”
“We still are, mom.” Marie insists. “Things are just…complicated.”
“Complicated?”
“Complicated but fine.” Marie states. “Trust me, everything is fine.”
==========
June 5th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
==========
Inside the master bedroom of Marie’s luxurious Boston home, the room was a sanctuary of soft cream tones, polished hardwood floors, and plush velvet furnishings. A sprawling king sized bed dominated the space, its silk duvet currently buried under a chaotic avalanche of discarded hangers, silk blouses, and leather jackets. Marie stood in front of a floor to ceiling gilded mirror, smoothing down the skirt of a tailored emerald green wrap dress that complemented her fiery hair perfectly. The fabric clung elegantly to her athletic frame, softening the powerful contours of her shoulders and highlighting a waist shaped by years of discipline. She leaned closer to the glass, carefully applying a touch of dark mascara to her lashes, her movements precise and practiced. Despite the bruises hidden beneath the expensive fabric, bruises earned from a lifetime on the canvas, she looked every bit the picture of refined, upper class sophistication.
Sitting cross legged on the bench at the foot of the bed, watching the transformation with a look of mild amusement, was Kimberly. Kimberly was drowning in an oversized, faded gray flannel shirt that looked like it had been salvaged from a construction site, left completely unbuttoned over a plain, threadbare black t shirt. Her legs were encased in a pair of baggy, oil stained cargo pants that bunched up over the tops of a pair of scuffed, heavy tread work boots. While Marie’s long hair was styled into soft, elegant waves that framed her face, Kimberly’s identical red locks were a wild, untamed mane, hastily brushed but left to fall wherever they pleased, creating a stark contrast against her aggressively casual, almost defensive wardrobe. She sat with her elbows resting on her knees, her posture wide and entirely unbothered by the delicate luxury of her surroundings.
“You’re boring me, sis…” Kimberly feigns a yawn which Marie ignores.
“Hush, you.” Marie states. “We’re just going out.”
“And you look like you’re getting ready for some kinda gala.”
Marie reached for a pair of gold hoop earrings on her vanity, her heels clicking softly against the hardwood as she shifted her weight. She glanced at her sister's reflection in the mirror, watching Kimberly idly pick at a loose thread on her cargo pants. The room was thick with the scent of high end perfume clashing directly with the faint, stubborn smell of pine industrial cleaner that seemed to follow Kimberly everywhere.
“I’m surprised you’re taking me out.” Kim winks. “Aren’t you ashamed to be seen with me?”
“No, never.” Marie shakes her head. “In case you forgot, you’re my twin sister and I love you, you dope.”
“Awwww!” Kim folds her hands over her chest, acting as if the love Marie just declared melted her heart. “Buuuuuut c’mon, Marie, you can relax and chill once in awhile, y’know? You don’t have to be such a…”
“Prude?” Marie asks, turning to face Kim, placing a hand on her hips. Kim instantly nods her head.
“Yeah. A prude.”
“Well this prude has been cooped up inside for far too long and she needs to get out and enjoy herself.” Marie smirks.
“You only have yourself to blame for being cooped up.” Kim states. “Or you can blame your boyfriend for being a no-show lately. Or blame yourself, you could be on tour with SCW. It is Rise To Greatness season, Taking Hold of the Flame is coming up!”
It takes all of Marie’s will power not to blurt out that she is actually going to enter Taking Hold of the Flame, that she is going to try and shock the world and win the whole thing. But The Phoenix keeps her cool and composure. She shakes her head.
“Maybe another time. Besides, why talk shop when we can party?” Marie grins knowingly. Kim claps happily.
“That’s the spirit!” Kim says gleefully. “Maybe there’s a bit of a rebellious spirit in you after all! Now if only I can do something about your clothes…”
“Don’t get your hopes up, Kimmy. I’m just trying to enjoy myself, that’s all. Like I said, I’ve been staying inside far too long. I need to get out and have fun. I can’t just sit around and wait on Percy…” her voice trails off.
“Hey, speaking of your old ball and chain, where is he?” Kim asks curiously.
“Your guess is as good as mine.” Marie shrugs her shoulders.
“Oh yeah?” Kim frowns. “That isn’t a good sign, Marie. Wasn’t he staying here with you?”
