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Castor V. Strife v. Dan Ryan

LQJT86C

Where's my money, Chad?
Joined
Jul 3, 1997
Messages
2,073
Points
36
Age
37
Location
The Silk Road
The Name You Know...

(FADEIN: The camera moves along a maroon rug littered with ripped/empty gauze wrappers, blood stained adult magazines and copies of PWI #500 with the front covers torn up – a couple of them feature a waist carrying the NFW World Heavyweight Title. The trail leads up to the foot of a red and gold throne chair, where CASTOR STRIFE sits flanked by women sitting in a meditative Indian-style, thumbs met to forefinger and palms up, one wearing a gas mask, the other a red/green/blue Kabuki mask. Their breasts are exposed, but blurred out by ESEN’s censors. All along their arms and stomach are symbols such as: Mercury, Mars, Saturn, Hindu Swastika.

CASTOR sits hunched over, with two large white gauze pads taped to the right side of his face, stained in blood. He is twirling the Roman Emperor’s laurel-wreath crown around his finger before suddenly letting it drop to the ground, where it clangs loudly against the leg of the chair)

CASTOR: “There it goes. Another crown in the gutter. I’m careless and dropped it. Here...”

(Bends over, grabs it, dusts it off)

“I’ve picked it up. It’s mine again. Watch me drop it once more...

“...and pick it up...”

“...mine again...”

(Flings the crown carelessly against the backwall)

CASTOR: “These crowns, these titles, I can pick them up at will. Don’t misunderstand, I do like them – especially that one, you know which – but they are impermanent. You know what I’m talking about, Dan Ryan. You’ve picked up 13...and lost 12. Maybe Sean Stevens takes that last one from you.”

“Maybe I think your Unified Title isn’t worth the pirate gold it’s pasted on. Maybe you think the NFW Title is nothing but Mayfield’s cumrag.”

“You might think this very scene, that very crown, is worth mocking. And I might say that Sean Stevens looks like your gay prostitute, and you his truckstop lover in that awful Showtime poster.”

(Throws his right hand out whimsically)

CASTOR: “This could go on for days, but that’s a separate battle for a different time. We’ve been there, both of us. We’ve done that.”

“I know this match is more about my previous loss – and you definitely know it’s not about yours...”

“We’ve fought for titles, mocked one another endlessly, and all it left us was half-dead in the center of a canvas ring after 30 minutes, empty-handed...twice.”

“There’s nothing in this world that you can say to me that will have the people believing that I, somehow, am not on your level. They might not have been around for your glory days, but it is a FACT they’ve seen mine. It is also a FACT that YOU asked for this match – not me.”

“And it is a fact...that I failed to defeat you on two occasions, and that my claims of being the all-time greatest are often countered with a single name...”

(whispers)

Dan Ryan...Dan Ryan...”

(Clasps hands together and wrings them pleadingly)

CASTOR: “And I know...I KNOW...that in your mind, when you watch me in that ring, a piece of you is reminded of your own dominance, and you want nothing more than to destroy me and erase that thought.”

“This is what it’s all about.”

“No World Title, no Ultratitle. PRIDE. A loss that can’t be forgiven. One match to decide who the better man is: Castor Strife or Dan Ryan. A finality that no title will ever carry.”

“There have been many matches that people CLAIMED were for the mantle of BEST, but none of them hold a candle to this. It is the most important match in either of our careers. You know it, and I know it.”

“The first time we fought, you didn’t have my respect. That changed. But I don’t think I ever truly had yours, even after Ultratitle, until I accepted this match.”

“As I scrawled that ink along the dotted line, you learned for certain what kind of man I am.”

(Leans forward and taps at his temple with forefinger)

“I run...from no one. I shy...from nothing.”

“The greater the challenge, the quicker I climb. This business is full of crybabies, plastic champions, and pretenders to the throne. They should close their womanly fucking mouths, dry their baby’s tears, and let the Gods play...”

(Reaches his hand behind the censored blur and gropes the woman in the gas mask. He stands up around the throne chair, looking up at the ceiling as he circles back to the front of the camera)

CASTOR: “So that’s what we’ll do, Dan. You will swing your hammer as I call lightning from the sky. Snake women will lose their heads and turn Titans into stone. Temples will crumble at the feet of barbarians; lions will devour the faithful while Jerry Jones looks on from his skybox eating chicken strips.”

“You asked for a match, and I delivered a spectacle. The world...waits with baited breath.”

