The Long and Winding Road

[Andrew Jacobsen]

This HAS to end.

This cycle has to end, Spike. For both of our sakes. That's why I'm glad you put the option of an Iron Man match out there. I'm glad to have the chance to put this to bed for good. We need a coda, a definitive end to things...and the worst part? Until a few weeks ago, I thought we'd found one.

I thought that Freedom Fight Night marked a new chapter in the Book of Kane. I thought you'd found the person inside yourself that others have seen, that I swore up and down to you for months existed. But then you and Nighthawk clashed at Extreme Endurance. You put him down, in a match he asked for. You beat him fair and square, Spike. I'm not mad about that. That's how we handle things in this line of work. We go out there and we beat the hell out of each other face-to-face.

No, what got me angry was the reminder of just how two-faced and spineless you really are. You acted like a man who could understand contrition because you were convinced that you could be a better man. But the moment the going got tough, the moment you didn't have the success you wanted, instead of throwing your shoulder down and moving forward, you backslid. You fell back into the same behaviors you always do, and then you acted like it was some sort of moral reckoning. It was just being honest with who you are...

Spike, if this is the honest you, then I regret every second I spent on you.

I regret throwing myself into an impossible fight to save a man who never wanted to be saved, needed to be saved, or could be saved. You can't put in the hard work to be a better man, Spike, because the sacrifices—yes, the SACRIFICES—you have to make are too hard. You want redemption, and you don't want to have to deal with the fact that rebuilding yourself from the ground up to achieve it is hard. You're going to stumble along the way, you're going to lose some matches that the old you would have probably won. But the end result, the person you become, that's worth it. At least it was to me.

That's why I took my kick out the door almost two years ago as a kick in the ass. That's why I went and broke myself on the wheel in Japan, working grueling schedules and long nights for just enough to get by, because I saw the person that I had become in IWF, I saw what my career was shaping up to be, and I made a choice to change. It was long, and painful, and there were a lot of days where I asked myself if it was worth it. And every day, I answered the same way: it has to be.

From Anjo, Aichi Prefecture to Gibsonville, North Carolina, from Tijuana to Oberhausen, I threw myself at the wall as hard as I could, picked up the pieces of what fell to the floor, and put myself back together, one agonizing bit at a time. It was like trying to reset a bone that hadn't healed right, constant pain and wait, recuperation and recovery, but it was worth it. It was oh so worth it.

That path led me back to IWF. It led me to the Roulette. It led me to the Imperial Title. And it's led me to a realization. I'm not your father confessor, Spike. I don't owe you the emotional labor you seem to be asking out of me. Nobody does. Honestly, Pandora must have the patience of a saint to deal with you.

Oh. Right. I suppose I should address the elephant in the room, shouldn't I?

---

Monday Night Sacrifice
October 16, 2017

The first thing he felt was the slap.

Piercing and sudden with a sound that echoed like a gunshot in the cramped confines of the trainer's room, it snapped Andrew's head back, startling the already wounded Imperial Champion. Danielle's voice hits like a whip crack, lashing into Andrew with as much ferocity as her hand had. "What in the FUCK is wrong with you, Andrew?! What was that shitshow out there?!"

Andrew stood up from the trainer's table, shouldering past Danielle and making his way for the door. "He's pushed the envelope one too many goddamned times, Dani. I burned every chip I had to get this rematch, and that's how the son of a bitch repays me? I don't want to give him an ounce to work with."

Danielle grabbed his shoulder, spinning him on his heel and shouting up at him. "Then you FUCKED UP, because you just gave him and EVERYONE who ever wanted a chance to question you fucking OCEANS of material! What in the fuck were you THINKING bringing his marriage into things?!" She threw her hands up in dismay, pacing around with a look of frustration on her face. "Congratulations. You just gave up the moral high ground."

As Danielle paced, Andrew's eyes flicked back and forth, rerunning the events of the night through his mind. His eyes widened, and his head sank, hand coming up to massage his temples as he exhaled. "Dammit." he muttered, the weight of his words finally settling on him. "I never would. Everyone knows that."

"It doesn't MATTER if everyone knows that." Danielle shook her head, exhaling through her teeth with a noise that resembled a hiss. "What matters is that you said something live on television, in front of the entire world, that makes it look like you threatened Spike Kane's wife. Never mind the fact that you'd never hurt Pandora in a thousand years, anyone who doesn't like you has the sound bite they need. In the age of social media, that's all it takes."

Andrew groaned, thudding his head against the wall. He immediately winced, forehead still sore from the uncharacteristic headbutt he'd dealt to Spike earler, and turned around, slumping against the wall. "So what do we do? What CAN we do?"

"Stop letting Spike dictate the narrative." Danielle replied, eyes fixed to her phone where she was typing up a storm to God knows whom. "He goaded you into this. He goaded you into the Iron Man match. He pushed you until you said something born of hatred and frustration, and he whipped around and played the victim. Like he has all goddamn year." She shook her head, disgust writ across her face.

Andrew exhaled slowly, looking at his hands. They shook uncontrollably, and something in the back of Andrew's mind registered that it was with fear, not adrenaline or anger. He opened his mouth to speak, but found his throat blocked, instead swallowing a gulp of air and closing his eyes. Andrew opened them again a moment later, shaking his head. "...I remember this feeling, Dani. This is Body Count, this is Young Guns. This is everything I've been running from. I can't be this." Andrew's gut fell out from underneath him as he spoke, leaning back into the wall as beads of sweat formed on his brow. "Not again."

