We open cold.

The arena is empty, chairs stacked, the ring skirt wrinkled, with the buzz of a cleaning crew's vacuum echoing somewhere off in the distance. A single spotlight hits the center of the ring. It’s dead silent otherwise.

The curtain parts, and through it walks Eric Dane Jr.

Not in his robe. No music. Just a black T-shirt, leather pants, and the kind of sneer that doesn’t have to be earned because it was inherited.

He steps through the ropes.

The camera meets him dead-on, no fancy angles. He leans his arms on the top rope, facing forward, letting the silence sit.

Then:

ERIC DANE JR.:
You wanna know what my least favorite question is?

"Do you really think you’re ready for Chris Ross?"

He rolls his eyes and chuckles under his breath. There’s venom in it.

ERIC DANE JR.:
It’s not even a real question. It’s a statement, dressed up all polite like.

See, what they’re actually saying is this:
"You’re soft."
"You’re spoiled."
"You’re your father’s kid—nothing more."

And now?
"You’re dead meat at WrestleUTA 25."

He shakes his head, pushing off the ropes, pacing the ring slowly.

ERIC DANE JR.:
Let me make something crystal for all the doubters, all the haters, and all the grown-ass men hiding behind ZAP! handles and headset mics...

You think I don’t know what this looks like?

You think I don’t hear it?

Hell, you think I don’t wake up every day with the pressure of a name that could bury me faster than any opponent ever will?

Of course I do.

I live with it.

I carry it.

I wear it.

He reaches over the ropes and pulls something from the corner—his father’s silver and blue sequined robe. Drapes it over his shoulder. Doesn’t put it on.

ERIC DANE JR.:
But I didn’t come to UTA to cosplay as the man who forgot to raise me.

I came here to fight. I came here to win. I came here to build something of my own, and if that means going through the biggest, meanest bastard this company’s got? So be it.

Chris Ross.

You didn’t come down to Birmingham to cost me the Iron Crown to make a statement. You came to make an example.

But you didn’t drop me because I was weak.

You dropped me because you know what happens if I get back up.

And brother…

I’ve been getting back up my whole life.

He stops pacing. The smirk fades—just for a second. That cerulean fire behind the eyes flickers hot.

ERIC DANE JR.:
You want to test me?

You want to be the one to shut up the spotlight kid with the famous last name?

Good.

Do yourself a favor and pack a lunch.

You'd better come to WrestleUTA 25 ready to kill me, Ross.

Because that’s what it’s gonna take.

And when I beat you—when I outlast you, when I outfight you, you can sit there in that ring, looking up at the lights, and you’ll know…

It wasn’t the name that did it.

It wasn’t the robe.

It was me.

He looks down at the robe. Drapes it gently over the top rope. Walks to the edge of the ring. Stops.

ERIC DANE JR.:
You’re damn right, my name is  Eric Dane Jr.

And after WrestleUTA 25…

You’ll fuck around and finally find out what that actually means.

He steps through the ropes and walks up the aisle without looking back.

Fade to black.