[Weights at his feet, with his hands on his hips. Van Carver is back at it again. Minus the white Vans. His hair is pulled back, sweat beading from his brow, his chest, his neck - everywhere. Van is pushing himself through a labor intensive upper body exercise. He realizes that he’s going to need more punch, more impact - if he wants to last a round or two here in DEFIANCE.]

[Thoughts creep into his head, as they often do during a workout.]

Faults my own, I suppose. I didn’t know fully realize what I was getting myself into.

After two HOSSfights, here I stand, certain of at least that much.

I knew I would get hit. I knew I would get hit HARD. Hell I’ve been in fights before, mixed it up in a few brawls. Even earned myself a nickname, but I just didn’t know that my second match would come against OMEGA.

The guys is made of steel and just as dense. There’s no personality behind that gaze, no piazza. Not like Boxer. Hell in a loss to that big baldy I managed to make myself look tough, stand toe to toe. Might have even earned his respect, or at least his attention.

The last month has been a rough go. Inked my contract the day the UTA folded. Every Mom, Dad, and Girl Character known to man was coming over in one lump sum. Even one that shared my name. A punchline from the word go.

In a way, I’m glad I’ve found my niche. Talked my shit. Taken my beatings. Shows that I can do it. Shows that I can grind; that I can work. I don’t need a camera in my face, soundbites plastered all over the internet to satisfy my ego. I just need to be able to knock the shit out of the guy standing in front of me.

One way or another. Hook or crook. But so far that hasn’t happened.

Hopefully, with the help of some people that’s about to change.

[There’s a deep gruff and it’s back to the next set.]

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