[FADE IN: on a basketball court where six men are scrapping in private.  A guard wearing a Derek Rose jersey breaks ankles with a cross over.  His defender, a taller white guard in a UNO Privateers jersey, stumbles behind him, turning to watch him pass.  He pulls up the dribble, faking a pass right, leaving a lanky forward charging in the wrong direction.]

[His second step is toward a larger player, who watches the guard with keen eyes as he tries to swoop beneath him.  The large player anticipates his moves with precision and as the guard launches off his second step into a leap toward the basket his fancy handwork isn’t enough to coax the man into swiping.] 

[As the shoot is released toward the backboard, the large man launches toward it and presses it against the glass holding it there, bringing it down into his hands as he lands.  He tosses it out to the white guard in the UNO jersey who calls for a drink break.]

[The large man walks toward us, snatching up a bottle of water that was left by the boundary line.  He glistens with sweat as he comes forward.  It’s JUSTIN VOSS.  He wipes a sweat band covered forearm over his forehead before taking a long swig.]

JUSTIN VOSS:
“Just my regular weekly shootaround with a couple of the guys.  It’s good to get the pill in my hands at least once a week, though it can put a strain on the old knee.”

[He bends down and adjusts the heavy brace on his right knee with a tug.]

VOSS:
“I love the game of basketball.  I love the storyline.  I love how the first thirty-five or forty minutes is just plot development to the crescendo of that final siren, no matter the score.  Just moving the pieces ‘round the chess board one at a time and it’s in those FINAL - MOMENTS when your strategy becomes clear and it pays off...

“...Or it fails miserably.

“Speaking of failing miserably.”

(waving) “Hi, Jeff!  How are you?  Oh, I’m fine.  Actually... “ (shit-eating grin) “...I’m MORE than fine. 

“Just like the great game of basketball I was just explaining to you... Your strategy?” (shakes his head) “It just didn’t pay off.  And the Vossylvanian Viper managed get jack that three-point shot off on the buzzer and it was nothin’ but NET, brother.”

[Chuckles.  Mimes shooting a basket.]

VOSS:
“Slam – fucking – dunk!

“See, Jeff, you talk a big game.  You trash talk.  You drive to the hole and you can only score off illegal screens and kidney punches in the post.  Pointy elbows and toe stomps.  But at the end of the day, you’re too focused on making sure you get the job done ALLLLL the wrong ways, worryin’ about the official’s calls, crying for fouls, SO – MUCH – SO that you never bothered to set your defence properly and the Good Fight scored.  The Good Fight got the win. And you can start the post-game brawl all you wanna, Jeff, but the scoreboard doesn’t lie.

“You lost.”

(fingering his own chest) “And we won.  And it was glorious Jeff.  All those shots your nasty little wingmen took on me after we scored the victory.  The Western Lariat.  Kai’s Kryptonite.  ALL OF THAT felt great. ALL OF THAT felt fan-fucking-tastic.  And when you drove the Defiance World Heavyweight Championship into my face my epiphany screamed louder than words can explain.

“Everything I’ve worked for... everything I’ve changed in my life... all the trials and tribulations of turning a new leaf is paying off.  And the next time I walk inside of the Defiance arena...” (points off into the horizon like he could finger point Orlando) “...people will be talking about the man who pinned the Defiance World Heavyweight Champion.” (thumbs to chest) “ME!”

“And the Good Fight marches on.  They get back on the tour bus and hit the road and ride that sumbitch ALLLLL the way into Orlando, Florida, to take just ONE – MORE – STEP towards taking your gold away.  Those Defiance Trios Championships.  They’re so close I can taste them.  SMELL them.” (sniffs the air) “And they smell GREAT!”

“And it’s just a matter of patience.  Because try as you might, Jeff... and I know you will... but you can’t stop the Good Fight marching on. 

“This week we face Team Sloan.  Luke Windham.  Curtis Penn.  Tyson Burke.  Three up and coming young men whose shoulders will bear the cross of Defiance some day.” (holds up a single finger) “One day.” (points to where he stands) “But not today.  Not in Orlando.  Not on Defiance Thirty-Five.  Because at DEF TEE VEE Thirty-Five, Team Sloan, you’re the unfortunate recipients of a victory that will be sending a message...” (shoots a shaking finger toward the skies) “...ALLLL the way to the top of the Trios division.

“Team Sloan, while I see the potential you young men have... while I see the future your career’s hold being bright... while I KNOW you’re tomorrow’s superstars you’re just gonna fall short TODAY.

“The Good Fight has a message to send and unfortunately for you three you’re part of the delivery.  You’re part of the exclamation.  You’re part of the message we send to the Untouchables that we’re coming hard and fast.  We’re coming to take those belts.  We’re coming to end their days.  End their regime over Defiance.  And we WON’T – STOP until we stand tall holding those belts high and it’s just a shame kids like Team Sloan need to be pushed out of the way while the Good Fight marches on.

“And we WILL march on.  We WON’T dance to Jeff’s tune.  We WON’T tow the line.

“Because we... ARE... Defiant.”

[VOSS turns and heads back toward the court.  The ball’s tossed to him and he nails a three-point shot nothing but net.  He turns over his shoulder and winks at the camera.]

VOSS:
“Every time, Jeff.  Every time I’ll drop that three.”

[FADE to BLACK!]

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