Post by Andrew Jacobsen on May 27, 2018 18:24:23 GMT
This time last year, I was staring down the barrel of the biggest match of my life. Months, years of hard work had all built up to a single confrontation. The biggest and grandest prize in our entire sport was staring me in the face, and all I had to do was step between those ropes and beat a man who had a legitimate claim to being the Best in the World. It was a moment that would define my career, win or lose.
Thank God I won, huh?
The moment that bell rang, I knew my life was going to change. I knew with the belt around my waist came a bullseye on my back. I guess I didn't realize even then just how true that would be. People I considered friends stooped to lows I didn't want to comprehend in order to take it from me. I got battered and bruised, let down and frustrated, time and time again. I bled, I was banned from competition, I was beaten down and ambushed...but still, I persisted.
I had to watch as a young woman that had once been my biggest fan and a man I would have fought alongside until I couldn't stand anymore took that love, that trust and weaponized it against me. I watched as an old friend rose from his own ashes, determined to drag everything and everyone around us into the flames. I had to watch a dear friend almost have his passion, his livelihood ripped away by injury, and then I had to watch as not only the man who wounded him used it as a weapon, but the man who for better or for worse has defined the last year and a half of my life practically took everything from him. I stood face-to-face with a man who seized the highest of crowns for himself, a legend in any right. I stood across the ring from each of those men...
And they each fell. One. By. One.
The Age of Gods? They didn't form because they wanted to, they formed because they had to. Because Spike Kane and Angel Blake couldn't get the job done against me. It took two of the deadliest and most proficient competitors that have ever stepped foot inside a ring to tear that World Championship from around my waist, and the fact that they have run roughshod ever since is a failing that falls on my shoulders. So the fact that a chance to rectify my mistakes, atone for my failure, and take back what was stolen from me is in front of me? Well, it's very good news for me...
And very, very bad news for all of you.
"So, how about those honeymoon plans?" Danielle cocks an eyebrow at Andrew as they walk through the parking lot of Sam Boyd Stadium. Andrew has his bag slung over his shoulder, jostling with each step he takes. Andrew glances over at Danielle briefly before panicking and adjusting his route to avoid a pickup truck. Danielle shakes her head, clearly unimpressed. "You promised me you'd take time off after Night of the Immortals. We were going to have a proper honeymoon. You, me, and lots of wine in the Italian countryside."
"And we will." Andrew nods. "Just one more show to get through and then we're off. Pack your bags, here comes Tuscany." He looks troubled for a moment, stepping closer to Danielle as they walk. "What, were you afraid I was going to go back on it?"
"That's exactly what I was afraid of." Danielle nods, ignoring Andrew's shocked reaction. "I was afraid you'd win Joker in the Pack and decide you had to haunt the Age of Gods like some avenging angel, or do something stupid or heroic or crazy and get yourself hurt. Make us spend our honeymoon in a hospital room." She sighs. "I don't know, I just...it seems like the sort of thing that might happen, okay? You've got a track record."
Andrew hangs his head slightly, nodding. He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I know. But...this is different, I promise. You're more important than any of this. If you wanted me to turn around right now and head to the airport, we could. I'd spin an excuse for Verona, he can be mad at me when I get back."
Danielle stops in her tracks, slowly turning around and looking at Andrew with a look of utter bewilderment. She shakes her head slowly, forcing herself to stop gaping. "You wouldn't."
"I would." Andrew nods back at her, reaching out and taking her shoulders gently. "If you said so, we'd be gone. Just like that. Because I am going to do whatever it takes to make this marriage work, and if that means I've got to re-evaluate my work-life balance..." Andrew shrugs, smiling apologetically. "World Title shots come and go. There's only one you."
Danielle pauses, smiling warmly up at Andrew, and loops her arms around his neck. She stands on her toes, leaning up and whispering into Andrew's ear. "As your wife, that is incredibly sweet of you and has almost undoubtedly ensured you're getting laid tonight. As your manager, if you skipped out on the biggest show of the year for a dumb romantic gesture, I would be contractually obligated to kill you."
She rocks back on her heels, smirking, and Andrew blinks, a little taken aback by the straightforward nature of Danielle's reply. After a moment of silence, the smirk dissolves into a genuine smile again, and she reaches out, gently slugging Andrew in the shoulder. "Besides, I wouldn't ask that of you. I know how much Night of the Immortals means to you, and I wouldn't want you to miss it...and I'm pretty damn excited myself." She grins. "My wedding and becoming the manager of the Joker in the Pack in the span of a month? I went to business school with women that would have performed dark sacraments to get this kind of a gig. Pretty sure some of them did, too."
