XIV. Intro Of The Problem Solver.

[COULSON]

-- JAMES GRIGGS RILEY IS SEEN IN AN EMPTY GYMNASIUM. GRUNTING WITH EFFORT AS HE LIFTS A 550 POUND BARBELL FROM THE FLOOR TO THIGH HEIGHT. AFTER HOLDING IT IN PLACE FOR A MOMENT, HE DROPS THE BAR AND REPEATS THE PROCESS. HE HOLDS THE BAR AT THIGH HEIGHT AGAIN, AND AS HE RELAXES HIS BODY, DROPS THE BAR TO THE FLOOR WITH A CLANGING THUD. THROUGH HEAVY BREATHS, JGR WIPES SWEAT FROM HIS FACE WITH A TOWEL BEFORE TOSSING IT OFF CAMERA. HE THEN SIDE EYES THE CAMERA, BEFORE TURNING TO IT FULLY.

"You know what? Everybody is about to learn a little bit about JGR. PRICE, my man, you're the first one up to bat. Unfortunately for you, you're gonna be the one who learns first-hand what I am all about. After I'm through with you, everyone will know. Take this match as me puttin' everyone on notice, sending a message plain as day that you…”

-- JGR POINTS A LARGE FINGER AT THE CAMERA.

“DO NOT MESS! WITH TEAM TOUCHDOWN!"

-- JGR’S INTIMIDATING BARK ECHOES.

“What everyone is gonna learn is that I’m not an IPW talent. I didn’t sit in an office with Jason Long. I was not recruited by Jason Long. I was not scouted by Jason Long. I’m not a pro wrestler. I’m the guy who gets sent in when someone messes with the wrong people. That’s where you’re at, PRICE. See, when I look at a guy like you, alls I see is a rabid animal. You’re tough, a fighter, thirsty for blood. The only problem with rabid animals is that sometimes they bite the wrong hand. You know what happens then, right?”

-- JGR MOCKS RAISING A FINGER GUN TO HIS HEAD.

“They get taken out back and have a lead slug slotted between their beady little eyes. That is exactly where you’re gonna end up come bell time. Just look at me!”

-- JGR STRIKES A MEAN POSE, FLEXING HIS RIPPLING MUSCLES.

“LOOK AT ME!!!”

-- HIS BOOMING VOICE ECHOES ONCE AGAIN.

“You really think that ya stand a chance?! Why?! Just ‘coz ya been around the block a few times? Just because you bled a little blood? Broken a couple of bones? You don’t even register a thought in my head you old, bald-headed, pudgy looking fuck. You and I are gonna get in the ring, and bless your little heart, you’re gonna try. That is something I can respect. You’re gonna fight me. But it ain’t gonna accomplish anything. All it'll accomplish is that you’ll die tired. You're a rabid dog, so I’m going to beat you like a rabid dog.”

“You wanna swing a chair? Swing for the fuckin' fences! You wanna try and stab me with a fork? You think I ain’t bled before?! Lotta people will look at this match up on paper and think that I’m walkin’ into your house, but what they don’t realize is that I’m walking in to demolish it!”

-- JGR LEANS BACK, RUBBING HIS HANDS TOGETHER.

“Some might call ya legend, some might talk about all the people you’ve beaten, all the belts you’ve won, like they mean anything to me. To me? You’re just another guy who has pissed off the wrong person, and I’m here to take you out. So, listen up, Doughboy. I’m gonna beat you like you’ve never been beaten. I’m gonna break ya like you’ve never been broken. I’m gonna leave you so jacked up that your kids won’t be able to stomach lookin’ at ya. When all’s said and done? Mr. Touchdown can pull the plug whenever he wants, or he can keep ya hangin’ on to teach you and anyone else a lesson.”

-- JGR SHRUGS WITH A HALF SMIRK.

“You know, PRICE, ya boss done ya a big favor; No I ain’t talkin’ bout barring Touchdown from ringside, like I’d need him there anyway, I’m talkin’ about the stip. Your stip. Your bread and butter. No rules. Street style. I wouldn’t really consider it a favor though. More like the final nail in your extra wide coffin. I don’t give a shit that you’ll walk around, beating your chest, and calling yourself “Messiah of Hardcore” like it means anything. It’s a two way street. It goes both ways. You got no limits, and neither do I!”

-- JGR RAISES OPEN HANDS.

“See? I don’t need to swing a chair. I don’t need to twirl around a bamboo cane. I don’t need to bark and bite. All I need to break ya?”

-- HE CLENCHES HIS HANDS INTO GIANT FISTS.

“Self. Explanatory.”

-- LOWERING HIS FISTS, JGR SMIRKS.

“But, if you’re the type of guy I think you are, ain’t nothing I say will sink in. You're as dense as you are round. You’ll look in the mirror, you’ll put on a brave face, you’ll act like I’m just some snot nosed rat coming in to make a name at your expense. But I know that ya old and ya broke. You're hurt. Deep down you know you ain’t got a damn chance coz a guy like me? Guy like me ain’t gonna give you a chance. You’ll be limping into Adrenaline under your own power, but you’ll be taken out on a stretcher. Or even a body bag. I get paid to hurt ya, I get paid to break ya. I aim for customer satisfaction. You know what you are, PRICE?"

"You're a problem."

"I fix 'em."