Websters 3:16

“Conquest.”

The scene opens up.

Craig Cogan stands, his eyes staring into the distance. There is a moment's pause, which at first seems to be for dramatic effect, but quickly this facade fades when the bearded man jumps back to life. Hands patting at his pockets, he finally withdraws a tiny sheet of paper.

“Webster's Dictionary defines conquest as ‘to bring under one's control by force of arms’…” he nods his head before tossing the scrap aside, tapping his temple. “And this got me thinkin’. Here I am, a duck out of water, walking into the enemy’s terrain with nothing but me, myself, and my mighty, mighty muscles to keep me safe!”

The Peoples Champion takes this moment to pose, much longer than necessary. He ends with his muscles flexed beside his head. “I know what you’re thinking: ‘But Craig, you got those beefy biceps! Those terrific triceps! Those liquid lats! Craig Cogan, what could you possibly have to fear?’”

The People’s Champion points directly between his eyes, which cross to lock onto the finger. 

“Well first of all, fuck you! Who do you think you are to question me? I’m the Whole Cogan and you’re nothing but a voice in my head! You think I listen to every little thought that passes through my brain? I don’t think so, buddy!” He turns the fury of his finger towards the frame. “And as for fear? Well, I only have two fears: being mauled by a bear and peach citrus Fresca!”

Craig shudders.

“No - I’m not afraid: I’m smart! I’m so smart that I came up with a plan using all the brains I have! See I said to myself, self?” He points to himself again, his other finger pointing past, “What the fuck do you want?”

The pointer aimed at himself jabs him in the collarbone.

“Relax buddy, I’m just trying to tell these people why I have this saddle!” The hand pointing away holds itself up in surrender before slowly lowering to lift a homemade horse saddle, complete with a pair of punching glove guns glued to the side. “See, I’ve studied the tapes! I could go in and get my grapple on, but one man can only do so much. My muscles, as muscly as they may be, are minuscule compared to my mighty mind!”

He pokes at his temple once more.

“I sought out a man, or what some might even call a monster!” He laughs to himself. “Having him by my side will give me the advantage I need in the ring and when I ride him into battle? You better believe that we will show you the definition of the word ‘conquest’!” 

He holds a hand up dramatically, pointer finger aimed towards the sky. His face drops - then his eyes - before he located the tiny slip of paper, dropping down to pick it up from its place on the ground. 

“To bring under one's control by force of arms!” The bearded man flips it over to make sure there is nothing on the other side before tossing it away, “And who's got more arms or more right to have them than a bear?”

Craig calls out over his shoulder.

“You got that open yet, Gram-Gram?” 

The camera pans to where his elderly ally stands with a pair of bolt cutters latched onto a massive padlock, one slippered heel pressed against the side of the wall. She shakes with effort, pulling with everything she has. Craig stands behind her - arms crossed across his chest - tapping his toe. Finally, the metal breaks free and the woman tumbles backwards into the People’s Champion. He shoves her aside, pulling the door wide. In the corner of the cage, a massive mound of blue fur gently moves up and down, a deep, rumbling snore accompanying the movement.

“Alright…here we go Gram-Gram,” he smiles over to the woman, holding the saddle up, “Time for us to arm some bears.”

Craig ducks into the door. The snoring stops briefly, the creature shifting in the corner. 

“It’s amazing to see you trying to conquer your fears!” Grandma says loudly from behind him. Craig starts to turn, just as she pushes the steel cage door back shut. The clank of the metal causes the massive blue bear to stir, a deep grumble escaping its throat. The People’s Champion instantly drops the saddle, one of the punching bag guns going off directly into his groin. One hand slaps over his genitals, the other his mouth. There is the tsk of a carbonated can opening that causes him to look up to see Gram Gram raising a yellow-labeled Fresca to her lips. 

The camera pans down, just as he gives in and begins to scream, hovering over a small plaque which reads, ‘Beware: Err Bear’ before the scene faces to black.