Andrew snorts, nodding, and starts walking again, Danielle smoothly keeping pace. "Alright. So, now that we've got that out of the way, what's the plan? Just go in and start suplexing everything that moves?"
"Pretty much." Danielle nods as they step onto the sidewalk, heading for the doors that lead into the locker room area of the stadium. "It's a multi-person ladder match, these things are always complete clusters. Use what brought you to the dance, don't do anything overly risky, and pick your spots." She reaches out, taking Andrew's hand in hers. "You're getting in there with five of the best IWF has to offer. Well, four of the best and Thaddeus."
"Don't underestimate him." Andrew cautions Danielle. "Anyone who acts the way he does is either a complete idiot, in which case he would have disposed of himself a long time ago, or is incredibly cunning and only pretending to be a complete idiot in order to bring our guards down. He's dangerous, just the same as any of them." He sighs, squeezing his wife's hand. "I know you've got administrative stuff to take care of. I'm going to use the gym. Give me a call if you need to get ahold of me, my phone's charged."
Danielle nods, snapping off a salute with a grin on her face. "Yes sir." Andrew shakes his head, laughing again in spite of himself, and Danielle herself can't resist a chuckle at the display. She steps up, giving him a brief kiss before stepping back again. "I love you, Andrew. See you later."
"I love you too, Dani." Andrew smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling ever-so-slightly. He reaches over, ruffling Danielle's hair before turning and breaking into a jog towards the door. Danielle reaches up, desperately trying to fix her hair, and lets out an annoyed grunt before walking towards the administrative entrance. We fade out on Andrew's laughter floating up and into the noon sky as we fade to white.
Five men. Each with something to prove. Each with something to say about why they're meant to be the Joker in the Pack. I've got history with most of you, and before we walk out of that arena at the end of the night, IF we walk out of that arena at the end of the night, we're all going to have a hell of a lot more.
I'm going to start with the wild card here, the one that I know the least about. Thaddeus. Isambard. Bancroft. There's no denying that you're a weird guy, Thaddeus. A mad scientist, a reputed time traveler...there's not a whole lot about you that's not unconventional. That even extends to how you wrestle. You're a hybrid of so many different influences, and yet it doesn't feel like a patchwork. You're a fully-realized competitor, not just some lunatic Chance the Gardener-ing his way through life. I don't know if the rest of IWF has caught on yet, but I promise I have.
You're dangerous because you're a relative unknown. We don't know what you've got in your bag of tricks, we don't know who you are deep down or what you're capable of. Here's the question, though: do you? Do you know how far you'll go to be the Joker in the Pack? Do you have what it takes to fight through five of the best in the world? You had better have more up your sleeve than a twin brother and some dirty tricks, because that's not enough to stop the fire that's roaring in my stomach. I want this, Thaddeus, and you can't keep me from it.
Ulf Hednir. I don't know what to make of you. I know you've had your eyes on surpassing me for a long time. Talked about being the youngest World Champion in history. I was World Champion at 26. I know what it's like to wear that crown at a young age. You need everything to go your way to make it happen: you need to be focused, you need to be dedicated, you need to train your ass off, and you need to be lucky. You're good, make no mistake. You're damn good. But are you good enough? Are you lucky enough? Is this your night? I don't think so.
My question to you is this: can you learn? Can you learn from your past? You talked a big game about following your code, Ulf, and when you didn't succeed right away you joined up with the Council. What did that get you? Nothing. You took some time away, had a chance to examine your life...and when you came back, it wasn't as the Ulf Hednir that first signed his name on the dotted line. No, you came back as the kind of man that ambushes someone and tries to use them to "make a statement." The only statement you made was that you're so caught up in visions of the future that you can't see the present.
Have you learned from your mistakes, Ulf? Can you remember who you are? Or are you going to constantly chase a shadow of what you think you should be, always trying to live up to an ideal that's never been who you are deep down? I only found success when I learned how to be true to myself, Ulf. It takes time. Unfortunately for you, you don't have that kind of time here. Take this as a learning experience, try to make yourself better. There's time yet for you, Ulf...you just have to seize it.