(Walks up to the camera, grabs it with both hands, and flashes his teeth. Now he looks at it with one eye before taking the camera and filming the stoic women at the sides of his empty throne chair)

“The best way to remind the people where you sit...is to vacate the chair so they can watch you take it all over again.”

“No more feeling out process. I climbed the tree twice – now I cut it down and count the rings.”

“1, 2...13.”

(Camera drops suddenly; angle skewed)

(FADEOUT)
 
Last edited:

DBrunkGXW

Consigliere
Joined
Sep 11, 1997
Messages
4,814
Points
36
Age
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Location
Katy, TX
Not who you know...

FADE IN.

”It’s all about the time --- and place….”

The words come from nowhere; they come from silence. The darkness is broken by light, but only the man’s face is seen -- between two hulking shoulders, clearly holding the camera to his face, not moving, not giving the viewer anything more.

Nothing but a slight whistling of the wind.


DAN RYAN: “You’re very fortunate, Castor. I’m one of probably four or five people in the history of our sport who can relate to everything you just said."

"Most men would call you cocky; they’d call you egotistical, full of yourself, prone to hyperbole, to over the top imagery and a carrying distinct disconnect with reality.”

“But no…”

“No, I know exactly what you’re talking about. What you express so poetically is nothing I haven’t expressed before. I’ve said it so many times that I got bored with myself, looked outward of this business to find something more interesting, more relatable to who I was.”

“All of the gold, whether you want to call them crowns, belts, trophies, it all ends up on a shelf one day, whether at home or in a museum, where someone will pay to look at what you spilled blood over. One day, all that matters is who you are.”

“It’s all about the time --- and place….”

“Is there plenty worth mocking? Sure. There’s a topless version of a skinny you in some random kitchen floating around the internet. You specifically make sure we see you fondling a woman on camera, which in any culture is a sure sign of overcompensation – even in the truck stop where you think Sean Stevens and I hang out.”

“But why mock you, Castor? Why mock when I feel so sorry for you in so many ways? Your most notable championship reign was under the watchful eye of a crazy person, and you were forced to pretend that JJ Deville was a revolutionary figure in a sport you respect -- when we both know he has always been and always will be a glorified baggage boy, holding out his hand for a tip and trying desperately to do something that makes the world look at him as something other than a joke. That's not even a shot at you because --- as we both know --- I've been there."

"Are you on my level? Oh --- who knows really? Who’s to say what level I’m on anyway? I’ve done my fair share and then some, made my own path in this life, worked in this business on my own terms."

"I get to put together shows and matches like this while another company’s President challenges all comers to go do….. well, something I’ve already done --- in order to fulfill his criteria on what makes someone the best of the best. So what level am I on, Castor? You tell me.”

“You see, it’s far more important to me to be content with what I think of MYSELF than it is to worry about what others think. In the end, the only person that has to live with it is me."

"I alone will look in the mirror and question whether or not I did everything I could do to be the best at my profession. Only I can truly answer if I met the challenge of the very best in the world and answered the bell. Coming from a man who has done more than his fair share of talking, I know all too well that talk is all it is.”

"Let them say whatever they want to say. When the time comes, it is my own counsel alone which I will keep on the balance of my time in this sport."

“I won’t get into a visual arts competition with you, Castor, because I’m not a filmmaker.”

“I’m a professional wrestler.”

“In wrestling, as in life, you play to your strengths and exploit your enemies’ weaknesses. You will never in your life see me on a stage with hired extras wearing gas masks and kabuki gear. I don’t work in symbolism and metaphor. I won’t repeat ‘Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra’ over and over until you get it.”

“History says that I know how to fight. History says that when I get into the ring, I know what the fuck I’m doing. That’s why this match interested me to begin with. It doesn’t matter what the NFW World Championship means to either of us. Even if it’s the most prestigious championship in the history of professional wrestling, and even if you never lost it, that belt wasn’t coming to Dallas anyway. I’m not bringing the CSWA UNIFIED World Championship with me. None of it matters. It’s not about that.”

“This is about a battle for our place in history.”

“No single belt or trophy can signify it. No single big main event victory can ever come close. I need to know if you really are the best there is --- the same way you do. We tried this before, right?”

“It’s all about the time --- and place.”

“I already suspected what kind of man you are, Castor. All I’ve done is give you a platform to prove it. For while you may lose everything, you also have the opportunity to become the undeniable best there ever was --- something so many who were given that title by talking heads were never able to rightfully claim.”

