Fade in to a roaring fire. Pulling back it becomes evident that we are in a clearing in a vast expanse of land. No buildings of any kind are evident. None are present other than one, crouched down and leaning slightly over the fire.

The light dances across his face, illuminating expressions buried deep within his face, bemused and serious, tortured and emotionless; fire in his eyes reflecting itself back.

Dan Ryan tosses a small stick into the fire, watching it as it becomes engulfed, entangling itself with the glowing wood around it.

"So you like to tell stories, do you Bronson?"

"Boston Bancroft and his kidnapped son."

"Since we're telling each other ghost stories -- tales of long ago meant to enrapture and intimidate... and threaten -- I suppose it's appropriate. I wonder, however, if perhaps you are too eager to try and take advantage of knowledge that has been openly available to anyone who knows how to use a computer."

"Somehow I suspected that somewhere in that dusty room where you perfect your impression of good ol' M.G.P., you might have access to google, and that you might make use of it now and again."

"Then again, the company has only recently begun airing video pieces about my past due to my recent ascension to become the new FIST of DEFIANCE, so why bother before now, hmm?"

"The truth is, Bronson, I'd have been disappointed if you hadn't threated my wife and daughter after learning of their existence, lest you come across as a common man with a simple case of the wrestling-bad-guy-meanie-give-you-a-purple-nurple syndrome. No, you're much much more than that, Bronson Box, and that's what I'm counting on. As for digging up my first daughter and laying her at my feet...."

Ryan shrugs briefly

"........You aren't even the first person in the last year to make that threat. I know, I know... nothing that happened outside of DEFIANCE matters inside DEFIANCE -- but should you get bored during one of your fireside chats with the Lord, look up JJ Deville and curl up to the story of the man whose dramatic fake documenting of digging up a child's corpse culminated in abject humiliation."

"Also -- she was cremated, her ashes spread on the family ranch. So there's that, too."

"But let's not get off onto a tangent, Bronson. I'm proud of you for making these statements. As I said before, you're no run of the mill villain with brass knucks and a pull of the tights when the referee isn't looking. No, you're much more than people know. They fear it because they don't understand...."

"But Bronson, you aren't the only one around here who knows what it's like to be the villain. We don't really need to spend to much time bragging about our exploits. You kidnapped a boy. That's impressive. I paralyzed a World Champion's sister because she was there. It's all very Joker-and-Barbara-Gordon-in-The-Killing-Joke; I don't really wanna get into it. In fact --- maybe I'll make a 'wee' trip to the Scottish Highlands and do some digging of my own. Who wouldn't be up for a nice McAllister family reunion?? Either you and father can sit down over a pint and talk about old times, or we can arrange a little local gravedigging tour of our own."

"These things cut both ways, you see."

"If the human condition to you is science, then to me it must be art, because for every aspect of psychology that can be exploited, I have found in my past a means to do so. I could spend all day weaving you stories about the companies I've entered as the outsider, in situations identical to this one. I could tell you all about the dozens of times I've walked into a building and sensed the hushed tones. No one likes it when you walk right up to them and tell them you're gonna knock their teeth down their throats. They like it even less when you actually do it."

Ryan picks up a small log and begins to poke at the fire.

"Eventually, Bronson, boy'o.... you're gonna have to come to grips with the fact that while you are the undeniable face of everything that makes DEFIANCE what it is, I will not be shaken by you; not today, not tomorrow, not ever. Threaten whoever you want. I'm already willing to murder you in a wrestling ring under the guise of 'competition'. I hardly think you could do anything that would affect your circumstances any more adversely."

"Every bad mother fucker I ever met in my life always said they were the strongest there was, the baddest there was, until they met someone just a little stronger, just a little badder. As a man so in love with the science of the human condition, I suggest you start turning that microscope inward a little bit and ask yourself if perhaps the doctor isn't guilty of a disease so often diagnosed in his patient. Heal thyself, Bronson. Pride comes in many forms, right before the fall, and dressing it up with old books and religious relics cannot disguise the stench."

Ryan stands, finally, towering over the fire pit, looking through it.

"I'm not new to this game, my friend, no novice at the dance. I've been to the deepest corner of despair and survived it, been the darkest hell this life has to offer. You have nothing to give that will ever make me any more likely to rip your fucking head from your shoulders and mount it like a trophy on my wall. And so....come, Bronson Box --- let's start the dance before the band gets cold. After all, you said it, peace is for the weak."

"Who said I wanted peace?"

More Propaganda | View Dan Ryan's Biography