Speaking of rookies...Pax. I've been looking forward to this for a while. You don't have Ulf's problem. You know exactly who and what you are: one of the most gifted technicians to ever grace this ring, full of skill and potential and determination. No, you know who you are, and that's EXACTLY your problem. You let it get to your head, Pax, and your ego's begun to spread like a virus. You take shot after shot at people who have bled and sacrificed and given everything to set the stage for you, and you do it all with a smile on your face.
Angel and Spike keep sticking their noses into our business. They keep ruining the chance for us to actually settle this honestly, they keep giving you more fuel for that mouth of yours. I know you think you can beat me, Pax. I know you think you should have beat me. I promise you, we're going to settle that question some day. Today? Today, you have a chance to finally put an accomplishment with all those big promises you've been making. You talk the talk like few ever have, but if you want to be the Joker in the Pack, lace up those boots and start walking.
You want to sit back and call me a part-timer, say I don't put in the work? I promise you, every moment of my life I can manage is dedicated to this company. This is more than just a job for me, more than just a way to earn a paycheck, this is my home. No matter how many times I get thrown out or cast away, I will keep coming back because IWF is written into my soul. It's where I have to be. The brightest stage, the toughest competitors...talent comes from all over the world, from all walks of life, just to have those three letters in front of their name. This is my home, Pax, and I swore that I would do whatever it takes to defend it. No matter the blood I have to shed, no matter the sweat that rolls off my body, no matter the tears I have to shed, no matter the pain I have to endure, I WILL endure. I WILL triumph. I WILL be the Joker in the Pack, and if you stand in my way, I will cut you down. You can try all you want, Pax...but even the stormcrow can't fly as high as the stars.
NOTE: Dialogue in this section is in Japanese unless otherwise noted.
Osaka, Japan
March 5, 2016
Andrew let out a cry of pain as the medic carefully extracted another shard of glass from his back, letting it clatter into the metal pan next to the exam table. Approximately half a dozen other pieces lay in the blood-stained solution at the bottom of the pan. The medic carefully placed a large stretch bandage over the wound, joining a number of other wraps and bandages that adorned his body, and smiled patiently. "That's the last of them, Mr. Jacobsen. You're lucky. Usually, being slammed through a stack of light tubes like that is more...messy."
Through gritted teeth, Andrew replied, resisting the urge to reach up to his forehead and disturb the newly-stitched wound there, another souvenir from his latest high-octane encounter. "If this is lucky, then I don't want to know what unlucky looks like." He stumbled to his feet, waving off the medic with a barely-suppressed grunt of pain. "We're done?" Upon receiving a tentative nod from the medic, Andrew forced himself to stagger out of the room and down the back hallways of the gymnasium, ignoring the sounds of pitched warfare coming from the main room.
He stumbled by a half-open cooler, reaching in on instinct and scooping a waiting six-pack of beer out over the protestations of their presumed owner. "I'll pay you back, promise!" Andrew shouted back, instantly regretting the effort to turn as pain shot through his body, crackling around the edges of his wounds like lightning. He shoved a door to the outside open with his free hand, looking up and realizing that he'd deposited himself into the alley behind the building. Andrew paused for a moment, considering going back in, but when he looked back all he saw was the door swinging shut. A soft clicking sound let him know that he'd have to find another way back in, and Andrew sighed, sinking to a sitting position against the wall.
Andrew yanked one of the cans of beer from its plastic ring, cracking it open and throwing it back. It was crap, purchased for its relatively inexpensive price tag and high-as-it-could-get alcohol content. If he'd been in a better state of mind, he would have bypassed it altogether. Drinking was supposed to be something you enjoyed, right? Why drink something that made you hate yourself for even holding it in your hand?
"Cuts the pain." he muttered to himself in English, groaning and lowering the can from his lips. Nobody else was around, so he didn't have to ensure anyone else understood. Andrew winced, flexing his fingers. The index finger on his left hand wasn't moving right. Probably dislocated, missed by the ninth-rate sawbones they'd hired for 5,000 yen. Andrew had never thought he would miss Leon Wesker, NCW's old head medic, but as he set the beer can down and wrapped his hand around the offending digit, he suddenly felt a wave of misplaced nostalgia for the prickly bastard.
The muffled popping noise of his finger slamming back into place was quickly masked by a muffled cry of agony. Andrew quickly snatched back up the half-drained can of beer, finishing it off and groaning, a low, rattling noise that didn't so much leave his mouth as drag itself forth. Andrew reached over to grab a second beer, shaking his head. "From being on top of the world to this...what the fuck are you doing, Jacobsen?" He cracked the beer open, taking another huge swig. He involuntarily winced, hating every drop of what he was pouring down his throat, but it wasn't as if the pain would go away on its own.
