🎙️Jarvis Valentine – “Close Isn’t Close Enough”

 

📍 Scene: Cox Pavilion, Las Vegas – two days after One Last Stop

📷 Camera Style: Static shot from ringside. Arena lights dim. One spotlight over Jarvis in the empty ring.

🎵 Underscore: Soft instrumental version of “American Flags” — stripped down, piano only.

 

 

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The scene opens in silence. Rows of empty seats stretch into darkness. Trash still lingers under the bleachers — torn signs, crushed cups, echoes of a crowd now gone. The ring sits under a single overhead light. In the center, on a folding steel chair, sits Jarvis Valentine.

 

He’s in street gear — hoodie half-zipped, Florida State Championship resting against his thigh. His hair is damp, face bruised, knuckles taped. He doesn’t speak at first. He just… sits. Breathing. Processing.

 

Then — softly, without looking at the camera — he begins to speak.

 

 

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Jarvis Valentine (quietly):

"You ever hear what silence sounds like… after twenty thousand people stop screaming?"

 

He looks up — straight at the lens.

 

"It’s heavy.

It’s hollow.

It’s honest."

 

He glances around the vacant arena.

 

"This place was thunder a few nights ago. Every seat packed. Every fan locked in.

I walked down that ramp with a dream strapped to my chest… and another one burning in my gut."

 

He taps the Florida State title beside him.

 

"One I already earned.

And one I was one step away from."

 

He pauses. Shifts in his chair. You can feel him reliving it.

 

"I had him.

I had Brick Bronson right where I needed him.

Speed against power. Precision against rage.

I chipped away. I took the hits. I found my opening."

 

His voice grows tighter now — not angry, just… personal.

 

"And then — boom.

One move. One moment. One mistake.

That’s all it takes. That’s all it ever takes."

 

He lowers his gaze again, fingers running across the edge of his belt.

 

 

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Jarvis Valentine (firmer now):

"But let me tell you something.

I’m not built to break."

 

He stands up slowly, slinging the championship over his shoulder. The spotlight follows. He walks to the ropes and rests his arms across the top.

 

"I didn’t walk through war zones of small towns and busted bingo halls for ten years just to fold when the lights hit brightest.

You think that loss broke me? Nah. That loss lit me on fire."

 

He leans in just slightly.

 

"Brick — you beat me.

But you didn’t stop me.

And Raging Dead? Welcome back to life, champ… but don’t get too comfortable.

Because the man you heard chasing dreams last week… is about to start hunting them."

 

He steps back toward the center of the ring, now pacing slightly.

 

 

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Jarvis Valentine (raising his voice):

"You wanna know the difference between me and everyone else on that roster?

I don't wait for chances.

I make 'em.

And until I get another shot at that world title — I’ve got something else to defend."

 

He unhooks the Florida State Championship from his shoulder and raises it high.

 

"This right here — this isn't just a belt.

It’s a promise.

To the fans who believe in me.

To the territory that made me.

To anyone back there thinking they can take it — come try.

Any night. Any show. Any arena.

You want this? Step up."

 

He holds the belt out toward the camera for a beat… then slowly slings it back over his shoulder.

 

 

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Jarvis Valentine (quieter now):

"I was one second away from everything I ever wanted.

But close?

Close isn’t close enough.

So I’m gonna keep fighting.

Keep rising.

And when that door opens again… I won’t just walk through it —

I’ll tear it off the damn hinges."

 

He walks back to the ropes, one hand gripping the top strand as he stares out into the rows of darkness. Just a man and his fire.

 

 

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Jarvis Valentine (final line, barely above a whisper):

"Keep the lights on, UTA.

Jarvis Valentine’s not done yet."

 

Fade to black.