“We are no longer subject to the petty whims of childish minds more interested in stroking their own egos. We are no longer dependent upon the plans of others to wave their magic wands and make the magic happen. We no longer step into our playground and stand up as anything other than WHAT WE ARE.

“One hundred thousand people will come to this stadium --- they will stand to their feet watch MEN go to war.”

“In the end, only one man can stand on the mountain. Who stands?”

Ryan pauses, then slowly, purposefully, smirks.

“Who falls?”

Ryan releases his grip --- and the camera drops away, revealing Dan Ryan on a catwalk high over the Cowboys Stadium field. He retreats quickly out of view as the camera falls, then begins to tumble wildly, twisting and contorting the camera shot and ending ----

**THUD**

--- in STATIC.


Fin.
 

DBrunkGXW

Consigliere
Joined
Sep 11, 1997
Messages
4,814
Points
36
Age
46
Location
Katy, TX
It's when you know it....

FADE IN.

The camera focuses in on a dimly-lit room.

On the wall are the outlines of championship belts --- more than a dozen at a glance --- at some point removed. There are glass trophy cases and these, too are empty, the pedestals inside holding nothing but empty air. There is meager clutter on the floor and little else. Nothing else can be ascertained. The walls are dark other than the oily marks on the walls, the paint dark, abandoned.

In the middle of the room on a simple folding metal chair is Dan Ryan, back to the camera. He turns and glances back at the camera, then turns back again, leaning his elbows on his knees.


DAN RYAN: “There used to be a time, not so long ago really, when making sure everyone knew about everything I’d ever done seemed very important. I made my mark in this sport. I made my mark and I built for myself a testament to my success. I hung championship belts on the wall. I put trophies behind glass.”

“I built a monument to myself.”

“And I earned those trophies. I earned those belts. I spilled blood over and over to build my reputation.”

“Sixteen years ago, I competed in North America for the first time. I was twenty years old; I’d trained my whole life under the critical eye of my father in Osaka, and he in turn, as a gaijin instructing a generation of locals, made his own very difficult way in his corner of the sport.”

“The Osaka Prefecture was where I cut my teeth in this sport. From the time I was fourteen years old, getting tossed around by my father’s up and coming students, relentlessly coming back for more no matter how much pain was endured, I knew exactly what I wanted to be, and I knew it would take nothing short of EVERYTHING to get it.”

“It was there that I was first approached by an American promoter, the late Chad Dupree, who was on a scouting trip for New Breed Wrestling. I was raw, arrogant and brash, but I was also determined and simply refused to be outworked. In August of 1997, I came here promising myself that I would conquer the world.”

“I’ve always made it more difficult for myself --- never the easy road. When I was ignored, I ran in like a bull in a china shop, doing whatever damage I could, damn the costs. I decided friends were a handicap, so I discarded them easily. The life I wanted required twenty-four hour dedication, so I entrusted the care of my young daughter to my parents.”

“When I lost her a short few years later, I claimed to have an epiphany, but it was short-lived. I was the same asshole I’d always been, and moreso, I cared even less about the people around me than I had before. Whatever was keeping me from snapping completely, whatever connection to my child that kept a sense of decency about me was gone in a moment and I replaced it with absolutely nothing. I filled that emptiness with nothing but violence. It was a means to an end, an existence; it was a life without meaning of any kind.”

“So I buried myself in my work, as if this was any sort of change. I took every booking, looked for challenges even when they weren’t looking for me. If I had sacrificed myself for the sake of the life I wanted, I would make certain I succeeded.”

“I was warned, of course. I was told over and over that I was spreading myself out too thin. I was told there had to be a breaking point eventually. Four World Championships? Some people thought that was an amazing feat. Still others saw it for what it was. I broke underneath the weight, and almost all at once, four became zero.”

“It was then that for the first time I walked away from the sport that had been my life for so long. My enemies called me a coward. Others said I could no longer cut it. Memories are short, and legends fade quickly when you aren’t around to defend your record.”

“I started a new family and got to work building my company.”

“Eventually I felt the hunger to return. There were opportunities. I talked with New Frontier about the Pentagram match. They went with Hornet instead. So, as I do, I settled for spiking Joe the Plumber on his head after the show instead. When they doubt you, make them remember.”