“He was…” Marie sighs “...still is, I thought…”
“Exactly.” Kim states. “He’s been gone for how long now?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Marie insists, shaking her head. “Everything is fine between me and Percy.”
“You think.”
“I know it’s fine.” Marie says, growing frustrated with having to defend herself and her mia boyfriend. “I just…”
“Look, you don’t have to pretend with me.” Kim places a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Trust me, I get it. I’ve been there myself in his situation, worried that I would fall back into my old criminal ways.”
“Percy isn’t falling off the wagon.” Marie insists. “He’s reformed…”
“But you’re worried that he might not be reformed.” Kim states, totally serious, devoid of her usual humor.
“I admit, I am concerned.” Marie shakes her head. “I’m concerned that his past may have come back to haunt him.”
Kimberly held her sister’s gaze, the playful teasing completely evaporated from her face. For all their differences in lifestyle and wardrobe, the shared intuition of a twin was impossible to mask. She squeezed Marie’s shoulder gently, the heavy fabric of her flannel shifting as she offered a rare moment of grounded, silent solidarity.
Marie took a deep, shuddering breath, letting the facade of her pristine composure slip for just a second. The elegant emerald dress suddenly felt like armor she was wearing to protect herself from a reality she wasn’t ready to face. The mention of Percy’s past, combined with the secret burning in her chest about entering the grueling Taking Hold of the Flame battle royal, created a heavy, suffocating pressure.
But as quickly as the vulnerability appeared, Marie blinked it away. She smoothed down the front of her skirt, straightened her posture, and forced a soft, determined smile back onto her face. There would be time to worry about Percy later, and time to worry about the ring tomorrow. Today was about survival of a different kind. Grab her designer purse from the vanity, she signaled that the heavy conversation was officially over. It was time to leave the sanctuary of her home and step out into the Boston night.
=====
Marie RP 2
==========
June 5th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
==========
The neon glow of the bar washed over the packed crowd in a haze of electric blue and crimson, casting long, vibrating shadows across the wood paneled walls of the South Boston dive. The venue was a local institution, a place where the floorboards were permanently sticky and the marine memorabilia hanging from the rafters had a thick coating of dust. Tonight, the usual low hum of sports commentary from the television sets was completely drowned out by the amplified, screeching feedback of a sound system that had seen far better days. Deep in the center of the chaos, tucked into a vinyl booth that had a prominent piece of duct tape patching the seat, Kimberly sat with a half empty pitcher of cheap amber ale between her elbows. Her oversized gray flannel shirt was pushed up to her forearms, and her heavy work boots were resting comfortably on the footrail of the table. She looked entirely in her element amid the smoke and the shouting, a stark contrast to the refined, pristine energy of her sister. But right now, Kim’s attention was entirely fixed on the small, elevated plywood platform at the far end of the room that served as the bar's makeshift stage. Up under the harsh glare of a pair of mismatched spotlights, Marie looked completely out of place and entirely mesmerizing all at once. The emerald green wrap dress that had looked so demure and sophisticated in the quiet luxury of her home now shimmered like a beacon under the cheap bar lights. Her fiery red hair, still styled in those elegant, perfect waves, seemed to catch every ounce of illumination in the room, making her stand out against the dark, grimy backdrop of the stage like a classical painting dropped into a garage sale.
She held the scuffed black microphone close to her lips, her knuckles pale against the plastic casing. For someone who made a living executing high risk maneuvers in front of thousands of screaming wrestling fans, the intimacy of a small neighborhood bar crowd was a completely different kind of pressure. It was just Marie, a handful of lyrics scrolling across a pixelated monitor, and a room full of strangers holding lukewarm pints of beer. The intro to a classic, soaring eighties rock anthem began to pump through the blown out speakers, the bass vibrating so intensely that it rattled the framed pictures of local sports legends on the wall. Marie took a deep, centering breath, a movement that tensed the powerful muscles of her back and shoulders, stretching the silk of her dress taut. When she hit the first note, any lingering doubt about her presence in the room vanished instantly. Her voice didn't just carry; it commanded the space. It was a rich, powerful alto that possessed a surprising amount of raw, gravelly edge, a testament to the grit that ran deep through the entire Jones family lineage. She didn't sing with the fragile precision of a studio pop star; she sang with the explosive energy of an athlete, utilizing her incredible lung capacity to hold notes that made the patrons at the bar stop midway through their drinks to look up.