As he set the can down again, Andrew heard the door click open again. He tried to turn away from whoever it was, but could feel the pressure of a set of eyes on him. Andrew cleared his throat, trying to make his words as rough as he could as he switched back to Japanese. "Can I help you?"
The response was an unfamiliar and unexpected one: female, speaking English, smooth and unaccented. "Yes...and I think we can help you, Mr. Jacobsen." Andrew looked up, setting his beer aside with a confused expression on his face...maybe she was right.
Only one way to find out.
Xavier. It's hell getting to heaven, isn't it buddy? We've all got a karmic debt to work off, don't we? I guess I should start with an apology. Even if your methods were...flawed, to say the least, I should have known that you had a good goal at heart. And I should have known that Steve Awesome was going to revert back to being a juvenile narcissist. You'd think at his age that he would have grown out of it, but get dropped on your head that much and I guess nothing's a sure bet anymore.
You've made yourself into a self-proclaimed Prometheus, here to steal the fire from the gods and bring it to the people no matter the suffering you have to endure. You don't have to be. Prometheus only had himself to back his play. There are people out here that'll stand with you, Xavier, whether they like you or not. We all have common enemies, and it makes more sense to watch each other's backs than be waiting for opportunities to stab them. Right now, though...right now, we can't be allies. Not when something like this is on the line.
Cross, I would never underestimate you, not after all we've been through. Even though I'm annoyed you felt the need to interject yourself in my match with Redcap, I know your heart's in the right place. That's not going to be enough, though. Not to stop me, not this time. You know more than any other man in this match what hell I was willing to go through in order to keep the World Title. Imagine what I'm willing to do in order to get a shot at getting it back. Actually, don't. In a few short hours, you won't have to. You'll be seeing it up close and personal.
This is my chance, Xavier. This is my chance to get back what the Age of Gods stole from me. I'm going to keep on reaching, no matter the cost, because it means that damn much to me. But the moment that bell rings, the moment we're not enemies anymore? I will call myself PROUD to stand alongside you, spitting in the face of gods and demons. We're the front line and the last line, the ones fighting for those caught in the middle. We are mighty, Xavier, and we will never kneel to tyrants. Never again.
And then there's the last one. Someone who's been asking for this dance for a long time, calling me out even more than Pax, taking his shots and begging for another chance at me. Well, you sure as hell got it, and you couldn't have picked more of a hellscape to get it in.
Hello, Dean.
Boring. That's your watchword for me, isn't it? Boring, whitebread hero, being everything management and the marketing team could ever want out of a champion. Dean, I have to ask: if I'm so damn boring, why were you so quick to put my name on your lips every time you got the chance? Surely you wouldn't want to bore yourself with someone like me, right?
It's because you know what I represent. You know what the name Andrew Jacobsen means, and you wanted to be the one to dent the armor, crack the mirror. You wanted the notoriety of taking on the man who defined the last year and coming out on top, because I'm not just another interchangeable face in the crowd. I am an embodiment of an ideal, Dean, and you wanted so desperately to present me as a trophy to your mistress. The fact of the matter is, no matter how lethally dangerous you are, no matter your own repute, gathered at such a rate it makes heads spin, you're still punching up to my weight. You're still shouting up at me, and you're pissed off that I haven't answered.
Well here I am. What're you going to do now?
Dean, the time for pretending you're savable is gone. You're not the same man you used to be, and you'll never be able to go back. You're the general of an army out to make IWF over in its own image, just like Spike is, and it's my solemn duty to plant myself on the battle line and hold you back. You win this match, you seize that World Championship, it's no better than either of the Age of Gods: another bloodthirsty maniac who won't stop until we all bow down. I don't know if you've noticed yet, but I'm no kneeler. Never have been, never will be.
You are the worst-case scenario, Dean. You're the man I least want to see with this briefcase, and if you want to claim it, you're going to have to kill me. I'm sure that brings a smile to your face, Dean. You love violence, you love blood, you love brutality...but you only got a taste the last time we met one-on-one. I have been to some dark places in my life, and if I have to toe the line of darkness to keep IWF in the light, I'll walk that razor's edge with bare feet and a smile on my face. You think you know me, Dean...you haven't BEGUN to learn who I am. But let's start with a refresher, in case anyone's forgotten.
