“Ye’ lost Francis. Ye’ lost to Eugene Dewey.

 

How does that make you feel lad?”

 

[Cold open. The massive West Virginian Frank Dylan James is sitting dejected on a steel folding chair, his eyes cast down towards his filthy bare feet. Pacing around The Mastodon in his usual Sunday finery, a scowl on his mustachioed mug, The Bombastic Bronson Box.]

 

Bronson Box:

“Tell me Francis. Why do ye’ think I plucked you from Eric Dane’s pocket to help fill out the ranks of The Moral Majority, son?

 

Why YOU?”

 

[Frank Dylan James hates this shit. He stares daggers into the former Defiance World Heavyweight champion. Boxer just smiles as he passes behind Frank. We finally notice The Red Queen, Virginia Quell lurking in the shadows surrounding Frank and Bronson.Her beautiful red hair tumbling down around her shoulders, her cool brown eyes locked on Bronson as he paces the floor.]

 

Bronson Box:

“You’re angry. Good. Stay that way and listen ye’ big bastard... “

 

[Bronson stops and leans forward towards Frank’s face.]

 

Bronson Box:

“Ye’ troop around here like a bloody cartoon. You're tough as bloody nails Francis but these ratty overalls, your bare bloody feet, the damned drinking... you’re a joke. A caricature of what once was a true MONSTER in this sport.”

 

[Frank’s massive shoulders tense up as he crosses his huge arms across his chest.]

 

Bronson Box:

“You’re a Goddamned beast, Francis. A savage. But you’ve been placated, chained like a rabid dog, beaten into submission by Dane and his various wrestling projects over the years. There you are always the good little lad. Always ready to give the “baws” his monster when he needs one to put over whatever flash in the pan pet project he's pushing to the moon this week. And when he's done with you? Back in the stable you go like some loathsome beat of burden. Bloody domesticated, you are.”

 

[Box leans in closer.]

 

Bronson Box:

“Is that ALL you are, boy’o? A neutered PET of that egotist?"

 

[Frank begins to speak but Bronson cuts him off.]

 

Bronson Box: [shushing the monster]

“I want you to think on somethin’ for me Francis. Moving forward this season I want you to dig DEEP... [gritting his teeth] I want you to FIND ME the monster that lives deep down in your bloody guts. You find that beast and you bring him to the table, if'n ye' don't so help me God, Francis...

 

You'll suffer for it. I promise you that.“

 

[Box stands up like a shot.]

 

Bronson Box:

“But enough of that rot, to your feet Francis. We have something to say.”

 

[Boxer beckons Virginia to join them just as Frank gets to his feet and boots the steep chair out from behind him in pure frustration sending the seat clattering back into the darkness. The sound brings a smile to The Wargod’s face.]

 

[The trio collectively known as The Moral Majority resettles. Boxer’s eyes finally find the camera.]

 

Bronson Box:

“I must have been a good boy this Christmas season! Gifts, gifts galore! I must say, I feel like a young lad sneaking down the stairs on Christmas morning only to witness two huge gifts wrapped under those beautifully burdened limbs. What could they be?”

 

[Virginia is simply hopping with faux excitement.]

 

Virginia Quell:

“Tell us, Hollis please do tell us!”

 

[Boxer smiles slyly over at his Queen.]

 

Bronson Box:

“Two men who WRONGED me Gin dear, two men who dared to WRONG Bronson Box. That’s what Defiance has decided to give gift wrapped to ol’ Boxer. One a greasy dago cretin that considers himself my better because he landed a few lucky shots to my bean when my BACK was turned. Alceo Dentari, son, you are nothing but a cheap shot artist.

 

You want to equate your pathetic career, your “swath of destruction” to that of The WARGOD?!”

 

[Box shakes his head in disgust.]

 

Bronson Box:

“I made my mayhem face to face, I dropped pain and destruction right at my foes FEET with a SMILE you ginny PRAT! You think you know a blasted THING about being truly DEFIANT?! Just wait boy, God just wait because the pain doesn't stop with this match. This season? You’re my special bloody project you bloody WOP! You took months from MY LIFE and MY CAREER! Tit for tat, lad, tit for bloody tat.”

 

[A brief pause.]

 

Bronson Box:

“Edward. You’ve got it all figured out, don’cha lad? I mean... I can’t wholly disagree with what you’ve said. Jeff Andrews? A paper champion. Hell, the whole of bloody Defiance feels the same way. How much more true can a fact be if Edward White, Tom Sawyer, Christian Light and Bronson Box all feel the same damned way, I ask you? But for a second lets set aside Jeff Andrews. Lets set aside all titles, all championship belts... lets just talk about you and me, Edward. You and me as MEN.”

 

[Virginia’s eyes flutter as she nibbled on her bottom lip, eyes darting up and down the body of her man.]

 

Virginia Quell: [under her breath]

Indeed.

 

Bronson Box:

“You’ve got yer’ plans and your schemes. You spread around yer’ cash and bribe this official and that referee. You hide sand, powder, dust, poison mist, poison darts, ether soaked rags’r whatever else you feel you need to achieve victory. The sort of victory I rip from mens chests with my bare bloody hands. We’re both reviled by the unwashed masses that this company so lovingly calls the Defiance faithful. You’re hated because you’re a crooked little cheat, a weak little... [snort] POLITICIAN.”

 

[Giving himself a second or two to glare silently into the camera.]

 

Bronson Box:

“They hate me because I’m an evil bastard, Edward.“

 

[Virginia slowly pulls from her bosom a long... nasty... metal... spike.]

 

Bronson Box: [a gleam in his eye]

“Ahh, there she is. My other dear lady.”

 

[Box gingerly takes the metal spike from The Red Queen, running it through his hands.]

 

Bronson Box:

“Titles come and go Edward. This business isn’t built on titles... it’s built on MOMENTS! Moments you BURN into the minds of the masses!”

 

[Box brings the spike to eye level.]

 

Bronson Box:

“When I bested you, Cancer Jiles, Chris Cannon and Boston Bancroft to win the World title? That was a moment. That was the night my friend here tasted your blood for the first time, Edward. You blow your dust and plot and scheme your way through every match and they boo, they hiss, they pepper you with garbage... an effective villain, you are boy’o. No doubts about that.”

 

[Box runs his tongue along the length of the spike, tasting the bare steel and dried blood.]

 

Bronson Box:

“They boo me because I sicken them, Ed. They boo me because I take the time to remind them how broken and how awful this world really is.

 

They boo me because I take the time to remind them that true bloody EVIL still exists, lad.”

 

[Virginia is beside herself, clutching onto the massive right arm of her Hollis.]

 

Bronson Box:

“You can keep yer’ title lad, yours, Jeff’s, doesn't matter. When The Moral Majority rolls into my friend Francis’ home state of West Virginia I’ll take a little time for you Edward. I’ll take time for Alceo too.

 

Evil exists, boys. And you can’t BUY or INTIMIDATE evil lads, you simply plant your feet. Grow a set. Ball up your fists. 

 

And fight like a bloody MAN.”

 

[Slipping the spike into his own coat pocket.]

 

Bronson Box:

“If you even know the definition of the word.

 

Evil is patient, lads. Evil waits.”

 

[Fade.]

 

 

 

“AMEN.”