As the song built toward its crescendo, Marie’s initial hesitation melted away entirely. The stage presence she had cultivated through years of performing in packed arenas took over. She began to move with a fluid, natural confidence, her heels clicking in time with the driving drumbeat, one hand gripping the microphone stand while the other gestured to the crowd. She wasn't just performing a song; she was owning the room, channeling every ounce of the frustration, anxiety, and secret ambition that had been building up inside her townhouse all week into the lyrics. Down in the booth, Kim watched the transformation with a massive, triumphant grin stretching across her face. She raised her plastic cup high in the air, letting out a piercing, two fingered whistle that cut through the musical arrangement, earning a few startled glances from the patrons in the neighboring booths. Kim didn't care. She knew exactly what it took for her sister to let her guard down like this, to step out of the rigid, protected bubble of her professional life and just exist in the messy, loud reality of the world. Marie caught her sister’s eye from across the smoky room, a genuine, radiant smile breaking through her performance. For a brief few minutes, the mystery of Percy's whereabouts, the looming pressure of the Taking Hold of the Flame battle royal, and the weight of everyone's expectations didn't exist. There was only the driving beat of the music, the warmth of the spotlights, and the undeniable thrill of a Boston crowd roaring its approval.
As the final, soaring note of the anthem echoed off the tin ceiling, Marie held the microphone high, her chest heaving as the entire bar erupted into a genuine wave of cheers, whistles, and the rhythmic thumping of pint glasses against wood. A flush of pure, adrenaline fueled color coated her cheeks as she offered a breathless bow, stepping down from the plywood stage with the practiced grace of someone used to navigating unstable platforms. Navigating the crowded aisle of the dive bar felt like walking a gauntlet of sudden celebration, with strangers nodding in approval and leaning out from their stools to offer enthusiastic high fives that she accepted with a radiant, uncharacteristic grin. By the time she slid back into the vinyl booth opposite her sister, the sophisticated, guarded exterior she had worn all morning had completely dissolved, replaced by a raw, glowing energy. She grabbed her condensation chilled glass of water, taking a long, grateful swallow before looking across the table at Kim, her green eyes bright with the lingering thrill of the performance.
“Look at you!” Kim exclaims, grinning from ear to ear. “You inherited mom’s vocal chords!”
“I wasn’t that good.” Marie insists, shaking her head.
“Sure you were. Just ask Wasley.”
“Your boyfriend?” Marie shakes her head. “He isn’t here. Or did he sneak in unannounced?”
“Not THAT Wasley.” Kim reaches underneath the table and produces her penguin plushie Wasley, dropping him on the seat next to her, causing a thud due to the lead weights within the penguin. Marie can’t help but laugh.
“You brought your penguin?!”
“Of course!” Kim exclaims. “I never go anywhere without him!”
“Well, since you brought him,” Marie leaned in close, “Wasley, did I sing well tonight?”
Marie pauses for a moment, as if listening intensely to what this penguin plushie has to say. Kimberly, for her part, is enjoying this; she isn’t used to her sister letting loose like this. She is singing karaoke, she is even talking to the plushie. The usually prudish Jones is actually enjoying herself.
“What did he say?” Kim asks, eager to see what Marie will do next. Marie winks playfully.
“He says I should quit the wrestling business and become a singer.”
“He’s got a point!” Kim declares. “Mom almost did that!”
“Yeah, well, she does have three records out from her very brief singing career, but I think when you compare three records to thirteen world titles, it’s obvious that mom fits in better with the professional wrestling. Hell, she’s doing good as a manager, specifically yours.”
“Someone has to keep me on a leash.” Kim snickers. “Now why don’t you get up there and sign up for another, tiger?”
“Oh no way.” Marie shakes her head. “Not tonight. You and I have to leave.”
“What? Why?!”
Kim sounds disappointed. The truth of the matter is that Marie Jones knows what is coming up; Taking Hold of the Flame. It is one of the toughest challenges a wrestler can endure. It is very difficult to win. The Phoenix wants to be ready and she cannot rest on her laurels by wasting time in this bar singing karaoke all night. She wants to get home early so she can get plenty of sleep and wake up tomorrow, rested and refreshed so she can continue her training and preparation for one of the biggest nights on the SCW calendar.
