MP1:
It’s always been about you.

Walking along the Boston harbor, a masked man can’t help but stand out. Even at this late hour, a grown man wearing a gray, black, and white wrestling mask is hard to ignore. Weaving through curious passersby, his hands are dug into the pockets of his ironed blue jeans. His matching blue eyes are narrowed on the brick walkway at his feet. Even with the life and noise around him, it’s as if he is all alone.

MP1:
One way or another… for as long as we’ve known each other… it’s always been about you, hasn’t it? 

Looking out across the Inlet Harbor, MP1 appears almost lost, halting in his tracks and staring off.

MP1:
In the beginning, it was me pushing you, telling you we could do bigger shows, that if we worked hard we would get there. Sometimes it felt like I was dragging you, kicking and screaming, to a success you didn’t want. 

A pause.

MP1:
Maybe that’s what I was doing. Later, it was your “problems”, right? Your “demons”. How many times did I drop everything?

Head craned up, he searches the night skies. Closing his eyes, he lets the warm late-summer breeze sweep over him, his gray tank top rippling with the wind. When his eyes finally open again, he turns and continues up the harborwalk. 

MP1:
The truth is, I’d do it again. All of it: the grinding, the emotional and physical exhaustion. We made it to the big time, kid. We did it. We made it to DEFIANCE, as a team. It was all we’d fought for. 

He chuckles a painful chuckle to himself. 

MP1:
We really [bleeped] that up, didn’t we?

It wasn’t a question.

MP1:
I won’t point fingers there.

Both hands tug his mask down at the neck. He smooths it in place at the crown.

MP1:
Then we went back down south… and you disappeared. I had to call your family… my sister, my niece… and tell them their husband, their father, was gone. You’ll never ever know how hard that was.

For a long while, he falls silent. The only sounds are the gentle lapping of the water below, the shuffling of his own feet and the buzz of random pedestrians in conversation with one another.

Clearing his throat, he brushes under his eyes with the back of his hand. 

MP1:
That one… I don’t think I could do that again. 

Another quiet stretch. MP1 absently massages his right shoulder with his left hand. His voice falls even more solemn.

MP1:
You know she’s gone, right? 

A haggard inhalation followed by an equally ragged exhalation. 

MP1:
I’m sure you felt it. I never had a chance to tell you. Gone…. My god, it’s been over 5 years. The cancer came back and… well… she fought it. She fought hard, she was so brave but… And Mirabelle, my god, she has grown up so much. You’d be so proud of her. I know you would. 

Silence.

MP1:
For years, I resented you. Do you know that? For years, I thought you’d been pulled under again and turned your back on us all. That you forced us to go through all of that hell by ourselves. Now, I guess I know different. I know now that an opportunist took you from me. Took you from all of us. That he changed you. Stripped you of your humanity, gave you a different name. He made you a monster.

The long slow, low, rolling horn of a passing boat.

MP1:
My god, when I realized it was you… I dropped everything again. I came running back to DEFIANCE. For YOU. That phone call home was special. There was something we hadn’t felt in so, so long. There was HOPE. 

Shaking his head, he shook off the feeling.

MP1:
Yeah. Well. We know how that went too, don’t we? 

Again, not a question.

MP1:
And here we are. Once again. They expect us to fight at ACTS of DEFIANCE. It’s so strange… It's been years, and here we are again. I don’t want to fight you, #2. I know I let you down… I know I let everyone down. I was right [bleeping] there! WE were right [bleeping] there! I’d had my hand reached out, leaning in for a god damned tag, for YEARS… and you finally tagged in… and I let everyone down.

He coughs, covering his mouth with the crook of an elbow.

MP1:
I see now that I can’t go back. It’s just too late. But what about you, huh? When do YOU take responsibility? When do YOU pay the price?

Stopping in his tracks once more, he spits into the roiling water.

MP1:
There isn’t going to be a match at ACTS, Corvo. Not between us. I’m ready to just… move on. Melton says I’ve got to face you, but I can’t. I won’t. She says I need this. She says that it’ll fix everything. JJ thinks I need this fight. But I know, deep down, that I don’t want it. I’m done fighting for you, #2. I can’t fix this. 

His eyes catch – and lock onto – the waning moon.

MP1:
No one can fix this.

He takes a cavernous, cleansing breath. 

MP1:
I think what I need right now… is to just set all of this down, drop all of the baggage I’ve been carrying–

He explodes, shocking nearby walkers and garnering many concerned glances.

MP1:
–ALL BY MY [bleeping] SELF!

He breathes, eyes clenched shut.

MP1:
I need to move on from you. From the past… from all of it. You’ve changed. And I’ve been STANDING [BLEEPING] STILL for almost EIGHT GOD DAMNED YEARS!

Gasping and panting, he wipes more tears away. Tears he prays might be the last.

MP1:
No one can fix this. And I’m finished trying. I’m done saying I’m sorry… It’s over. Maybe you should move on, too.

The camera lets him brush past, allowing the former Violator’s silhouette to blend into the shadows of the night as we, like MP1, fade to black.

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