COMMERCIAL: THE BATTLE FOR PRIME PT. 2

A voice over buzzing, vibrating gray. A cadence familiar. Eastern Bloc. 

Voice: Hatred. Some use it for fuel to succeed. Others, they need something far worse. An unsporting advantage. 

Through the whirlwind of static and chop, home recording footage. Amateur wrestling mats. A timestamp in the corner, changing with each shot. An aggressive, wide eyed kid charging forward, manhandling those before them. Roaring. Flexing. Cody Covington makes his debut on national television. 

Voice: An unnatural advantage.

Look upon the hypodermic needle, its tip oozing a glistening oil.

Voice: Like father…

The visage of Brandon Youngblood comes to focus, yelling, roaring. Hurting others. Suplexes. A machine of pain. 

Voice: Like son…

The needle sinks into the muscle of a thigh, the hammer descending.

Voice: Some don’t need such measures.

The form of Ivan Stanislav, jogging in the unforgiving Russian cold, can be seen. Vapor pours from him. It’s as though he is unbothered, barely even breathing heavily.

Voice: Some fight not with hatred in their heart, but love.

Charitable dinners. State sponsored events. Ivan is practically dapper in his presentation. A picture of true, rugged manliness.

Voice: Some…would never poison their children with lies.

A quick cut from the face of Brandon, to Cody in his wrestling, interspliced with the sinking of the needle and the pushing of the plunger.

Voice: Ivan Stanislav isn’t the some.

His arms fold across his chest. He’s powerful. Majestic. Pristine. Inevitable.

Voice: Ivan Stanislav…is the one.