I am a protector. I am a soldier. I am the next Joker in the Pack...and?
I.
Am.
UNBREAKABLE.
Thank God I won, huh?
The moment that bell rang, I knew my life was going to change. I knew with the belt around my waist came a bullseye on my back. I guess I didn't realize even then just how true that would be. People I considered friends stooped to lows I didn't want to comprehend in order to take it from me. I got battered and bruised, let down and frustrated, time and time again. I bled, I was banned from competition, I was beaten down and ambushed...but still, I persisted.
I had to watch as a young woman that had once been my biggest fan and a man I would have fought alongside until I couldn't stand anymore took that love, that trust and weaponized it against me. I watched as an old friend rose from his own ashes, determined to drag everything and everyone around us into the flames. I had to watch a dear friend almost have his passion, his livelihood ripped away by injury, and then I had to watch as not only the man who wounded him used it as a weapon, but the man who for better or for worse has defined the last year and a half of my life practically took everything from him. I stood face-to-face with a man who seized the highest of crowns for himself, a legend in any right. I stood across the ring from each of those men...
And they each fell. One. By. One.
The Age of Gods? They didn't form because they wanted to, they formed because they had to. Because Spike Kane and Angel Blake couldn't get the job done against me. It took two of the deadliest and most proficient competitors that have ever stepped foot inside a ring to tear that World Championship from around my waist, and the fact that they have run roughshod ever since is a failing that falls on my shoulders. So the fact that a chance to rectify my mistakes, atone for my failure, and take back what was stolen from me is in front of me? Well, it's very good news for me...
And very, very bad news for all of you.
"So, how about those honeymoon plans?" Danielle cocks an eyebrow at Andrew as they walk through the parking lot of Sam Boyd Stadium. Andrew has his bag slung over his shoulder, jostling with each step he takes. Andrew glances over at Danielle briefly before panicking and adjusting his route to avoid a pickup truck. Danielle shakes her head, clearly unimpressed. "You promised me you'd take time off after Night of the Immortals. We were going to have a proper honeymoon. You, me, and lots of wine in the Italian countryside."
"And we will." Andrew nods. "Just one more show to get through and then we're off. Pack your bags, here comes Tuscany." He looks troubled for a moment, stepping closer to Danielle as they walk. "What, were you afraid I was going to go back on it?"
"That's exactly what I was afraid of." Danielle nods, ignoring Andrew's shocked reaction. "I was afraid you'd win Joker in the Pack and decide you had to haunt the Age of Gods like some avenging angel, or do something stupid or heroic or crazy and get yourself hurt. Make us spend our honeymoon in a hospital room." She sighs. "I don't know, I just...it seems like the sort of thing that might happen, okay? You've got a track record."
Andrew hangs his head slightly, nodding. He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I know. But...this is different, I promise. You're more important than any of this. If you wanted me to turn around right now and head to the airport, we could. I'd spin an excuse for Verona, he can be mad at me when I get back."
Danielle stops in her tracks, slowly turning around and looking at Andrew with a look of utter bewilderment. She shakes her head slowly, forcing herself to stop gaping. "You wouldn't."
"I would." Andrew nods back at her, reaching out and taking her shoulders gently. "If you said so, we'd be gone. Just like that. Because I am going to do whatever it takes to make this marriage work, and if that means I've got to re-evaluate my work-life balance..." Andrew shrugs, smiling apologetically. "World Title shots come and go. There's only one you."
Danielle pauses, smiling warmly up at Andrew, and loops her arms around his neck. She stands on her toes, leaning up and whispering into Andrew's ear. "As your wife, that is incredibly sweet of you and has almost undoubtedly ensured you're getting laid tonight. As your manager, if you skipped out on the biggest show of the year for a dumb romantic gesture, I would be contractually obligated to kill you."
She rocks back on her heels, smirking, and Andrew blinks, a little taken aback by the straightforward nature of Danielle's reply. After a moment of silence, the smirk dissolves into a genuine smile again, and she reaches out, gently slugging Andrew in the shoulder. "Besides, I wouldn't ask that of you. I know how much Night of the Immortals means to you, and I wouldn't want you to miss it...and I'm pretty damn excited myself." She grins. "My wedding and becoming the manager of the Joker in the Pack in the span of a month? I went to business school with women that would have performed dark sacraments to get this kind of a gig. Pretty sure some of them did, too."
