Post by Awesome Stick Labor on Jul 27, 2015 13:08:50 GMT
There will always be folks who try to harm others by holdin' onto a grudge.
That ain't grandstandin' either—it's a mere fact of life. To stop 'em, we run the risk of awakenin' the very same demons that haunted them at some point in their time on this earth. Seventeen years ago, I had a chance to hold onto a grudge with Russell Janeway after he tried to put his dick into my love's mouth in the ol' varsity locker room. Yet even after I knocked him into a manure cart, I let my grudge go. It was over—he'd been cut off from his free ride to Notre Dame, and I stood proudly with Fiona and a host of others that sunny day.
But what was the price I had to pay for that rumble? I had to do what I had to do in order to save my then-girlfriend's virginity, but nothin' happened to me that caused me pain or sorrow. Ever since I started becomin' more involved with the wrasslin' gig, I've made it point to defend the reputations of not only myself, but of the men and women who've stood by and watched as I was goin' through hell, spillin' blood and all that shit. And for the most part, I'd be successful.
Yet I never realized that doin' what I love doin' for the sake of others was eventually gonna have consequences.
At least...'til now.
**********
Episode VI
“ONCE MORE UNTO THE BREACH...”
That ain't grandstandin' either—it's a mere fact of life. To stop 'em, we run the risk of awakenin' the very same demons that haunted them at some point in their time on this earth. Seventeen years ago, I had a chance to hold onto a grudge with Russell Janeway after he tried to put his dick into my love's mouth in the ol' varsity locker room. Yet even after I knocked him into a manure cart, I let my grudge go. It was over—he'd been cut off from his free ride to Notre Dame, and I stood proudly with Fiona and a host of others that sunny day.
But what was the price I had to pay for that rumble? I had to do what I had to do in order to save my then-girlfriend's virginity, but nothin' happened to me that caused me pain or sorrow. Ever since I started becomin' more involved with the wrasslin' gig, I've made it point to defend the reputations of not only myself, but of the men and women who've stood by and watched as I was goin' through hell, spillin' blood and all that shit. And for the most part, I'd be successful.
Yet I never realized that doin' what I love doin' for the sake of others was eventually gonna have consequences.
At least...'til now.
**********
Episode VI
“ONCE MORE UNTO THE BREACH...”
June 19, 2015 – 9:45 AM
WEEK 3, DAY 1 – TRIAL
RUSSELL JANEWAY: Prosecution rests. Jackie-boy, now you get to defend yourself.
We find ourselves back inside Courtroom #3, which is packed to the walls with guards, members of the media, and other spectators as Jack Gaither, wearing a brand-new white business suit, confers with fiancee Fiona and son Kirk, who are each wearing black and red formal outfits respectively, at the defense table as the cantankerous judge Avery Sisko looks on.
FIONA MCFLY: This is highly illogical—the chances of you reachin' a “not guilty” are 47:1.
KIRK MCFLY: C'mon mum, let's be optimistic. We got the pieces of the puzzle--now we gotta put it together.
FIONA: This WAS the most optimistic chance I could calculate given the circumstances.
Jack can only sigh to himself, shaking his head as he tries to figure out his next move.
JUDGE SISKO: Mr. Gaither...we are waiting.
At first, Jack doesn't listen to the seemingly pissed-off man in the black robe, opting instead to continue the conference.
JACK GAITHER: Ya know, this situation reminds me of one of those 80s cop shows I used to watch—crunch time, the good guys pullin' it off...
KIRK: Pfft...and ya told me you've never seen a cop show 'til you watched Law & Order.
JACK: Actually...I have.
Kirk and Fiona chuckle amongst themselves.
JACK: It was a show starring William Shatner. He played a guy named T.J., who was this undercover cop posin' as a male Hooker...
Before he can say another word, Jack takes a book to the side of the head, which elicits riotous laughter from the assembled gallery. Even prosecutor Russell Janeway tries to hold back a smile.
JUDGE SISKO: MISS-TER GAY-THER!!! I don't give a DAMN if the folks in your support system are with you—because you WILL do exactly what I tell you to do in MY court! Now...call a witness or I will—
The audience calms down as Jack snaps out of the conference to make his statement.
JACK: Defense team calls Mr. Russell Janeway to the stand.
**********
Kyle, Kyle, Kyle...must you always find yourself in this position?
After all, life must REALLY suck a nice, fat lemon if ya managed to find yourself thrown into a match where the carrot is hangin' right over your nose—much like some of the other matches you've been in throughout the passage of time—only to blow it in the most spectacular of fasion. Face it sonny-boy, the promoter who took you in as a youngin' oughta be ashamed of himself when he sees the kind of man you've become—a presumptuous, rotten, arrogant sumbitch who's done nothin' else except piss away what you might have considered a “promising” career. Why, I might ask? It's 'cuz all ya know how to do is chit-chat about bein' a threat to the company yet ya don't have nothin' to back it up—no trophies, no accoldes, no nothin'.
