[A large driftwood crucifix hangs opposite us. Almost floating on a sea of pale green. Pale green walls. Like an old hospital room. Our lord and saviours blank eyes stare back at us, judgingly. As we pull back we notice bookshelves simply stuffed to overflowing with old books and manuscripts. Back even further and we see a low slung well worn leather chair.]

 

[Beside the chair on a low table a glass of scotch, neat.]

 

[And beside the drink, a obviously well used book. The pages dog eared, the faded gold lettering on the cover spelling out “Holy Bible”... about when we start putting two and two together we hear his voice and our suspicions are confirmed.]

 

“Been a long time since we sat down like this, hasn’t it lads?”

 

[Bronson Box.]

 

[He’s dressed down. Just a pair of wrinkled slacks and a clean white undershirt but he still cuts an intimidating figure. A slight stubble on his head, his mustache mussed. He whips the towel that was draped over his shoulders back into the doorway from whence he emerged. Presumably the bedroom we’ve never actually laid eyes on even with the number of times we’ve been lucky enough to find ourselves in this mysterious locale.]

 

 “Just you, me and Christ over there.”

 

[Box chuckles and makes his way over to the aforementioned chair and sits down. He reaches over, picks up the glass of scotch and takes a slow sip. Raising his eyebrows in approval he rests the drink on his lap and looks up at us with a somewhat mischievous smile.]

 

“I must admit Mr. Ryan, I wasn’t expecting such a overproduced and... [searching for the right words] emotional. Display from you. You didn’t seem the type for such shenanigans.”

 

[Shaking his head, the smile doesn't leave his face as he takes another deep draw from his beverage.]

 

“This is the point most villains would spout off that they don’t care about you, your wife, your what is it, ten year old girl? Or the dead one. Either or but not me, lad because ye’ see... [leaning forward a little bit] all you’re doing is loading a bloody gun and aiming it directly at your head and heart. As impossible as that may sound.”

 

[Deep sigh.]

 

“You addressed me with an amount of vim and vigor I can appreciate, Dan. You see, I have two kinds of men. Two kinds of opponents. The cowards and the ones that offer a true test of my abilities... “

 

[Pause.]

 

“I’ve said that so many times I almost feel like it begs explanation even for myself. Dan my abilities extend beyond the ring. Beyond mere wrestling greatness. Think of me as... [searching again for the right words] a scientist! Yes, a scientist. One that is fascinated with the human condition and just how FAR a man can be pushed over the edge. Boston Bancroft was my first grand experiment.”

 

[A quizzical look towards the camera.]

 

“That’s right, you’re new to Defiance. Let me take you on a trip down memory lane then, just as you were so kind to do for our friends here.”

 

“A time when the World Wrestling Alliance was finally crumbling around all our ears and the last WfWA World champion Boston Bancroft marched into Defiance with all the confidence of a king. I had just thrown my cards in with a group called Hydra. A group that by its composition would seem laughable today considering the events of Untouchable.”

 

[A pause to finish off his scotch.]

 

[Another to gather his thoughts.]

 

“Myself, Stephen Greer, Heidi Christenson and yes, Jeff Andrews terrorized this company for months on end. Boston Bancroft our target. Greer because he’s an awful angry sot that lives to fight, Heidi because her dear husband bloody told her to and Jeff Andrews... from him I found a distaste for everything associated with the WfWA. An old boys club worthy of the pile of pissed on ashes it ended up becoming.”

 

“But there he stood. Boston Bancroft. The proud and very last WfWA champion. Right in the middle of a Defiance ring singing his own praises and of the past glories it represented. The great and powerful legacy of the biggest most expansive wrestling alliance in modern memory diluted down into one deluded man with a useless piece of tin.”

 

[Box takes a second to reach down underneath the little table and produce a large handle of very old looking whisky. Refilling his glass he continues.]

 

“Somehow, through sheer force of will I positioned myself as the shotcaller of our little group. A victory unto itself considering what we all know of Jeff Andrews and his dear wife. Such a wonderful series of unfortunate events. Aaron Vasquez being assaulted and vacating the original Defiance Heavyweight Crown.”

 

“Boston being put into such an unfortunate and vulnerable position when some monster kidnapped his boy... “

 

[Boxer lets this empty space in his diatribe tell THAT story all on its own.]

 

[Bronson shakes his head as if to protest to some unheard statement.]

 

“Now that’s not to say I don’t respect Boston. He is as of this moment in my career my greatest adversary to date. Like I said Dan, you’ve approached me with a vim and vigor I can appreciate. A lust not for title belts but for combat, for the moment, for GREATNESS. You know just like I know you can win a pile of ridiculos accolades in this business but the only way, the TRUE way to leave your mark on this business isn’t through gold but STEEL.”

 

“Steel used to carve your mark into this businesses bloody forehead.”

 

 

“That or the forehead of an opponents... [smirk] lets say, CHILD, just as a for instance.”

 

[Boxer’s somewhat jovial nature crumbles like a sandcastle in the rain.]

 

“Dan Ryan. It warms my heart you’re so eager to face me. Considering your legacy, boy. That speaks volumes, not of you, but of the impact I’ve made on this sport in my few short years in it. I’m not going to tell you to ‘think about what you’re doing’ because it’s already been done. You insult me wearing that title so I’m going to take it from you. You want to parade your children out in front of me?!”

 

“I MIGHT JUST TAKE THEM TOO! I MIGHT JUST BLOODY DIG UP THE DEAD ONE AND SLIP HER ROTTING CORPSE RIGHT INTO YOUR EMPTY BED SOME NIGHT, BOY’O! ... and wouldn't that be a treat, Dan? See your little girl again after all these years? I’m sure Alaina and Cecilia would just love to meet little Danielle.”

 

[No smile, no smirk. Dead serious.]

 

“My abilities, Dan? Involved being the most unhinged, uncontrollable natural disaster of a man this insipid incestuous sport has ever SEEN! There is no winning with me, lad. Only pain and suffering and your little life behind the scenes there crumbling into a twisted pile of despair you’ll be sifting through for YEARS.Just ask Boston and his boy. Therapy is going QUITE well. I hear the little brat has almost stopped wetting the bed.”

 

“There is no peace,” says the Lord, “for the wicked.”

 

[Picking up his refilled glass and brings up to his lips.]

 

“I don’t need peace, Dan. I don’t rest, I don’t stop.”

 

[He finally takes a sip, resting the glass on his knee.]

 

“Keep that in mind as we start this little dance, boy. Even if you stand victorious in the middle of that ring with me a bloodied mess at your feet. Victory for me is more than pinfalls. I’ll stand victorious when I smear the ashes of you, your career and your little family on my face and chest and laugh.”

 

 

“Peace is for the weak... and I’m the strongest there is, lad.”

 

 

 

[Fade.]