Andrew snorts, nodding, and starts walking again, Danielle smoothly keeping pace. "Alright. So, now that we've got that out of the way, what's the plan? Just go in and start suplexing everything that moves?"
"Pretty much." Danielle nods as they step onto the sidewalk, heading for the doors that lead into the locker room area of the stadium. "It's a multi-person ladder match, these things are always complete clusters. Use what brought you to the dance, don't do anything overly risky, and pick your spots." She reaches out, taking Andrew's hand in hers. "You're getting in there with five of the best IWF has to offer. Well, four of the best and Thaddeus."
"Don't underestimate him." Andrew cautions Danielle. "Anyone who acts the way he does is either a complete idiot, in which case he would have disposed of himself a long time ago, or is incredibly cunning and only pretending to be a complete idiot in order to bring our guards down. He's dangerous, just the same as any of them." He sighs, squeezing his wife's hand. "I know you've got administrative stuff to take care of. I'm going to use the gym. Give me a call if you need to get ahold of me, my phone's charged."
Danielle nods, snapping off a salute with a grin on her face. "Yes sir." Andrew shakes his head, laughing again in spite of himself, and Danielle herself can't resist a chuckle at the display. She steps up, giving him a brief kiss before stepping back again. "I love you, Andrew. See you later."
"I love you too, Dani." Andrew smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling ever-so-slightly. He reaches over, ruffling Danielle's hair before turning and breaking into a jog towards the door. Danielle reaches up, desperately trying to fix her hair, and lets out an annoyed grunt before walking towards the administrative entrance. We fade out on Andrew's laughter floating up and into the noon sky as we fade to white.
Five men. Each with something to prove. Each with something to say about why they're meant to be the Joker in the Pack. I've got history with most of you, and before we walk out of that arena at the end of the night, IF we walk out of that arena at the end of the night, we're all going to have a hell of a lot more.
I'm going to start with the wild card here, the one that I know the least about. Thaddeus. Isambard. Bancroft. There's no denying that you're a weird guy, Thaddeus. A mad scientist, a reputed time traveler...there's not a whole lot about you that's not unconventional. That even extends to how you wrestle. You're a hybrid of so many different influences, and yet it doesn't feel like a patchwork. You're a fully-realized competitor, not just some lunatic Chance the Gardener-ing his way through life. I don't know if the rest of IWF has caught on yet, but I promise I have.
You're dangerous because you're a relative unknown. We don't know what you've got in your bag of tricks, we don't know who you are deep down or what you're capable of. Here's the question, though: do you? Do you know how far you'll go to be the Joker in the Pack? Do you have what it takes to fight through five of the best in the world? You had better have more up your sleeve than a twin brother and some dirty tricks, because that's not enough to stop the fire that's roaring in my stomach. I want this, Thaddeus, and you can't keep me from it.
Ulf Hednir. I don't know what to make of you. I know you've had your eyes on surpassing me for a long time. Talked about being the youngest World Champion in history. I was World Champion at 26. I know what it's like to wear that crown at a young age. You need everything to go your way to make it happen: you need to be focused, you need to be dedicated, you need to train your ass off, and you need to be lucky. You're good, make no mistake. You're damn good. But are you good enough? Are you lucky enough? Is this your night? I don't think so.
My question to you is this: can you learn? Can you learn from your past? You talked a big game about following your code, Ulf, and when you didn't succeed right away you joined up with the Council. What did that get you? Nothing. You took some time away, had a chance to examine your life...and when you came back, it wasn't as the Ulf Hednir that first signed his name on the dotted line. No, you came back as the kind of man that ambushes someone and tries to use them to "make a statement." The only statement you made was that you're so caught up in visions of the future that you can't see the present.
Have you learned from your mistakes, Ulf? Can you remember who you are? Or are you going to constantly chase a shadow of what you think you should be, always trying to live up to an ideal that's never been who you are deep down? I only found success when I learned how to be true to myself, Ulf. It takes time. Unfortunately for you, you don't have that kind of time here. Take this as a learning experience, try to make yourself better. There's time yet for you, Ulf...you just have to seize it.
Speaking of rookies...Pax. I've been looking forward to this for a while. You don't have Ulf's problem. You know exactly who and what you are: one of the most gifted technicians to ever grace this ring, full of skill and potential and determination. No, you know who you are, and that's EXACTLY your problem. You let it get to your head, Pax, and your ego's begun to spread like a virus. You take shot after shot at people who have bled and sacrificed and given everything to set the stage for you, and you do it all with a smile on your face.
