Your screen flickers for a moment before the PPW logo appears, then changes to a modified version of the same logo that reads. “Dinucci is PPW”. The shot flickers again for a moment before fading in slowly on a wide shot of a run down looking apartment. The room is tidy and clean enough but there’s signs of aging on the walls and around the windows, as well as the carpeting starting to fray in certain places.

The walls are painted white, but nicotine stains have left them with a yellow taint in places, with the same effect being visible on the roof. The carpet remains blue, but wear and age has caused it to become dull, fraying beneath room ways, and near the chairs, and the large brown leather settee, which seems to be brand new. It faces a large plasma screen Television which isn’t turn on. There’s very little noise in the room, a quiet rush of traffic outside and a man faintly shouting advertisements for fruit and Vegetables in a North Eastern English Accent.

The door furthest from the camera seems to lead to a Kitchen, which looks old, but practically untouched. The appliances specifically, look pre-historic, but un-used. It looks like it was decorated in the 80’s and no-one has been in it since, like a scene out of a style museum or something. Regardless of the apartments dated appearance, and roughness around the edges it looks comfortable enough and like it serves its purpose as a living quarters.

Whilst it’s not the first thing you notice, strangely for a home there’s nothing personalised in the room, no pictures of the owner or his/her family, no personal items like clothing or even video cassettes, DVD’s, CD Albums. No computer games, or news papers, no magazines.. No Posters. There’s not even a pattern on the carpet or the curtains.

Distant Voice, gradually getting closer:
You actually live here?

There’s a pause, perhaps a silent response from whoever the distant voice is speaking to.

Voice
I… don’t get me wrong, I just….

The door nearest the camera swings open as Johnny Dinucci and William Stone enter the room, Stone’s coat swinging by his feet as he enters. Johnny Dinucci wears an Italian Suit, his black ray bans hanging from the collar of his Black Tailored Silk Shirt. Dinucci looks around the room a semi disgusted, semi intrigued look on his face. Stone just looks tired, his shoulders arching forward as he sinks down in the settee, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. Shortly after sitting down he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his inside pocket and lights one. He looks up at Johnny Dinucci.

Stone
You just what?

Dinucci looks back at Stone and furrows his brow in confusion. Dinucci shakes his head and shrugs indicating to Stone that he’s lost track of what he was saying.

Stone
Don’t get me wrong I just, then lots of looking around thinking how could he live in this shit whole… You just what?

Dinucci nods and continues what he was saying before.

Dinucci
Right…

He looks around.

Dinucci
You know this place is a real shit whole.

Stone cracks a grin as he takes a drag from his cigarette.

Stone
Yeah it is.

Dinucci
I pay you better than this right?

Stone rolls his eyes. And nods toward the TV and pats the couch he’s sitting on.

Stone
Real Spartan huh?

Dinucci looks highly confused.

Dinucci
Spartan?

Stone
You know… those guys from Spart.

Stone shrugs his shoulders and sits up straight.

Stone
The couch, the TV, the fridge full of beer and the cupboards full of McCoy’s. That’s all I need in this place. This is where I come to relax, watch the Football. I live upstairs.

Dinucci nods in understanding.

Dinucci
Ah, so you rent the place upstairs too?

Stone smirks.

Stone
I own the whole building JD.

Dinucci and Stone laugh.

Stone continues
And the other floors are a little more fitting to a man of my monetary disposition.

He grins and walks into the Kitchen, opening the immaculate fridge pulls out two Cold Budweiser’s and heads back to the other room.

Stone
But this..

He raises his arm and moves it around him in a revealing gesture.

Stone
This is my sanctuary. I wouldn’t make you sleep in it boss don’t you worry.

Both crack a smirking grin as Stone hands his employer a beer, then takes his seat again, sinking into the leather. He takes a long slow drink. Dinucci does the same.

Dinucci
What’d you think of the super bowl?

Stone dismissively
I don’t watch that shit.

Dinucci confused
You just said, this is where you came to watch the football.

Stone
Real football man, Arsenal, Spurs, Man United.

Dinucci in realisation.
Soccer?

Stone smirking again
Sure, Soccer… you know it’s quite fitting that a nation that prides itself on it’s virility should strap on 50 pounds of protective gear just to play rugby.

Dinucci takes another drink, a half smile across his face. The camera moves around the silent William Stone, you sit in your comfortable chair looking on at the unbeaten Stone, you look into his eyes. They’re glazed over slightly, he continues to stair into space beer gripped tightly between his hands. As you look into those big blue eyes you find yourself drawn in, you feel like you’re getting closer and closer, till eventually you’re inside his head, you quickly see that Stone wasn’t just staring, he was having somewhat of a vision.

The vision is that of two torn and mangled bodies, interlocked in a vicious and bloody battle. One of those is William Stone, cuts and tears in his face, seep blood readily down his neck, his ripped, almost shredded silk shirt hangs from his body, soaked in his own blood. His platinum blond hair, is stained red by the fresh oxygen saturated blood of his heart. His eyes are wide and bright, the smile on his face, is that of someone in paradise and he drops his fist down one last time, into the face of Krazy Kristopher.

Who’s condition is even worse than that of William Stone. Cuts on his head and body appear to have bled then healed before being torn back open, several times. He lies limp against the knee in his back, which is holding him up for the repeated blows to the head from the savage and seemingly demented William Stone. Stone raises his arms in the centre of the ring, looking around to see that there is no-one left in the arena. Just two warriors alone in the middle of the ring, bloodied and beaten. He looks down back over the beaten and bruised body beneath him and sees it’s now Tre Crawford, he blinks with a look of concern, then allows his sick grin to creep back over his face as his own blood drips from his torn and mangled body onto the face of Tre Crawford.

At that very moment, something comes to you, a realization of sorts…. William Stone is in this for himself, the glory seeks is for his own benefit. He stands with Tre Crawford and Johnny Dinucci now because, it serves to better his position, but when he beats Krazy Kristopher on Wednesday, and you get a rather overpowering feeling that he will, that whoever he faces at the battle for supremacy, be it Jesy Blue or Tre, he will pull no punches. As for now, Tre and Stone are somewhat of an allegiance. Team Dinucci holds strong, make no mistake, when the time comes… friendships mean nothing to this man.

You shudder as you feel somehow ejected with force from the mind of William Stone, he sits as he was a moment ago, beer in hand, eyes glazed over, staring into seemingly nothingness. A grin sneaks over his face as he takes a drink from the bottle of Budweiser in his hand.