[FADE IN to a wide-angle shot of vast, open countryside, with rolling hills in the distance. The sky only has a few lonely clouds, and at first there is almost nothing to hear except the rustle of leaves from a wood we see to our left as we turn. The light is soft and delicate, and it takes a moment to spot a small herd of deer on a nearby hill: some are grazing, some are resting in the sun, and a couple of the younger ones are playing happily. It is the vision of a tranquil scene.
We walk through this peaceful landscape, not following any path and without any particular destination or plan in mind. We just seem drawn this way, then that, then another way. Fields of flowers, woods, idyllic creeks – until, in the distance, we see what looks like a castle turret. Starting towards it, it doesn’t take long to hear a faint rumble that sounds like thunder; but, as we get closer, we start to hear violent shouts. The words are indistinguishable at this distance, but we quicken our pace, through the forest and up the hill until we stand on the summit and see a fierce battle being waged in front of the massive stone walls of the castle
CUTTO: the battlefield. The soldiers of both sides are dressed in early Medieval military dress, one side appearing to be Anglo-Saxon, and the other a cross between Nordic and Norman. The fighting is intoxicating, the roar and clashes of steel on steel nearly deafening]
Soldier: Die bastard!
[We barely dodge the swing of the Norman soldier’s sword, spinning and bringing our shield crashing against the back of his skull. His helmet falls to the ground and one of our allies brings his francisca, or small hand-held single-bladed axe, to severe the fallen man’s spine. We look at our blood-spattered face as we wipe the blood from our eyes, a deep, resonating and powerful voiceover speaking]
v/o: Battle. Vicious, eternal.
[A horn sounds from above us, a storm of arrows speeding down on us. Our ally, helpful a moment ago, now lies dead as we hold our shield above our head. As the storm dies down, we dare to look out from under the rim of our cover at the battlements above]
v/o: Two nations. Two armies. Two battalions. Two units.
Two men.
[Another hale of arrows. We rush towards the fortress wall, but turn back as the piercing screams of ally and enemy soldiers shocks us to our senses and we feel the heat of the boiling oil being poured from the murder-holes.
As we turn, rushing towards our siege engines, we come across an enemy, eyes rabid and sword raising high. We lower our shoulder, smashing into his chest. His sword falls point-down in the viscous mud, and we seize it, stabbing it down into his throat and leaving it there to return to our lines]
v/o: Territory. Vengeance. Pride.
[Part of our line sprints past us towards the fortress, the air thick with our battlecry]
v/o: Freedom. Oppression. Ideals.
[We turn, watching the battle now from a distance]
v/o: Ultimately, all battles are about dominance.
[Slowly, the battle fades from view, leaving the castle before us.
CUTTO: A scream of pain. In the pitch-torch light, we can see a bearded man in his early 30s, stripped to the waist, his wrists shackled to the wall. His hair is a mess, sticking to the sweat oozing from his pores. His chest is littered with cuts and burns]
v/o: Dominance takes many forms. Gold, jewels, and riches – a man’s wealth. Blood, sweat, pain – a man’s strength.
[A whip smashes across the man’s chest, but another scream only follows when a red-hot poker is laid across his chest]
v/o: The quest for dominance over fellow men has led to atrocities. Slaughter, mayhem, genocide – all in the name of dominance. Ego.
Pride.
[The man is branded again, the sinews in his neck stretched to breaking point as he screams, his head tilted back, before his head slumps forward]
v/o: Pride keeps this man from talking. He needs to show he’s tougher, stronger than his foe. His foe strikes him again and again to get him to talk and show he’s more vicious and dominant.
[We back through the door without opening it, one final piercing scream. A familiar voice takes over from the voiceover, speaking out-of-shot]
Karl: And to maintain dominance… we build walls.
[CUTTO: a spiral stairwell. The Dragon is standing holding a pitch-torch, one hand in his pocket. He’s dressed in smart-casual attire: pale trousers with a brown belt and tan boots; a brown shirt with silver and gold pin-stripes over a white T-shirt, the shirtsleeves rolled to just below the elbow. His shadow falls behind him, flickering in the flames]
Karl: Dominance is a strange thing. Every single individual in a social group seeks to achieve it. Be the alpha male. Top dog. Pride leader. King. Emperor. Champion. In the twentieth and twenty-first centuries it’s been no different, only the group we wanted to lead changed. Politicians want to lead the country. Friends want to be seen as top of their group of friends, even if all they can do is watch from the sidelines as plans are made without their approval. The drive and desire to be seen as the pinnacle is there. Even me – I want to be the best within my own identified pack.
But the difference between myself and someone like Layne Winters, is that my pack, my group – is just me. More accurately it’s who I was yesterday. A week ago. A decade ago. Because of that – how small my group to dominate is – I haven’t had to build any walls or delusions.
But you, Layne? Your walls are thicker than this castle’s. They keep others from hearing the screams of agony you don’t want them to hear. They stop others coming in and taking what you feel is rightfully yours.
[Suddenly the scene changes, Brown staying in the same place as the scene shimmers. We are now in a cavernous throne room, complete with luxurious tapestries and gold-lined mahogany throne]
Karl: Your crown.