Unfortunately she cannot tell that to Kimberly. Jones wants this to be special. She wants everyone to be surprised when she returns to SCW as a participant in Taking Hold of the Flame and that everyone includes Kimberly herself. Marie just hopes she can come up with a lie good enough that Kimmy, a master manipulator herself, will believe.
“What can I say, Kimmy? I am a prude.”
“Yeah, you’re definitely a prude alright.” Kim smirks. “And a party pooper.”
Well the lie worked. Technically, it’s not even entirely a lie. Marie knows that she is a bit of a prude, but she is actively working to be different. She is trying something new. Her mother encouraged her to try being more like Kimberly and that is precisely the purpose of the karaoke night. No one would have expected Marie to put herself out there like this; but Kim? Definitely. And so Kimberly Williams rises out of her seat, followed by Marie Jones. The identical twins methodically make their way through the crowd and out of the bar.
The cool, damp night air of Boston hit Marie like a physical slap. The alleyway alongside the bar was illuminated only by a single, flickering halogen security light that buzzed like a trapped insect, casting long, fractured shadows across the damp asphalt. The laughter that had been bubbling in Marie’s throat froze instantly. Just past the shadow of the commercial grease dumpsters, crumpled on the wet ground like a discarded jacket, was a figure. Marie’s breath caught in her lungs as she recognized the dark leather jacket, now torn and smeared with city grime. It was Percy.
“Oh my God! Percy!”
She dropped her designer purse without a second thought, the expensive leather splashing into a puddle as she sprinted forward and dropped to her knees on the cold, gritty pavement. Her emerald green dress pooled around her in the dirt as she reached out with trembling hands. Percy was breathing, but his respirations were shallow and ragged, his chest rising and falling in erratic, painful hitches. The harsh overhead light caught the severe damage to his face: a deep, jagged laceration split his left eyebrow, swelling his eye completely shut, and a dark smear of crimson trailed from his nose down across his split lips, staining his collar.
Kimberly was right behind her, the playful, rebellious energy completely wiped from her demeanor. She squatted down on the opposite side, her heavy work boots grounding her as her sharp green eyes instantly scanned the alley for threats, her body language shifting into a defensive, protective posture. Her hands stayed steady, but her face grew incredibly grim as she took in the severity of the beating.
“He’s certainly seen better days.” Kim remarks.
“Tell me about it.” Marie answers back. She turns back to Percy. “Percy? Are you ok?! What the hell happened?!” She looks back at Kim. “Call the police!”
“On it!”
Percy groaned, a low, guttural sound of pure agony, as Marie gently cradled his head, her manicured fingers coming away slick with his blood. The very thing she had spent the entire evening trying to outrun had just caught up to them in the dark, and the fragile peace of the night was shattered completely.
“No…” Percy barely manages to speak, but the word was clear.
“What? Are you crazy? You need help!”
“Yeah. Even I know you need the cops and I’m supposed to be the crazy one.” Kim quips.
“No, don’t get the police involved.” Percy says, almost pleading. Please don’t.”
Kim, with phone in hand, looks over at Marie, ready to do whatever she asks, waiting on an answer. The Phoenix knows what the right thing to do is; call the police. But something is off here. She doesn’t feel right about getting them involved; not yet. She sighs.
“Alright, fine.” She says. “Let’s get you out of here.”
==========
June 6th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
On Camera
==========
The camera begins to roll and we immediately see “The Phoenix” Marie Jones with her striking, wavy red hair parted down the middle, sitting gracefully on a polished hardwood floor. Jones looks directly at the camera with a calm, composed expression. Her elegant gown features a deep V-neckline and a stark contrast of colors and textures, combining structured cream-colored fabric across the shoulders and bodice with sheer, dark dotted mesh sleeves and a matching flowing skirt. A cream fabric belt with a distinctive gold clasp cinches her waist, while a delicate silver necklace and several rings on her right hand add a subtle touch of shimmer to her ensemble. The Phoenix is positioned indoors just before a threshold leading to an outdoor in her home of Boston, Massachusetts separated by an intricate, dark metal railing. Beyond the balcony rail, vibrant green foliage and leafy trees are visible.
