Marie Jones vs. Dexter Grant

[The Matt]

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.” Percy says quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, babe…”

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

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

“Scared?”

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

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

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

“But…”

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

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

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

“You mean it?”

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

“Ok…” his voice trails off.

“I’ll be back later.”

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

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

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

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

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

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July 13th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
On Camera
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The camera begins to roll. We see Marie Annabelle Jones seated with a poised and confident posture, looking directly forward with a serious, captivating expression. Her shoulder length red hair is styled in soft, loose waves parted down the middle. Her makeup features a bold, vibrant crimson lipstick that sharply contrasts with her complexion. The Phoenix is dressed in a sophisticated black blazer dress with thin, white vertical pinstripes, featuring a deep V-neckline. Adorning her neck is a delicate gold chain with a prominent star-shaped pendant, and on her left hand, which rests elegantly on her lap, she wears a couple of silver bands. Her fingernails are painted in a muted, cool gray polish. Jones sits with her legs crossed at the thigh, leaning back slightly in her seat. Her surroundings evoke a dramatic, theatrical atmosphere. She is positioned in a modern lounge chair upholstered in black leather, distinguished by its curved, wing-like silhouette and a visible wooden trim along the edge of its frame. Directly behind her, a heavy, deep burgundy curtain hangs in soft vertical folds, creating a rich, textured backdrop that enhances the moody tone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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