The scene opens in the a white, sterile room. The UTA trainer is looking over Sanctus, who sports welts after his Falls Count Anywhere match with Stephen Greer, and subsequent blindside assault from Colton Thorpe. He let’s out a pained laugh every time she pokes and prods the obviously aching, reddened areas.
The camera pans left to Jennifer Williams, dressed in a flowing blue blouse and white skirt, armed with a microphone. She makes her way over to the table that Sanctus is propped up on. She nods her head to someone off screen and flashes a smile.
Williams: I am here with the Man in the White Mask himself, Sanctus.
Said Man in White Mask feigns a smile as the trainer backs out of frame.
Williams: Sanctus, congratulations on your win tonight.
Sanctus: Somehow, that feeling of accomplishment cannot be easily found.
The voice of Victory give him a modest look of pity.
Williams: And for our viewers, let’s flash back to what happened immediately after your match.
Thorpe (V/O): Well boys, it's been a pleasure but it's time to do what Greer couldn't.
Sanctus is on one knee, shaking Greer’s hand. He walks to the ropes as Team Danger walk backstage, unhappy with this result. And as he turns back around.
Blackfront: Thorpe with the running body block! What is he?
Ace: Weren’t you just listening? He’s trying to do what Greer couldn’t get done.
Thorpe is up, ripping away the ugly blue blazer he wore for commentary. He stalks Sanctus, who is backing into the corner. Thorpe gets to him before he can get his hands up, and begins stomping away. Kick after kick finds it’s way to the ribs.
Blackfront: Colton Thorpe with a cowardly attack. Sanctus was spent after that match!
Composing himself some, Colt walks out of the corner. He wipes away at his mug with one hand, and turns back to Sanctus. Double guns salute.
Ace: Here comes the Thorpedo!
The thrust side kick has Sanctus knocked limp, face down on the mat. Colt takes the time to soak up the boos as he does a victory lap.
Ace: If you’re going to go ahead and attack a guy from behind, you should at least do it with some pizzazz. Colt’s showing he’s got just the right amount of style.
With the smile gone, Colt stands staring at the struggling Sanctus, stretching out his right arm.
Blackfront: And now the Colt Magnum? Dammit, you’ve done enough.
Colt stops dead in his tracks, and we pan to the ramp to see why. Cayle Murray is racing down the ramp. And as Murray slides in, Colt simply slides out, laughing.
Blackfront: Finally, someone is here to shut this jerk up.
Cayle sprints the length of the ring, sliding out in pursuit of Colt. Colt hops the barricade to the left of the announce team, turning around, back peddling through the crowd.
Ace: Murray had no reason to interfere in Colt’s business.
Blackfront: Thorpe had no business being out here tonight.
As Cayle stands guard at the barricade, Colt’s ear to ear smile only teases that this is far from over. I Hope You Suffer by AFI hits the PA, while back in the ring Sanctus is finally making his way back to his feet.
Williams: That attack by Colton Thorpe, can you give us some idea why he’d target you?
Sanctus reaches an arm behind his head, miming the thinking man. He drops it and shrugs his shoulders.
Sanctus: He is in the business of setting fires. He is looking to gain a measure of attention, as if it’d be his shortcut to success. But as he is a firesetter, he doesn’t care much about how many he has to light. Neither is he too concerned about putting them out.
Williams: Shifting back to you, are you okay? I only mean that it looked like some of those hits you took shook you pretty good.
Sanctus does a check around him, like a guy about to tell an inappropriate joke. As if following him, the camera pans around the room. First to the cinderblock wall camera left, then to the other table and the Wargod that lay upon it. The Bombastic Bronson Box has spilt some plasma after his cage match win. The trainer looks as though she should be checking on him, but his sneer and reputation of ultraviolence in the ring makes her look like a child playing double dutch.
Boxer: Christ. I’m not goin’ te’ smack ye’, ye’ bloody coward. Stitch me up and send me on my way… the very idea. I ‘aint into steppin’ on ANTS, lass.
The trainer breathes a sigh, picking up the pace. Talking as she works.
Trainer: Correct me if I’m wrong, isn’t one of your claims to infamy beating some poor producer in a fit of rage backstage after some big loss?
Boxer: Well… better be bloody glad I won tonight then, eh?
Bronson gives the poor trainer a narrow eyed knowing look. Panning back to Sanctus.
Sanctus: If I am going to be honest with you, I don’t really remember much of what happened out there; That Lariat isn’t a joke. It’s nothing that will linger, nor is it anything that would keep me from making something with the Faithful in D.C.
Jennifer dips her head and speaks in a hushed, serious-ish tone.
Williams: Any last words? In particular, any aimed at the man that blindsided you?
Sanctus sighs, and folds his hands over his belly.
Sanctus: I am not about to go out of my way to seek down this man. I will not become like he is, for there is no victory there. I will just have faith. I will have faith that Wingate and his decision makers will see sense in putting me in the ring with one Colton Thorpe. I will wait until that day, and then unleash a fury double to that he visited upon me.
Jen looks to camera and is raising a hand to call cut, but before she can do so, the trainer finishes up… more or less… with Bronson. The Original DEFIANT swinging his legs off the table and starting off towards the hallway. Stopping for a moment and looking back.
Boxer: As a fellow unorthodox competitor who also does an inordinate amount of talkin’... Just a bit of advice, lad.
Sanctus looks up, not unsurprised the Scottish Strongman might have something to say but curious at the parallel the Wargod drew.
Boxer: I don’t know a lick about you, Sanctus. Ye’ seem like a somewhat devout fella’... I can relate te’ that. You’ll need that faith when you walk out there in D.C. against Eric Dane, boy’o. The Only Star is in a fooooooul mood and you’re standin’ right in his way.
Sanctus looks less worried, but understanding of what awaited him.
Boxer: You lot haven’t seen the real Eric Dane…
Sanctus: I feel like you are delaying your point.
Boxer: My point? … survive, boy’o. Best you can hope if that man finds it in him to pull out even a fraction of the cruelty he’s capable of. Just survive.
The Wargod says with word with a gleeful smile as he starts off towards the door, shaking his head. As he passes through the doorframe we hear him mumble to himself still loud enough for Sanctus to hear but far enough out the door that it gives the DEFIANT the last word.
Boxer: ... If’n ye’ bloody can ye’ delusional prat.
Sanctus shares one last look with Ms. Williams, as if to ask if she heard the same thing, as we fade out..
"JESUS SHIT TITS"
- Kentucky Tarzan