[FADE IN: on a room that looks kind’f like some sort of shrine to one of the dirtiest wrestlers that ever existed in the business, J. Leslie Voss.  Championship belts framed on the wall.  Large framed photos of him in various matches.  Some wearing the crimson mask.  Others on the stick, spitting venom.  A wide angle shot of him standing at nbW’s Ghosts Pay-Per-View inside the ring with the giant Spike Saunders.]

[There’s a mahogany desk against one wall, sitting beneath a window, set up so whoever sat there could stare out at the beautiful day.  But the man who fills the camera’s frame is the alter-ego of the man plastered all over the walls.  JUSTIN VOSS.]

[He sits in the centre of the room, in a black leather armchair that looks out of place being there.  He lounges back in it with a tumbler of what is most likely scotch, given the bottle of Highland Park 12 y/o sitting on the desk top.  He swirls it so the ice clink against the crystal tumbler before taking a mouthful.  Bandage still wrapped tight around his head.  Plucks a cigarette out from behind his ear and lights up, surrounding himself in a haze of smoke.]

JUSTIN VOSS:
“During the ULTRATITLE, an all too familiar scene was Jeff Andrews sitting in his little man cave in his favourite chair, drinking and cussin’ out on me.  Tellin’ me stories.  Makin’ threats.  Questionin’ my sensibility.”

[Chuckles.]

VOSS:
“He looked...”

[VOSS looks around himself, at the chair.  Squirming into a more comfortable position before folding his leg over the other.  Not in that homo nut cracker leg on leg way.  The ankle on knee way.  How the fuck DOESN’T that crush your balls?]

VOSS:
“He looked comfortable.  And y’know... that’s a REALLY good word for Jeff.  Comfortable.  Because right now, he roams around town like the King Shit of Fuck Mountain, with his little gang of misfits running WILD all over Defiance.

“And he just – looks – comfortable.”

[Snicker.]

VOSS:
“Sitting there, in his little chair... on top of his high horse... Andrews looks comfortable. 

“With the Untouchables at his beckon call... Andrews looks comfortable. 

“With that Defiance World Heavyweight Championship belt strapped around his waist...  Andrews – just – looks – comfortable.

“With the Good Fight standing on the other side of the ring, fists balled and war in their hearts, the stadiums roaring for Untouchable blood, the eyes of the world waiting to see that moment... that second... the INSTANCE... when Jeff Andrews world comes crashing down around him into a pile of rubble at his feet...”

[VOSS sits on the edge of the seat, waving his hands around melodramatically as he sets the scene.]

VOSS:
“That’s when shit gets UN... comfortable. 

“In just under a week, Jeff, in just under a week I’m gonna be standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the brothers of the Good Fight wishin’ to feed you a knuckle sandwich that’ll give you indigestion that’s SO – BAD you won’t be able to stomach your own bullshit any more. 

“At Defiance TV Thirty Four, despite what you and your trained monkeys keep throwin’ at the Good Fight, Jeff, we’ll be standing there with big ol’ cup of SHUT YA DAMN MOUTH ready to pour down your throats and then you’ll choke, you’ll gag, you’ll splutter on your own blood lookin’ up at one thing you never thought you’d ever see since you got one up on me in the ULTRATITLE.”

[Sitting right on the edge of his seat, VOSS eyeballs the camera with vigour.]

VOSS:
“You’ll be starin’ – up – at ME.”

[Pointing back toward himself, VOSS takes a few emphatic breaths before scooching back a spot in his chair.]

VOSS:
“See, people can question my fortitude.  People can question my resolve.  I stood inside that ring at Retaliation’s debut and I brought JUST what Bronson Box called for.  A fight.  I brought my bare hands and I traded blows punch for punch with the Original Defiant and stood up to the biggest monster you’ve got.”

[Points to the bandage on his forehead.]

VOSS:
“And I got a souvenir to take home.  A reminder.  A simple reminder that it doesn’t matter how hard you knock me down, doesn’t matter how ferociously you hit me... IT DOESN’T MATTER HOW HARD YOU TRY TO MURDER DEATH KILL ME I KEEP COMING BACK!”

[On each of the last three words he pounds his heart with a closed fist.]

VOSS:
“Ya see, Bronson... what those cameras didn’t show was me shoving the EMT’s away.  What the television didn’t show the Defiance fans was that I GOT back up.

“And I’ll keep on getting up EVERY damn time you try to knock me down again.  And the only thing you’ll know as a fact, Bronson, is that every time I get back up I’ll get right BACK in your face.

“Coz now you got a problem, Bronson.  A big problem.”

[Thumbs his chest.]

VOSS:
“Me.  I’M your problem now.”

[VOSS snickers to himself as he turns to look out his window, taking another long pull on the cigarette before looking back as the camera fades out.]

[FADE to BLACK!]

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