[We blink and there he is. Finely tailored pinstripe suit, shorn head, freshly waxed mustache. Bronson Box has something to say. Where we are? Who knows. All we hear is him, all we see is him. The greeting hangs heavy in the air for a moment before he speaks again.]

 

Bronson Box:

"It's been a little while since our paths crossed, boy. As predicted you've done nothing of note since our last encounter. Done nothing with the acolade you stole from me. Twice. But somehow however you've managed to once again find yourself standing face to face with me."

 

[The camera pans out a little bit to find we're not as alone as we'd previously thought. To Box's left we see the still yet unnamed red haired whispering vixen, to his right the massive West Virginian Frank Dylan James. The woman's eyes are locked on Bronson, Frank just cracks his knuckles and stares a hole directly into the cameras lens.]

 

Bronson Box:

"You're a talented young man, Eugene. Even if you have little to know idea how to utilize that talent to your ultimate benefit. All the potential in the world and just bloody look at you. You're a lost sheep, Eugene. All by yourself...

 

Lost and alone and in my way."

 

[Box smiles as only he can. The kind of smile that sends chills up most men's spines and makes babies cry.]

 

Bronson Box:

"Let's just get down to brass tacks, shall we sunshine?"

 

[Box quickly licks his lips.]

 

Bronson Box:

"You were there at the pay per view... you saw what happens to puffed up little prats that take shortcuts with me. You saw what happened to Dragon Jones when he figured he'd pull one over on ol' Boxer. When all is said and done Eugene I want to be in ring with Christian Light. I want that match and you're standing directly in my path boy'o.

 

Care to hazard a guess what might HAPPEN... to you come the playoffs, son?"

 

[Frank chuckles behind Boxer.]

 

Bronson Box:

"You've had an almost unthinkable amount of luck when competing against me, Eugene. Just as I haven't forgotten about that greasy thug Alceo Dentari's assault on my person months ago... I certainly haven't forgotten about you. I don't forget anything. You made a fool of me, Dewey. I can't abide by that. So, I look at you once again standing in the way of my ascension to greatness as a blessing in disguise. A chance to right a wrong."

 

[The red haired woman walks up and places a hand on Boxer's shoulder.]

 

Bronson Box:

"You're a joke, Eugene. A mistake I feel obligated to correct. Your lucky streak against Bronson Box has officially run it's course, son."

 

[The woman whispers into Bronson's ear... the couple smiles in unison.]

 

Bronson Box:
"And once the night is over? Please do give Dragon Jones my regards."

 

[He lets that one sink in for a few beats.]

 

Bronson Box:

"Moving on to who will most certainly be my second opponent of the night.

 

Christian Light."

 

[Box squares his shoulders and looks straight into the camera, flanked by his ever growing army.]

 

Bronson Box:

"I don't give a damn about what accolades you acquired in the NWA or the WWA. I don't care how many world titles you've held or tournaments you've won. I don't care how many halls of fame your name has graced or how many arenas you've sold out. Many men call themselves a former 'world' champion, but nobody else walking the face of the earth can call themselves Christian Light. Only one of you, fella'... no.

 

All I care about is the fight, the match. Your ability to rise to the occasion and truly put my skill as a fighter to their true test."

 

[Pause.]

 

Bronson Box:

"A career is a series of moments... a series of opponents. The worth of that career is in the caliber of that opponent, the quality of the match. Beyond the leather and gold, beyond the wins and losses... you're the sort of opponent I can honestly test my mettle against, boy'o. I believe you and I? We can steal the show, Christian. We can put on the sort of match people talk about when they discuss how GREAT we are."

 

[Bronson stops and shrugs.]

 

Bronson Box:

"Or you could fight simple lost little Eugene. A forgettable match against a forgettable competitor. You're a legend in every sense of the world Christian. One on a very short list of men on this roster I feel are near my equal. Eugene Dewey insults us by his very presence here in Defiance. Almost as much as those puffed up harlots St. Sure and Christenson. 

 

Prepare for ME, Light. Prepare to face ME. 

 

Prepare to test yourself against the man who BUILT Defiance Wrestling."

 

[Placing a finger under the chin of his beloved, looking her in the eye.]

 

Bronson Box:

"Deep down. You know you want to see that feeble minded little halfwit go down to me. We’re cut from the same cloth you and I. You’re a man who’s proud of his career, proud of your body of work. Look into that doughy little morons face, into his bloody soul. He’s not the sort legacies are built on, Christian.

 

Men like US... ? We don’t need... luck.”

 

 

[Fade.]

 

http://youtu.be/F8IMR5U6tOQ

 

[Amen.]