Don't Run.

[Jay Stevens]

A cool breeze whisks through the night, the smell of sea salt filling the air. The skyline of Long Beach is alive with rich, warm lighting reflecting off of the bay over the pier. Standing atop one of the many roofs that dot that skyline is Jay Stevens.

“One foot in front of the other. Push forward into the smoke. Victory awaits on the other side.”

Stevens casts his gaze over the city, motioning with his hand outward.

"It can all be yours."

He pauses and takes a deep breath of the ocean air.

"That next step may be the most difficult. Wars are fought day after day, inch after inch, one battle following the next. And our next battle may be the greatest."

Jay Stevens and Leon Van Zandt have the opportunity before them to relieve The Bastards of their Wrestle: U.K. Tag Team Championships at New Years Brawl. Their partner, Oxford Osland, will battle Spike Kane to become the inaugural British Television Champion.

"Up to this point, the opposition we have faced has mostly been amongst the lawyers and magistrates as those with influence attempt to stop the mighty Dusty Griffith from setting foot in the United Kingdom.

In the ring, the challenges have been less than formidable. Our very first night we dismantled Donzig-Gun and instilled a fear in them that keeps Donzig up at night, knowing he can't even attempt a receipt. Hell, he's so twisted and distraught that he's back to fighting with Von Krauss and even helped Osland move forward!"

He guffaws into the night.

"The gauntlet showed us that the rest of the Tag Team division offered us no challenge either. Psycho Goth. Team Fairtex. Jakie Wentzel. All coming up short."

Jay takes a deep breath and snorts out through his nose.

"The Bastards."

He nods and shoots a sly grin.

"Rob Riot and Frank Windsor.

You are as good as you say you are, there's no denying that. Both of you act like bragadocious fools desperately clinging to any sense of relevance. See, a champion doesn't need to be his own publicist, his actions speak for themselves."

Jay begins to pace.

"But you are not champions. Sure, the belts are right there in your possession and maybe you even earned them at the beginning, but you spout off about these 'glorious eighteen months' where you have reigned dominant.

I counter that you have spent eighteen months hiding from challenges. Cherry-picking your opponents and scurrying away from a real fight when it's brought your way.

Until Leon Van Zandt and I made that impossible. We are at your doorstep and there's no escape."

He mimes a "knock-knock" motion.

"So here we are. New Year's Brawl. The Bastards versus… what are they calling us? 'The Black Hand'?"

Eyeroll.

"The Bastards, the unchallenged Tag Team Champions versus the most technically sound and most dangerous duo in the world today, the uncrowned champions, Leon Van Zandt and Jay Stevens."

Jay points to himself with his thumb extended.

"It's going to be a real fight, I'm not saying it isn't. I have acknowledged that you are good at what you do… we're just better.

Inside those ropes, where your mouths can't run and neither can your feet, we own you.

You know it. We know it.

Now all that's left is for us to show it.
And even though you should…

Don't run."

He takes a deep breath and looks out into the night sky, visualizing the victory with his reach.