[Cancer the Jiles of COOL Mountain.]

[He’s just found out about his Defiance Tee-Vee booking.]

[That is to say he just found out about facing Sam Johnson.]

[At the beginning of the card.]

[Uppity do dah!]

“I ain’t mad.”

“Shit, I couldn’t be even if I wanted. That tank is all full.”

[The wounds of yesteryear are still present, seeing as Cancer’s still got a giant as all fuck bandage plastered to his forehead. Also, his eyes are a little swollen and there’s a small part of his hairline that appears to have been dyed blood-red.]

“There once was a time though when I’d blow a gasket over this type of rookie nonsense. I’d wave my arms like a supercharged helicopter blade, become so red in the face I’d actually become sunburn, lash out with tantrum this and tantrum that-- speak about how disrespected I felt and how if I wasn’t in the main event no one was going to watch it.”

[A pause for remembering the good old days.]

“But alas, that side of me has been replaced with hatred... and vengeance... and this overwhelming sense that I need to cause pain on an unimaginable scale against those who seek to oppress.”

[You know who you are.]

“Luckily, Sam Johnson, you’re not an oppressor.”

“Luckily, you are green, and new to this.”

“Luckily, you’re still wet behind the ears and haven’t had the pleasure of stabbing someone in the back yet.”

“What I’m getting at, is you’re okay, Sam.”

[NO EGGS FOR YOU.]

“And sure, I could sit here and say your little training video left me dripping in sweat, and  thank you because I haven’t a had good laugh like that in years... but I won’t.”

[cricket.]

“You don’t deserve my wrath. You’ve done nothing wrong. Maybe in the spirit of competition you would be deserving... but then again I’m Cancer fucking Jiles and you’re the H.N.I.C. that no one has ever heard about.”

[Yes, that is Cancer Jiles playing nice.]

“This doesn’t mean I’m writing you off, and taking this match at fifty percent throttle. I’m going to lace up my boots and put on the tights for you, Sam. I’m going to warm up my foot, be high on pain medication and herbal remedies, and take you for a walk through Defiance Park.”

[Don’t have to thank him, he’s COOL like that.]

“The COOLtanium way.”

[See, told you.]

“And who knows? It’s not impossible to win your first match in Defiance. I did it. And when I did it, I’d imagine people were saying the same things about me that they are saying about you. No way. No chance. It would be the end of days if he won. It would only happen during the third dream of Inception.”

[Yup. Cancer’s a movie buff. He spends too much time laying around motionless not to be. Stoner sessions. Hospital stays. Plus, he can’t get a good signal from atop COOLYMPUS, so he’s forced to bluray most of the time.]

[Some nerds collect comics, seems the COOL kids collect movies.]

[And now back to your regular scheduled programming.]

“Granted, I bested thirty other men, and walked away the sole survivor of grueling Battle Royale.”

[Fact.]

“So, it might have been a little easier for me than it is going to be for you.”

[Also fact.]

“You do have one thing going for you. I know I said I combusted during your training video, but something did catch my eye amongst all the weeping. I once had it when I was new to this... like you are.”

[The Don of COOL straightens his posture.]

“Desire.”

“That look in your eyes... like you’re ready to conquer the unattainable.”

“That, Sam Johnson, will warrant you some consideration.”

“Good luck.”

[Seems like the rookie has caught King COOL’s eye. To be clear, he’s not gay like that.]

[cut.]

[TAKE TWO.]

[Labeled, for Jeff Andrews’ eyes only.]

“A fucking snot nose rooking shitbag. SAM FUCKING JOHNSON. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME. That newbie is likely to botch a hammer lock and cut my career short you fucking smug shit fuck. When WE MEET UP WHICH_WILL_BE_SOON I AM GOING TO CAVE YOUR FACE IN WITH MY UNBREAKABLE HAND.”

[Casually, Cancer reaches into his pocket and pulls out some suntan lotion. After applying it to his face, he slips it back into his pocket and refocuses his attention.]

“I swear to every fucking thing I know. You. Long. The Bitch. Scott. You might think you hold all the cards... you might think you are... Untouchable up their in your little executive perch that smells like dead deer and wet tampons...”

[The Count lets a loogie fly. As per the norm, it’s charcoal in color and sticks to the wall like bubble gum.]

“...You’re not.”

[Cutteroo.]

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