When last we heard from Kirkshaw, he was getting in the Survival Champion's face, testing him. Now that new cameras are rolling, we fade in on more shots of Star Valley, Arizona, the hometown of the new challenger to the Survival Championship of the world, Gabriel Kirkshaw, who can be seen sitting in front of an old, closed-down storefront. And once again, he's got that smug, white toothy smile plastered across his face.
Kirkshaw: Y'see, Neilson, I admit--I hold up my right hand in the air in shame--that I was wrong to come onto your turf and ruffle your feathers. Maybe it was wrong for me to go someplace that I didn't have no business being at. And yet...
Kirkshaw stands up, the smile disappearing. His expression, his demeanor, is changing from snide cockiness to...it's hard to tell between jealousy or acting as if unappreciated.
Kirkshaw: ...that is exactly the reason why I wanted to challenge you. All my life I've been treated as the small, insignificant, innocent pup that had to learn his place in the world! That's the only way it's worked in this stinkin' town!
He wags his finger before whipping his hand back down to his side.
Kirkshaw: But as of this week, on Precision, not anymore! No more disrespect, no more of the high and mighty kicking me down when I'm low--no, I'm going to beat you for your Survival. Championship. Of the. World! --oh it feels so good to say that--and I'm going to be the one to shove in all of those measly, grubby little fans' faces what it's like to win gold on your first night in this stinkin' company!
His smile starts to return as he spreads his arms, basking in his imaginary fame.
Kirkshaw: At that point, I'll be on the verge of rockstardom...and Neilson...we'll both be famous.
As the shot fades to black, the last things that can be seen before everlasting darkness are the sparkle, the whiteness of Kirkshaw's teeth.