Angel and Spike keep sticking their noses into our business. They keep ruining the chance for us to actually settle this honestly, they keep giving you more fuel for that mouth of yours. I know you think you can beat me, Pax. I know you think you should have beat me. I promise you, we're going to settle that question some day. Today? Today, you have a chance to finally put an accomplishment with all those big promises you've been making. You talk the talk like few ever have, but if you want to be the Joker in the Pack, lace up those boots and start walking.
You want to sit back and call me a part-timer, say I don't put in the work? I promise you, every moment of my life I can manage is dedicated to this company. This is more than just a job for me, more than just a way to earn a paycheck, this is my home. No matter how many times I get thrown out or cast away, I will keep coming back because IWF is written into my soul. It's where I have to be. The brightest stage, the toughest competitors...talent comes from all over the world, from all walks of life, just to have those three letters in front of their name. This is my home, Pax, and I swore that I would do whatever it takes to defend it. No matter the blood I have to shed, no matter the sweat that rolls off my body, no matter the tears I have to shed, no matter the pain I have to endure, I WILL endure. I WILL triumph. I WILL be the Joker in the Pack, and if you stand in my way, I will cut you down. You can try all you want, Pax...but even the stormcrow can't fly as high as the stars.
NOTE: Dialogue in this section is in Japanese unless otherwise noted.
Osaka, Japan
March 5, 2016
Andrew let out a cry of pain as the medic carefully extracted another shard of glass from his back, letting it clatter into the metal pan next to the exam table. Approximately half a dozen other pieces lay in the blood-stained solution at the bottom of the pan. The medic carefully placed a large stretch bandage over the wound, joining a number of other wraps and bandages that adorned his body, and smiled patiently. "That's the last of them, Mr. Jacobsen. You're lucky. Usually, being slammed through a stack of light tubes like that is more...messy."
Through gritted teeth, Andrew replied, resisting the urge to reach up to his forehead and disturb the newly-stitched wound there, another souvenir from his latest high-octane encounter. "If this is lucky, then I don't want to know what unlucky looks like." He stumbled to his feet, waving off the medic with a barely-suppressed grunt of pain. "We're done?" Upon receiving a tentative nod from the medic, Andrew forced himself to stagger out of the room and down the back hallways of the gymnasium, ignoring the sounds of pitched warfare coming from the main room.
He stumbled by a half-open cooler, reaching in on instinct and scooping a waiting six-pack of beer out over the protestations of their presumed owner. "I'll pay you back, promise!" Andrew shouted back, instantly regretting the effort to turn as pain shot through his body, crackling around the edges of his wounds like lightning. He shoved a door to the outside open with his free hand, looking up and realizing that he'd deposited himself into the alley behind the building. Andrew paused for a moment, considering going back in, but when he looked back all he saw was the door swinging shut. A soft clicking sound let him know that he'd have to find another way back in, and Andrew sighed, sinking to a sitting position against the wall.
Andrew yanked one of the cans of beer from its plastic ring, cracking it open and throwing it back. It was crap, purchased for its relatively inexpensive price tag and high-as-it-could-get alcohol content. If he'd been in a better state of mind, he would have bypassed it altogether. Drinking was supposed to be something you enjoyed, right? Why drink something that made you hate yourself for even holding it in your hand?
"Cuts the pain." he muttered to himself in English, groaning and lowering the can from his lips. Nobody else was around, so he didn't have to ensure anyone else understood. Andrew winced, flexing his fingers. The index finger on his left hand wasn't moving right. Probably dislocated, missed by the ninth-rate sawbones they'd hired for 5,000 yen. Andrew had never thought he would miss Leon Wesker, NCW's old head medic, but as he set the beer can down and wrapped his hand around the offending digit, he suddenly felt a wave of misplaced nostalgia for the prickly bastard.
The muffled popping noise of his finger slamming back into place was quickly masked by a muffled cry of agony. Andrew quickly snatched back up the half-drained can of beer, finishing it off and groaning, a low, rattling noise that didn't so much leave his mouth as drag itself forth. Andrew reached over to grab a second beer, shaking his head. "From being on top of the world to this...what the fuck are you doing, Jacobsen?" He cracked the beer open, taking another huge swig. He involuntarily winced, hating every drop of what he was pouring down his throat, but it wasn't as if the pain would go away on its own.