“When Joe no longer wanted anything to do with the company, my biggest chance to rekindle the fire was gone --- and I drifted.”

“I’ve had other matches since then. I spent some time in smaller companies trying to lend something of what I had left to make it all mean something.”

“And in this time period, Castor, you ‘arrived’. You weren’t new, of course. I knew who you were, knew your history. But this was a new you. This was a newly determined version of Castor Strife. You became every bit the threat that Joe the Plumber ever was as NFW World Champion, with the added bonus of you giving a damn.”

“You have the distinction, Castor, of being the first person in years to seemingly have what it takes to range the full spectrum of what it really means to be great in this sport. It’s not just catchphrases and witty comebacks. It’s not just a severe determination to never let yourself be bested. It’s not just the willingness to outwork every other man in that locker room. It’s all of the above --- with intangibles that make the result so much greater than the sum of its parts.”

“Three months ago, Castor, I had an epiphany. I walked into this room where I had made almost a shrine to myself --- and I ripped everything from the walls. I sent them home for my children to play with, and so they are, used by little kids pretending to jump off of imaginary turnbuckles and winning fake championships and reveling in fake glory. Everyone knows that ore is king anyway.”

“I decided I no longer care about the past and what it was. I bled for them, Castor. The gold was soaked in it, and I no longer care. I have scars to remind me of every war, and I no longer care.”

“All I care about from here on out is writing the story, in permanent ink, of who Dan Ryan is and how he will be remembered by history. Will I be the guy who won a bunch of belts and came back, only to pass the torch? Will I fold and walk meekly into the night to have birthday parties with my kids, couples outings with strangers and playdates with bored housewives where the children will run playing with other children, popsicle remnants dripping from their mouths and me left little more than a joke?”

“Or will I be remembered as the man who stood up as someone who lived life on his terms, who faced down every threat to his legacy and stamped his name, not on a chapter inside the book, but on the fucking cover?”

“Everything you see here…” (Ryan gestures toward the wall) “..is gone. All that matters is what is in front of me right now. And right there in Arlington, Texas, in that stadium in front of God and the world, I will make good on the promise that I made to myself sixteen years ago. I will stake my claim as the best in the history of this sport.”

“Every time I see you, Castor, you’re sitting on a throne.”

Ryan stands up and picks up the metal chair, folding it and turning, approaching the camera.

“Turns out --- thrones come in many different forms.”

“I think it’s time I introduce you to mine.”

The shot flails violently as Ryan brings the chair down hard on the camera, shattering it into a million pieces.

STATIC.
 
Last edited:

LQJT86C

Where's my money, Chad?
Joined
Jul 3, 1997
Messages
2,073
Points
36
Age
37
Location
The Silk Road
10 Minute Documentaries: Castor Strife

(FADEIN: First-person view from behind a black steering wheel branded with the silver arrow of Mercedes-Benz. Outside it’s night, and the lights of the car stereo are lit up, currently playing “My Only Fan” by Malfunkshun as the vehicle turns onto Lankershim Boulevard in North Hollywood, CA. White text appears at the bottom of the screen)

“ESEN Presents...”

(McDonald’s, Aztec Motors, and LA Expert Auto are passed by. The sidewalk palm trees are profiled with the dim glow of streetlights)

“The 10 Minute Documentary Series”

(Car pulls in to a small parking lot off the highway. There is a yellow sign hanging from a shingled roof that says ‘Motel’ in red letters)

“Belly of the Beast: Castor Strife”

“Directed by Devin Millwood”

(Car parks, ignition is turned off, the music stops, and the camera follows CASTOR STRIFE as he walks to and enters the front door of the Silver Saddle Motel)

CASTOR: (V/O) “The past is dead. Nobody cares to remember it. History, though, is different. History is a living document – it is written, re-written, interpreted, learned from, repeated...and sometimes repealed. History is relevant. My history...is relevant.”

(The clerk at the front desk slides Castor a room key)

CASTOR: (V/O) “All that I have is history.”

(CUTTO: Castor Strife, sitting on a motel room bed, hunched forward, facing slightly away from the camera. There is still a bandage over his head from the recent Cutting Room Floor match)

CASTOR: “This is the room where Quentin Sullivan called to tell me I was being released from the NFW roster. I was actually living here for two months after being evicted from my apartment for failure to pay rent, and now Quentin says I can’t come back to work because I’m a liability, worth more to the company dead than I am alive. At that time, I was the worst among many pill and coke addicts in the locker room."

