The scene opens with Justin Smith walking down Ocean Drive in South Beach, palm trees swaying in the breeze and neon lights flickering even in the early evening. He pauses in front of the famous Clevelander Hotel, leaning on the railing as the camera crew follows. Justin pulls out his phone and dials Casey Williams once again, his trainer’s voice coming through with a mix of sternness and encouragement.
Justin-Casey, the closer we get to this match with Felix, the more I feel the fire inside me burning. I’m going to tear him apart right here in Miami, and there is nothing Felix can do to stop me.
Casey-I can hear the intensity in your voice, Justin, but remember, intensity without focus can backfire. Felix knows you’re dangerous, so he’s going to play defense. Don’t give him an opening.
Justin-You think I’m going to give him an opening? No. I’ll make him wish he’d never signed that contract. This is my town now, Casey, and Felix is going to leave it broken and beaten as my first victim on my way to some gold.
Casey-I believe you, but don’t underestimate him. He’ll pull tricks, cheap shots, whatever it takes. Stick to the plan you’ve been working on with Andrew, Ivan, and Hitamashii.
Justin-Trust me, I’ll deliver. I’ve got new weapons in my arsenal. Felix won’t know if he’s fighting a powerhouse, a technician, or a madman. I’ll be all three at once, and he won’t know what hit him when I get done with him.
The camera lingers on Justin’s confident smirk before he ends the call and gestures for the cameraman to follow him further down the strip. The scene fades to black.
The next morning, Justin is shown arriving at a rundown warehouse gym in Little Havana. The gym has seen better days, but inside, Andrew Garcia, Ivan Darrell, and Hitamashii are waiting with sparring mats already set up. Justin steps inside, tossing his gym bag aside, ready for another grueling session.
Andrew-You ready to push yourself harder than yesterday?
Justin-You guys know I was born ready. Have I not shown up and put in the effort every time we train together?
Ivan-Good point, and today we’re focusing on endurance instead of performing moves. Felix won’t go down easy, and if this match drags, you need to be just as strong in the final minute as you are in the first.
Justin nods as the three men circle him like predators, forcing him to defend against a flurry of strikes and grapples. Sweat drips down Justin’s face as he fights back, blocking Ivan’s punches before countering with a clothesline.
Hitamashii-That’s it! Use that power to shift the momentum, but don’t gas yourself out. Control the pace! Make sure that when you face Felix that you control the pace, not him.
Justin-He won’t be able to keep up with me and what I have planned, I can promise you that.
Andrew smirks, grabbing Justin by the wrist and whipping him into the ropes, only for Ivan to catch him with a dropkick. Justin slams into the mat but gets right back up, the intense fire burning in his eyes.
Andrew-That’s the spirit. Felix will try to knock you down, but it’s how fast you get back up that matters.
Justin-Knock me down ten times, and I’ll get up eleven. Felix isn’t ready for that.
The sparring continues, with Justin pushing himself to the limit. After nearly an hour, he’s drenched in sweat and a little blood but standing tall, glaring at the camera with defiance.
Andrew-Good work today. You’re getting sharper, quicker. If you keep this up, Felix is done for.
The group fist bumps, Justin breathing heavy but smiling with determination. The scene fades to black.
Later that night, the camera finds Justin sitting at an outdoor café in Little Havana, the sounds of salsa music and the aroma of Cuban coffee filling the air. He leans forward, staring at the camera with that same dangerous glare as before as he orders a rum.
Justin-Felix “The Cat” Hernandez… you’ve talked a big game, but your time is up. You see, while you were busy running your mouth, I was here in Miami, training harder than ever, sharpening my claws for this hardcore showdown. And when that bell rings, there’s no escape for you. Not in the ring, not in this city, not anywhere. You think you’re cunning? You think you’re sly? I’m going to rip that smug grin off your face and replace it with a mask of agony by the time I finish with you. I’ll take every chair, every table, every piece of steel in that arena, and I’ll use it to carve my victory into your body. You’ll be a walking reminder of what happens when you cross me. This isn’t just about me finally winning a match against you. This is about ending your career permanently. SCW doesn’t need you anymore, Felix. They need warriors, fighters, survivors — not washed-up cats clinging to their last life. I’ll do what no one else has had the guts to do. I’ll put you down for good. It’s too bad you can’t take that bum Bill Barnhart and his ugly ass wife Bea with you when I get done with your sorry ass!
Justin lets out a sinister cackle before ordering a plate of Ropa Vieja and a side of maduros, raising his glass of rum that has just arrived in a mock toast.
Justin-We know you are the perfect example of wasted potential wrapped in false nostalgia. For a few years he was dominant, sure—but instead of building a legendary career, he became the poster child for decline. Felix was once hailed as the King, but now he has quickly turned into a court jester, hanging on past his prime, dragging down this great franchise known as Sin City Wrestling which desperately needed a true ace. His velocity vanished, his dominance evaporated, and all that was left was a guy living off one perfect game and a reputation he could no longer back up. He’s remembered more for his former glory in other promotions than for what he actually became here in SCW—a cautionary tale of brilliance squandered and greatness that fizzled into mediocrity. Enjoy your last meal as an SCW star, Felix. Because after I’m through with you, you won’t
be dining anywhere but a hospital bed.
He begins humming “Madness” by Liliac once again, his sinister grin fixed on the camera as the screen fades to black.
