[INT. ROSS’ APARTMENT – NIGHT – HARRISBURG, PA]

The place smells like cigarettes, old coffee, and the kind of silence that only exists where grief’s made a home. One bare bulb flickers from the ceiling. A stained recliner, a battered coffee table, papers and empty bottles littered across the floor. Rain ticks against the cracked window. The kind of place forgotten by time and mercy.

ROSS
(leaning against the sink, a half-empty bottle in one hand, staring at the camera like it's Eric Dane Sr. himself.)
You know what your problem is, Dane?
You still think any of this is about justice… or the truth… or whatever fantasy keeps you sleepin’ at night.

(He chuckles, but it’s hollow, echoing off water-stained walls.)

Truth is… you were never the target.
You were just collateral damage.
Wrong place, wrong time.
Wrong man trying to wear a hero’s shoes in a city full of broken glass and rusted nails.

(Ross moves closer, his boots dragging across cracked linoleum.)

You should’ve kept your nose outta it.
You had a name. A legacy.
You could've walked away.
But no… you had to get involved.
You thought you were the lion in the jungle.
But out here? You ain't the lion.
You're just meat.

(He pauses. His eyes are bloodshot, jaw tight.)

You and me—we're built different.
You're trained. Backed by orders, support, men who salute when you speak.
You had structure. Purpose.
Me?
I survived the streets.

I watched people overdose on sidewalks like trash.
I've had friends buried in shallow graves behind condemned buildings.
I fought monsters with badges and monsters without ‘em.
And I’ve got the scars to prove it.

(He pulls up his sleeve, revealing a lattice of burns, blade marks, and faded ink.)

You think you’ve seen hell?
I live in it.
And I keep coming back, every damn day.

(He leans in close now, voice dropping to a growl.)

That’s the difference between you and me, Dane.
You have people.
You’ve got your crew. Your brothers-in-arms.
You call, and someone answers.

Me?

(He stands straight, letting the silence sink in.)

Everybody I ever loved… died.
Cancer. Drive-bys. Addiction. Suicide.
Doesn’t matter.
They’re gone.

No one’s got my back.
No one’s coming for me.

I’m not fighting for glory.
I’m not fighting for justice.
I fight because it’s the only thing I got left.

(He turns away, staring out the rain-streaked window, voice cold now—like steel that's forgotten how to be warm.)

You came here thinking you’d fix something.
You'd fix me... Teach me some sort of lesson...
But I’m already broken, Dane.
And a man with nothing left to lose?

…That’s the most dangerous kind there is.

717.... HBG.... Represent....