[He walks over to the throne, leaning against one of the ornate arms]
Karl: It looks almost impregnable, doesn’t it? To reach this throne-room, an army would have had to storm the walls on three sides. The fourth faces out to sea. Of the three walls you can reach by land, each has a vast killing field, with murder-holes for oil and flame arrows. The towers reach high into the heavens. The gate is defended by hoards willing to die in defence of their King. The corridors are made to defend, not to live. If anyone was to ever reach this throne room [he gestures, and the camera PANS ROUND to see the upper gallery]
Karl: Archers would be placed up there. The King would be safe in hiding and the few enemy troops who reach this far would surely be too exhausted to even hide.
In short, this place has been built to protect.
Protect what? A sense of self. An image that has been unconsciously, but carefully, built over years. Layne Winters’ sense of importance, of dominance. His desire and need to be seen as the greatest amongst his peers. Do you think it’s actually a surprise he’s admitted he’s hurting? Do you think it’s an accident that he says he hasn’t got the time to wait for success to come to him and that he’s going to go and seize it with both hands? Of course it’s not!
He wants you to know how tough he is. He wants you to know how hungry and driven he is, that not even a serious injury requiring surgery will keep him from success. He wants you to see him as better than you, and he’s prepared to do whatever it takes to bring that image to life.
But what would you suppose would happen if Layne can’t make that happen?
We’ve all seen it. Someone with delusions above their abilities convinces themselves of their superiority so utterly that they close themselves off from the world. And we’ve laughed at comedy shows where the villain, previously so confident that their plan would come to fruition, they kick and scream as their fortress collapses around their ears.
It’s part of Hollywood, meant to make us laugh at the downfall of the villain as the hero triumphs. Comeuppance, you might say. But as much of a cliché as it appears to be it happens in real life, too. Eric Davis comes to mind.
And if he’s not careful, Layne Winters could end up the same way. His image of the hard-man – the armoured truck to everyone else’s bicycle, as he said – what happens when that shatters? Does he kick and scream? Blame others? Call it a fluke?
It’ll be interesting to see.
[He stands, moving to the wall and placing the torch in situ]
Karl: Why am I so confident that Layne’s going to end up with his image of himself torn? Why do I think that Layne’s not anywhere near as good as he claims to be?
Because nobody is unbeatable. Nobody – nobody – is so great that there isn’t a chink in their armour. That’s the point of the story of Achilles. You only have to look hard enough to find the weakness in anyone. And Layne’s weakness is the same as many people in this business. His pride. His ego.
This match – a gauntlet match – is one example of his pride, pushing him into a bigger challenge. With each challenge he succeeds in, he has to push himself to another, then another, until one day, he meets a challenge he cannot best. He’s hoping he can beat three of the Empire Pro roster in a single match, one after the other, to walk away with his title intact. But, the problem comes when his ego puts him in a position he can’t succeed in. That’s the downfall of so many in this business. Ego drives them higher and higher – until you get to the story of Icarus.
Is Layne at that point?
[CUTTO: The top of one of the towers, on the seaward side of the castle. We look quickly over the edge, as the waves lash at the stone wall]
Karl: Of course, this is just talk. Layne is a man of action. He’s made that abundantly clear. He stands on the walls of his little castle, ready to repel any attack. And at Aggression fifty one, his world is going to be under attack. If he can’t beat me, or Erik, or Omega, he loses, and the fans see that he’s not the king he claims to be. He’s just another man. And Layne, himself? He can either go into denial, say that without the TV title he’s free to go after Sean Stevens. Or, slowly, he can wake up to the reality of life, that failure is as real as success. He can rise from the fall as the walls he’s built crumble, and he can move on, leaving the defeat behind and striving with a purpose and clearer mind.
[Karl looks down over the battlements, watching the waves as they strike the wall time and again. The camera slowly scans down over the wall, and Karl speaks off-camera]
Karl: Layne’s probably going to keep going on and on about how great he is, how dominant he is and how he’s going to rip me a new one. I’d be surprised if he didn’t. But, for all his flaws, I do expect Layne to put up a fight and challenge me physically. People with egos like his, can’t do anything else. They’re similar to me. Keep pushing through their limits and get better and better, because their ego won’t let them do any different.
But – and this is only one of a few differences people can bring up – his ego won’t be satiated until he’s destroyed every challenger to his dominance of professional wrestling and is undisputed king, with nobody daring to set foot in the ring with him for fear of their own safety. Me? My ego just wants to see how far I go before my body and mind shut down completely. It’s what’s driven me in competitive sport for almost twenty years, through injuries, hardship, wins and losses.
And, win or lose, it’s what will drive me through this gauntlet match and beyond. When and if Layne loses the title, what does he have that’ll drive him onward?
It’ll be the measure of the man when we know that.
[The slowly, the water-level rises, until less than twenty seconds later, the entire castle is engulfed by the sea. We start to hear an acoustic guitar, followed by the voice of Bruce Dickinson]
Bruce Dickinson: I throw myself into the sea
Release the waves let it wash over me
To face the fear I once believed
The Tears of the Dragon for you and for me
[FADE OUT]