Danielle looked back at Andrew, and her hardened gaze managed to give way slightly. Her reply, though, carried every bit of the razor edge her look had. "Then don't be it. Use it. Purge it. Let it all out, Andy. Let this be your goddamn baptism by blood. Beat every single one of those demons out of yourself and into Spike. He wants to be the bastard? Let him. Leave him behind. Spike Kane doesn't get to tell you how to live your life. He's no fucking role model."

"Am I?" Andrew asked rhetorically, cocking an eyebrow. "No matter what I do, all anyone has to do is bring up one of the stupid things I've done in the past and it's like nothing else matters. It's like nobody believes that anyone can change anymore."

Danielle rolled her eyes, walking up to Andrew again as she put away her phone. "Then take all the gotcha callout culture bullshit rolling around in your head and toss it out the door. Actions speak louder than words, and when people look at your actions and look at his? They'll know the real story." Danielle reached up, tilting Andrew's head up just enough to meet her gaze. "You're a fucking hero, Andrew. Every single day, you choose to be a hero. That's why Spike hates you so much. You're strong enough to make the choice he never could."

Andrew sighed, pulling Danielle to him and into a hug. The two stood against the wall, Andrew cradling Danielle against himself. He unconsciously turned their bodies so that he shielded her from the door, murmuring down to her. "I hope you're right."

"Of course I am." she murmured back, a coy grin on her lips. "I'm always right. That's why you hired me. That's why you're dating me. Well, that and my ass is fantastic."

Andrew laughed despite himself, shaking his head and chuckling as he stroked a thumb along Danielle's temple with a faint smile. "Got me again." His eyes, though, betrayed none of the humor. Instead, his eyes seemed wearier, like those of a man decades older, staring over Danielle's shoulder and into the wall. We fade away on the two, still holding each other in the empty trainer's room, the noise and bustle of the arena muffled by the walls around them.

---

I've had to hear it for the last two weeks. How could you say what you said? How could you threaten Pandora? She's a good person, she's better than you are, how DARE you? So I'm going to address the issue. I'm going to deal with it head-on, in the only way that's really appropriate.

Pandora, if what I said angered, threated, hurt, or upset you, I sincerely apologize. I would never wish harm on you, no matter how soulless and loathsome your fiancé is. His sins aren't your own, and anyone who resorts to those sort of tactics to hurt someone is the lowest form of coward. Again, apologies about your fiancé.

The reason I'm addressing you, Pan, and not Spike here is that you're the one that has any right to be offended. Your husband put his hands on Sin when he broke into the Wrestle Factory. He wants to twist in the wind because the only way his brain could interpret what I said as a threat to you, he can wrap himself up like that. I'd like to think you know me better, Pandora. You know the company I keep. Would any of them associate with me if I were really that kind of person? Emma would beat me senseless, and that's just for starters.

This isn't your match, Pandora. And I don't get to tell you how to live your life. But...as someone who's seen you progress and grow over the last few years, as someone who proudly calls themselves a fan of yours...you can do better than Spike Kane. You deserve better. You deserve better than a two-faced duplicitous sadist who only cares about himself and his legacy. You see parts of him nobody else gets to, Pan. Maybe he's not the man I think he is. But if there's truly good in there anymore, he's done such a good job of putting on the godly mask that I can't tell anymore. So I say it one more time...you deserve better.

Spike, you have lost. You have lost more than I have, and I won't argue that, now or ever. But your grief doesn't excuse your behavior. Being a bastard still makes you a bastard, not some übermensch icon who forges his own rules. You're not that special, Spike. None of us are that special. You act like you're some rallying beacon for the outcasts, the misfits, those who don't belong, someone for them to rally behind and lionize. And you are, for a lot of people. I hear people come through the door of the Performance Center all the time that cite you as an inspiration. You're their hero, Spike. And to some of those people, I'm everything you're not. They think I'm clean-cut, the corporate ideal, a vanilla PR flack who looks good enough to shove on TV and parade in front of the world but doesn't have the guts to stand up for anything important.

This match is me standing up for what I believe in. It's me going to absolute bloody war for an hour with the most sadistic, callous human being I have ever met. And I know it's going that hour. I know every single second is going to be a test of my strength, skill, and will. I'll need to use everything I know and then a little more to be victorious. And I will suffer to get there. I will be hurt, I may not walk away under my own power, but I will walk away with three things: the victory, the knowledge that Spike Kane was wrong about me, and the Imperial Championship. All Spike gets is to know that not everyone is like him.

I want to remind the world of the difference between us, Spike. I'm a hero. You're a villain. I am a good person, not inherently but because I make the hard choice to be every single day. I choose to push back and ignore every dark impulse that whispers in my ears, telling me to take the path of violence and cruelty. You're not, because you refuse to make that choice. You listen to those voices, you give in, you show your weakness where you should have so much strength. You ignore the voice that tries to tell you the path to walk, even as you swear it's the voice that's most important of all. You construct this double life, being one man outside the ring and something else, something you can barely call a man inside it. I can't live that kind of life. I can't be two people, Spike. I am who I am. I am Andrew Jacobsen, and I will never apologize for it or back down. Not in the face of overgrown bullies, not in the face corporate corruption, not in the face of conquering hordes, and not in the face of any self-proclaimed God.

Spike, you warp your worldview so that everyone else is the problem. You refuse to take any responsibility, lashing out about how nobody was there for you, nobody cared for you in the right way. You refused to be helped, Spike. You don't get to crucify the world because your reaction to outstretched hands was to slap them away. And in your delusion, Spike, you're the one who's right. Everyone else is a selfish monster. But out here in the real world?

We all recognize that you're the problem here. See you at October Revolution. It will not be civilized. It will not be simple. It will be bloody, ugly...and final. And at the end of the day, as I've reminded you time and time again, maybe you'll finally accept that I.

AM.

UNBREAKABLE.