“Surprise!” She starts grinning from ear to ear. “I know, I know, is it really a surprise? I mean, how many times has The Phoenix made a grand return to SCW? How many times have I declared that I would rise from the ashes much like the mythical phoenix and make history once again in SCW only to come up a little short? Hell, if we’re being completely honest, just about everyone says that from time to time. And especially around this time of year, Taking Hold of the Flame, the one night when you can single handedly make history, this company tends to have several people crawling out of the darkness, making secret deals and signing secret contracts, making their surprise return in Taking Hold of the Flame. And by the time you see this, you’ll probably have noticed that I have become one of those many making her own grand return in the legendary battle royal. And the same question has to be asked, the same question I have often asked all the other surprise entrants in the past…” she pauses for a moment before shrugging her shoulders.
“Why now? What makes this time different? My absence from SCW has been longer than usual. I had been dealing with a nagging injury that forced me to stay sidelined. Ask any wrestler worth their salt and they’ll tell you that they hate being sidelined. They want to be in the middle of the action. But I am woman enough to admit that I have been medically cleared for quite some time. So why haven’t I returned sooner? Why haven’t I been right there in the midst of the action fighting side by side with my sister Kimmy?” She sighs and shakes her head. “I was scared that SCW had passed me by, I was scared of returning only to be useless, just taking up a space in catering because I couldn’t hack it. Yes, I was suffering from a bit of a crisis of confidence. But then one day, while working out with my mother, the great Angelica Jones, matriarch of our family, I realized that I cannot and will not allow fear to govern my life. I refuse to let fear dictate my actions.” The Phoenix stands up.
“I am choosing to stare fear right in the eyes and fight back. I choose to spit in the face of fear itself. I choose to return to Supreme Championship Wrestling and have the run I know I am capable of having. I choose to return to SCW because I have a sister who I still want to raise hell with. I choose to return to SCW because I want to fight for what’s right. More importantly, I choose to return to SCW because there is a hell of a lot more left for me to do; I still have a ton of unfinished business. Namely, I am two championships shy of becoming a Supreme Champion. All I need is to win the Adrenaline Title and then the big one, the SCW World Championship.” She snickers knowingly. “Oh and what a coincidence! The winner of Taking Hold of the Flame will be in the main event of Rise To Greatness challenging for the SCW World Championship!” Jones shakes her head.
“And there is no bigger proving ground than Taking Hold of the Flame. If I want to prove to myself, to my fans, and to the locker room that The Phoenix can still go, that The Phoenix is still a threat, and that The Phoenix belongs in the main event of Rise To Greatness than this is the event I need to win. I need to show up and show out with the very best performance I can muster. I need to run the gauntlet of Taking Hold of the Flame. That’s why I choose to return here and now. Returning at a random Breakdown would be just too easy. Taking on thirty nine other competitors in the toughest battle royal in the business today?” She nods her head. “Now we’re talking!”
“This isn’t going to be a flash in the pan. This isn’t going to be a nostalgia run. And I can guarantee you that this time everything will be different. I promise each and every single one of my fans who have never stopped believing in me, I promise all of my supporters, especially Kimmy and our mother, that this run will be monumental, it will be one of the very best runs of my career. Don’t be surprised when you are watching this, post Flame, and you realize you are hearing the words of the WINNER of the 2026 Taking Hold of the Flame and the NEXT SCW World Champion!”
![[Image: qyA5u6K.png]](https://i.imgur.com/qyA5u6K.png)
SCW World Champion 1x
SCW United States Champion 1x
SCW Adrenaline Champion 1x
SCW Television Champion 1x
SCW Underground Champion 1x
SCW World Tag Team Champion 1x (w/Brittany Lohan)
Supreme Champion
2019 Trios Tournament Winner (w/ Regan Street & Kellen Jeffries)
2020 Trios Tournament Winner (w/ Ace Marshall & David Helms)
SCW Adrenaline Champion 1x
SCW Television Champion 1x
SCW Underground Champion 1x
SCW World Tag Team Champion 1x (w/Brittany Lohan)
Supreme Champion
2019 Trios Tournament Winner (w/ Regan Street & Kellen Jeffries)
2020 Trios Tournament Winner (w/ Ace Marshall & David Helms)