"Some of them played it up on TV, like they were high all the time and it was helping them get somewhere. I was probably...probably the worst of anybody, and made a point of not showing it on television. (shrugs) If it’s real, you’re not proud of it.”

“This was...(pauses, scratches mouth and thinks)...April 2005, right before the start of NFW Ultratitle Season 2. I watched all of my friends and peers ascend to the highest levels in this business.”

(CUTTO: Gray-still of Michael Manson holding the Ultratitle Trophy)

(CUTTO: Gray-still of Felix Red with the NFW strap)

(CUTTO: Gray-still of Shane Southern with the CSWA Unified Title)

CASTOR: “And now I was being fired by the same man who took me under his wing when I broke in; Sully used to call me ‘Blue Chip’, said I was his top prospect. I cost him thousands of dollars in missed appearances, no-show matches, everything.

(CUTTO: Panoramic view of the Staples Center parking lot in Los Angeles)

CASTOR: “One time, I disappeared a half hour before match-time so I could meet my dealer in the parking lot of the Staples Center. They found me running laps around the building around midnight, high on crystal meth. That was the last show I worked before the call came.”

(BACKTO: Castor sitting on the motel room bed)

CASTOR: “I’m in this room, sitting...probably right here on this bed. And I am about to embark on a bender of epic proportions. Eight days of non-stop drug use and debauchery. Coke, meth, oxies, ecstasy, hash. I’m living it for real. I’m every bit the addict Felix Red says he is on TV, and I’m as bad as what the fans think Joe The Plumber is. But for me its no game – it’s the end of my fucking career, maybe even my life. Worth more dead than alive? We’ll see. One way or the other, we’ll see.”

(CUTTO: The inside of a jail cell)

CASTOR: “The best thing that ever happened to me was getting arrested for breaking into the methadone clinic in North Hollywood. I assaulted a police officer and was put away for three months. It was misery; I was dopesick, contemplating hanging myself in the cell with banded drawstring I removed from standard issue inmate pants.”

“Once the withdrawals ended, I began to read the books my brother sent me. Fountainhead, In Cold Blood, Frankenstein. One of the guards lent me a copy of Pro Wrestling Monthly, and flipping through those pages really woke me up.”

(CUTTO: Michael Manson reeling in Doc Silver for a DDT; Shane Southern superkicking Joey Melton; Eli Flair in a wild exchange with Troy Windham; Sean Stevens suplexing Lindsay Troy; ends with a slo-mo of Dan Ryan standing on the second turnbuckle, throwing the CSWA Unified Title over his shoulder)

CASTOR: “I saw an industry that moved on without me. Old stars, rising stars, new prospects...Castor Strife had been forgotten. Maybe he wasn’t known to begin with. I wasn’t a has-been, but a never-was.”

“This isn’t something I speak about freely. I’ve only alluded to it, but I thought you should know something about what made me, Dan.”

“When I asked you a while back to name all of your titles and accomplishments, I was being facetious. The truth is, I know your resume quit well. When you were out conquering the planet, climbing buildings and swatting down airplanes, I was a lowly anonymous reading your CV in the back of a magazine from the discomfort of a halfway house.”

“And Dan...I don’t remember reading a sentence with your name in it that didn’t include some merit or accomplishment.”

(FLASHCUTTO: Scenes of Dan Ryan’s greatest victories)

“Dan Ryan – CSWA Unified Champion.”

“Dan Ryan – GXW World Champion.”

“Dan Ryan – NFW Champion.”

“Dan Ryan – Rebel Pro World Champion.”

CASTOR: “Like every other man who thought he was owed something, you went out there and targeted the measuring stick of every relevant – and a few irrelevant – wrestling organization.”

“Just like I did, when I was the name that time forgot. As soon as I got clean, I chartered a course that included every World Championship that counts, and even the Ultratitle should it resurface again.”

“I made a five year plan of sorts, even before NFW re-signed me. You know how the story goes, but I’ll say it again for those who don’t: I re-emerged, and won everything under the sun. NFW World Champion, PRIME Universal Champion, A1E World Champion, 2012 Ultratitle Champion.”

“Some of the names I beat to get there include Impulse, Dorchester Stratton, Eric Dane, Eli Flair, Lindsay Troy, Joey Melton, Anarky, and Troy Windham himself.”

