[Scene: Backstage. The camera is shaky, catching up as Chris Ross storms down a hallway after a brutal beatdown or chaotic match. Sweat clings to his body, blood smeared across his brow, eyes wild. He rips a towel from a nearby table and throws it to the ground without using it. He stops, turns, and glares into the lens like it just insulted him.]

CHRIS ROSS:
You saw what I did out there.

You saw it.

That wasn’t a match. That wasn’t a moment. That was redemption.

Seven goddamn years. Seven years of doors slammed in my face. Seven years of being told I’m too slow, too stiff, too raw, too me. Seven years of watching cowards and clones and shiny little plastic boys get everything I bled for. 7 years of backstage politics and being black listed in companies that I never even had any part of in the first place! 

Eric Dane Jr.?

That smug little shitstain?

He’s not special. He’s not a prodigy. He’s a trust fund in tights. He’s a last name on a contract. He’s what this business became when it forgot what it was.

I clawed my way out of hell just to get here. You hear me? I lost everything. My body. My family. My goddamn mind. They told me I didn’t belong anymore. That I wasn’t marketable. That I didn’t have the “look.” That my kind of wrestling was “outdated.” That I was too unhinged and mentally unstable! They said Chris Ross has no place in this sport anymore...

I lost EVERYTHING! I tried to walk away from this sport... I tried living a normal regular life... And all it got me was everything taken from me... All of my loved ones are nothing but a god damn cemetery now... All I have left.... Is this... 

Well guess what?

I didn’t come back to be a feel-good story. I came back to burn this place to the goddamn ground.

Eric Dane Jr., you are the face of everything that’s wrong with professional wrestling. You are legacy without labor. Spotlight without struggle. You got handed everything I earned and got spit on for.

And I swear to you—on the ashes of everything I lost—I will not let you have it. Not the titles. Not the main events. Not the glory.

I’ll tear it all down first.

I’ll wrap my hands in your entitlement and squeeze until your daddy’s name doesn’t mean shit anymore.

This is personal now. This is war. And I don’t care how many fine suits or fancy robes you hide behind—I’m coming for your throat.

Not because it’s business.

But because it’s justice.

[Ross steps closer to the camera—his face filling the screen, a mix of rage, pain, and purpose.]

Seven years, Dane.

Seven years of silence.

Now you’ll hear me loud and clear.

I’m not here to take your spot...

...I’m here to make sure you never had one to begin with. 717... HBG.... REPRESENT!

[Cut to black.]