As he set the can down again, Andrew heard the door click open again. He tried to turn away from whoever it was, but could feel the pressure of a set of eyes on him. Andrew cleared his throat, trying to make his words as rough as he could as he switched back to Japanese. "Can I help you?"
The response was an unfamiliar and unexpected one: female, speaking English, smooth and unaccented. "Yes...and I think we can help you, Mr. Jacobsen." Andrew looked up, setting his beer aside with a confused expression on his face...maybe she was right.
Only one way to find out.
Xavier. It's hell getting to heaven, isn't it buddy? We've all got a karmic debt to work off, don't we? I guess I should start with an apology. Even if your methods were...flawed, to say the least, I should have known that you had a good goal at heart. And I should have known that Steve Awesome was going to revert back to being a juvenile narcissist. You'd think at his age that he would have grown out of it, but get dropped on your head that much and I guess nothing's a sure bet anymore.
You've made yourself into a self-proclaimed Prometheus, here to steal the fire from the gods and bring it to the people no matter the suffering you have to endure. You don't have to be. Prometheus only had himself to back his play. There are people out here that'll stand with you, Xavier, whether they like you or not. We all have common enemies, and it makes more sense to watch each other's backs than be waiting for opportunities to stab them. Right now, though...right now, we can't be allies. Not when something like this is on the line.
Cross, I would never underestimate you, not after all we've been through. Even though I'm annoyed you felt the need to interject yourself in my match with Redcap, I know your heart's in the right place. That's not going to be enough, though. Not to stop me, not this time. You know more than any other man in this match what hell I was willing to go through in order to keep the World Title. Imagine what I'm willing to do in order to get a shot at getting it back. Actually, don't. In a few short hours, you won't have to. You'll be seeing it up close and personal.
This is my chance, Xavier. This is my chance to get back what the Age of Gods stole from me. I'm going to keep on reaching, no matter the cost, because it means that damn much to me. But the moment that bell rings, the moment we're not enemies anymore? I will call myself PROUD to stand alongside you, spitting in the face of gods and demons. We're the front line and the last line, the ones fighting for those caught in the middle. We are mighty, Xavier, and we will never kneel to tyrants. Never again.
And then there's the last one. Someone who's been asking for this dance for a long time, calling me out even more than Pax, taking his shots and begging for another chance at me. Well, you sure as hell got it, and you couldn't have picked more of a hellscape to get it in.
Hello, Dean.
Boring. That's your watchword for me, isn't it? Boring, whitebread hero, being everything management and the marketing team could ever want out of a champion. Dean, I have to ask: if I'm so damn boring, why were you so quick to put my name on your lips every time you got the chance? Surely you wouldn't want to bore yourself with someone like me, right?
It's because you know what I represent. You know what the name Andrew Jacobsen means, and you wanted to be the one to dent the armor, crack the mirror. You wanted the notoriety of taking on the man who defined the last year and coming out on top, because I'm not just another interchangeable face in the crowd. I am an embodiment of an ideal, Dean, and you wanted so desperately to present me as a trophy to your mistress. The fact of the matter is, no matter how lethally dangerous you are, no matter your own repute, gathered at such a rate it makes heads spin, you're still punching up to my weight. You're still shouting up at me, and you're pissed off that I haven't answered.
Well here I am. What're you going to do now?
Dean, the time for pretending you're savable is gone. You're not the same man you used to be, and you'll never be able to go back. You're the general of an army out to make IWF over in its own image, just like Spike is, and it's my solemn duty to plant myself on the battle line and hold you back. You win this match, you seize that World Championship, it's no better than either of the Age of Gods: another bloodthirsty maniac who won't stop until we all bow down. I don't know if you've noticed yet, but I'm no kneeler. Never have been, never will be.
You are the worst-case scenario, Dean. You're the man I least want to see with this briefcase, and if you want to claim it, you're going to have to kill me. I'm sure that brings a smile to your face, Dean. You love violence, you love blood, you love brutality...but you only got a taste the last time we met one-on-one. I have been to some dark places in my life, and if I have to toe the line of darkness to keep IWF in the light, I'll walk that razor's edge with bare feet and a smile on my face. You think you know me, Dean...you haven't BEGUN to learn who I am. But let's start with a refresher, in case anyone's forgotten.
I am a protector. I am a soldier. I am the next Joker in the Pack...and?
I.
Am.
UNBREAKABLE.
Well howdy there pardner.