(Sits back, turns his palms up)

CASTOR: “That’s right, I’m committing the sin of LISTING, the one we said we wouldn’t break. But I don’t think any of this makes me your better; just your equal.”

“That cell; that magazine without my name in it; those substances I scored in parking lots while you won gold and all my friends and enemies prospered, those substances that made me an avatar for a greedy little demon with a one-track mind; that phone call from Sully...”

“...that’s what makes me your better. That’s what you lack, champion. All determination, and no perspective. Like a car without a driver, you’re only destined for brick walls.”

(CUTTO: Castor walking down the streets of Van Nuys, looking straight ahead, oblivious of the people around him)

CASTOR: (V/O) “Everything about your legacy to this point has hinged on one gold trinket after another. Throwing it all into your son’s sandbox doesn’t change that. You are who you are.”

“To proclaim your desire to be remembered by history while simultaneously...ripping it off the wall and putting it in the hands of children, that’s careless arrogance. Not even I would stoop that low. This match is above merits, but let’s not pretend that those merits didn’t make this all possible. And let’s not dream that don’t matter going forward. They do; they should.”

“Your attempt to disregard old history only dooms you to be a relic of it.”

(CUTTO: Castor staring up at a lit movie theatre marquee)

CASTOR: (V/O) “Perhaps you don’t want to be reminded of the past, because it’s an unfavorable comparison to where you’re at now. But the fact is, you’re the same man who won all those championship titles, lacking in the very humility you seek to impose on others because you won’t face the reality of your diminished stature.”

“Me? I’m two months removed from waking up in a pit of broken glass. A contraption of my own making, sent there by my greatest rival. Everything I worked for lain around me in pieces and shards.”

“Does that make me weaker, in your mind? I say you were better off facing me when I was unbeaten. The last time I walked out of hell, I took over the industry.”

“You, Dan...you’re one-dimensional. It’s a great dimension to have, but it’s ALL you have.”

“You are dangerous when carrying a hammer, but what else can you do? Hammer that nail, hammer that nail...”

“Can you saw an appendage off, and weld on a crown?”

(CUTTO: Castor sitting on the motel bed, looking at the camera while rubbing the bandage taped to the side of his head)

CASTOR: “I am not your nail. I am a temple of pain. Your hammer will break a few boards, and you might even knock down a wall or two, but eventually...your arm will grow tired, your knees will give out, and you will succumb to my horror.”

“And while falling from grace has only proven to strengthen me, it will kill you off, because all you have is the ego, Herr Ego Buster.”

“I have no problem with overcompensation, as you so rightly point out, but don’t lob that charge at me when you’re out attacking every relevant champion of the last five years every time your name isn’t mentioned in the same breath.”

“You publicly deem yourself to be the best in the world, while owning and operating an organization of Top 10 competitors who you don’t compete with. How you muster the nerve to put a World Championship belt on somebody in one arena while labeling yourself NUMBER ONE in the world somewhere else is jarringly arrogant.”

“Monument to ego? EPW is the Sphinx, the Great Pyramid, and the entire Giza fucking Plateau compared to anything I could ever dream up. The only other man with that kind of chutzpah is Eddie Mayfield, your sworn mortal enemy.”

(Throws up hands)

CASTOR: “C’est la vie. Just another puppet master with a hard-on to command another’s fate.”

“I don’t want to run the world though, Dan. I want to decontrol the system, and watch free-men build statues to me out of love. Is that so wrong?”

“Fuck NFW. Fuck EPW, and CSWA, and every other loose wagon. One thing that four years in the belly of the beast will teach you, is to never let your fate wind up at the bottom of a bottle, at the edge of a needle, or in the hands of a slave-master. I’ll burn the farm, free the serfs, and the master will PAY ME every red cent and his daughter too.”

“You asked me for this match, and I made it possible. You want history? You’ll have that too. But I don’t guarantee satisfaction, Dan. That you’ll have to live without the rest of your life, trying to figure out what exactly I did to get it back from within a literal and figurative prison.”

(FLASH CUTTO: Spilled bottle of pills; woman dancing on stage; empty bottle smashing slo-mo at a motel wall)

CASTOR: “We’ve gone through our similarities, but this is where we differ, Dan.”

“You’re headed to Dallas by way of your front porch in Houston.”

“Castor Strife goes to Dallas up from a bed of broken glass.”

“Unlike so many in this business, I choose not to free myself of history. I’m walking into your home state ARMED with it.”

(FADEOUT)
 

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