[We’re once again at the DEFIANCE interview area right at the heart of the Wrestle-plex in gorgeous New Orleans, Louisiana. Christie Zane is nowhere to be found. As the camera pulls back slightly from the vinyl banner emblazoned with DEF logo we see exactly who turned on the lights this particular evening. Three piece pinstripe suit in his trademark browns and greys.]

[Freshly sheared head and dutifully waxed mustache, The Wargod stands resolute.]

Box:
Oye, lads… been a while since we done this, aye?

[Bronson takes a moment to turn and run his hand down the banner. Half-tracing the large letter ‘D’ with his finger before squaring himself with the camera. He hooks his thumbs in his vest pockets letting the usual few moments of awkward silence set the tone.]

Box:
I come to you, the faithful, unburdened. And on the eve of yet another… epic portrait, painted in familiar shades of red and black. Several of the grandest works hangin’ in the great hall of this here promotion bear MY mark at the bottom. Right there underneath the bloodshed and broken bones in the bottom right corner, the Bombastic Bronson Box. There was Boston Bancroft, Heidi Christenson, Tom Sawyer, Claira St. Sure, Jeff Andrews, Dan Ryan… Eugene Dewey.

[He chuckles a little before and after mentioning his fellow Original DEFIANT.]

Box:
So much... violent inspiration over the years. Each one a’ them a muse. Each of 'em one half of a match that formed the bedrock of what it is to BE… Defiant. Only when the blood’s really boilin’’ can ye’ get that... FEELIN’... who else but Bronson Box knows how te' get you lots blood boilin', tell me that?

[A brief wistful look fades quickly into his usual hollow molten stare.]

Box:
But idn’t that the point?

[He quickly hooks a thumb at his chest.]

Box:
‘Aint nobody as Defiant as me. Not Dane, not Walker, not Troy and not bloody you, Dusty. I live in the life blood of this place. You lot can piss and curse at me all you want, I’m as much a part of DEFIANCE as the bloody ring. There’s no place you belong, Dusty. You’ve been an outsider every step of the way. Globbin’ onto other peoples hard work and claimin’ yer’ the best in the bloody world? Yer’ own biggest fookin’ fan, ye’ pathetic sot.

[His bloodshot brown eyes narrow. Spitting a down at the floor in front of the camera.]

Box:
And ye’ just wouldn't stay down would ye’... gave ye’ the opportunity to just go away and leave DEFIANCE be, leave ME be. Leave some o’ yer’ reputation intact. Slink away in the night and prove me right. Prove to me an’ aaaaaaall of them that yer’ not worthy of creatin’ somethin’ with the heart and soul of DEFIANCE BEATIN’ across the ring from ye’ after all... but ye’ proved me wrong. Ye’ proved me fookin’ wrong an’ here we are on the eve of what could be a bloody masterpiece lad.

[The Wargod walks slowly towards the camera. Dropping his handheld mic along the way,grabbing the lens of the camera and pulling it close.]

Box:
I almost broke you, Dusty... almost. And you got up. Like a man. After all this time you finally showed a tinsey tiny glimmer of being worth my time an’ energy, boy’o. I’m goin’ te’ give you not just the match of your bloody career, lad. I’m gunna’ give you the match that you from then on POINT TO when you wander off to the next promotion you call “home” and claim yer’ the FOOKIN’ best. Because here, lad? HERE?! ...

[His jaw is a tight as a vice. So tight it looks like his molars might crack in half.]

Box:
You're lookin’ at the A. number one Ace of this bloody company. I’m gunna’ have my way with ye’. An’ I’m gunna’ tap you out. Break your fookin’ back mayhaps. Then go on te’ take back what’s bloody MINE.

[Hard sudden cut to black.]

Box: V/O
A-fookin’-men.

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