MMA background? Pfft...I've seen better than what you've got to offer. Besides that, your hybrid background ain't got shit compared to mine--'cuz I invent, I evolve, and I believe I CAN survive out there.
Here's the problem: for all your talk—and talk in front of some damn camera is the only thing you're actually good at—you haven't done a single thing since ya joined the wrasslin' gig. And let's be honest here son, if getting' your ass whupped time and again by Nighthawk—a man whom I despise professionally yet respect on a personal level—hasn't taught you a damn thing, then buddy...I'm just-a-gonna spell it out for you. You ain't got respect for the gig. You ain't got respect for yourself, and you DAMN sure ain't got respect for the people that took you in and trained you to be a successful sumbitch instead of another lousy choke artist. In short, you're WAY above your stature for your own good—and I'm gonna teach you a hard, painful lesson that you'll never forget 'til the day you die.
It won't cost you a dime—only a foot up your ass.
**********
Kyle, Kyle, Kyle...must you always find yourself in this position?
After all, life must REALLY suck a nice, fat lemon if ya managed to find yourself thrown into a match where the carrot is hangin' right over your nose—much like some of the other matches you've been in throughout the passage of time—only to blow it in the most spectacular of fasion. Face it sonny-boy, the promoter who took you in as a youngin' oughta be ashamed of himself when he sees the kind of man you've become—a presumptuous, rotten, arrogant sumbitch who's done nothin' else except piss away what you might have considered a “promising” career. Why, I might ask? It's 'cuz all ya know how to do is chit-chat about bein' a threat to the company yet ya don't have nothin' to back it up—no trophies, no accoldes, no nothin'.
MMA background? Pfft...I've seen better than what you've got to offer. Besides that, your hybrid background ain't got shit compared to mine--'cuz I invent, I evolve, and I believe I CAN survive out there.
Here's the problem: for all your talk—and talk in front of some damn camera is the only thing you're actually good at—you haven't done a single thing since ya joined the wrasslin' gig. And let's be honest here son, if getting' your ass whupped time and again by Nighthawk—a man whom I despise professionally yet respect on a personal level—hasn't taught you a damn thing, then buddy...I'm just-a-gonna spell it out for you. You ain't got respect for the gig. You ain't got respect for yourself, and you DAMN sure ain't got respect for the people that took you in and trained you to be a successful sumbitch instead of another lousy choke artist. In short, you're WAY above your stature for your own good—and I'm gonna teach you a hard, painful lesson that you'll never forget 'til the day you die.
It won't cost you a dime—only a foot up your ass.
**********
Moments later, Russell Janeway--sporting a charcoal-gray tuxedo--makes his way toward the witness stand as a murmur begins among the assembled gallery. The longtime judge swears the prosecutor in before issuing a statement.
JUDGE SISKO: Mr. Gaither, before you begin your line or questioning I will warn you to proceed with extreme caution. Your actions on this day will not only be scrutinized by the jury, but by myself as well. Do I make myself clear?
Jack nods his head and paces around the room, shrugging his shoulders as he makes his opening query.
JACK: Mr. Janeway, for the record...what's your current status with the Texas bar?
RUSSELL: Side from a touch of the clap, the hernias, and the squirts, I'd say pretty swell.
Only one person in the back of the courtroom laughs, but Sisko gives said person an evil glare--for he is not amused. Jack tries to keep a straight face yet he can't help but eke out a sly smirk.
JACK: You were always a smart-ass with a singular wit, right?
RUSSELL: For six years following my high school graduation, I was workin' odd jobs in order to fulfill my dream of becomin' a prosecutor. I've been prosecutin' bad guys in the State of Texas for the past twelve years.
JACK: Ahhh...so why then would ya go out of your way to prosecute a man like myself...whose blood alcohol content was a meager .0847 at the time of bookin'?
RUSSELL: It was the law, sonny-boy. You went over the limit, so it's my job to prosecute you.
JACK: No prosecutor—in his or her right of mind—would even THINK of pressin' charges against a man whose only "real" crime was to speed on home in his fiancee's Aston-Martin—even after the defendant didn't notice it had been broken into...by you.
Russell's assistant, acting on his behalf, pounds his fist on the prosecutor's table.
JANEWAY'S AIDE: Objection!
JUDGE SISKO: Overruled--evidence of said break-in was presented last week.
The one-time bully just smiles, denying the events of last Friday.
RUSSELL: I dunno what you're talkin' about.
JACK: But I do. Can you identify these objects marked as “Exhibit D?”
Fiona lifts the sandwich baggie containing the small bottle of Kentucky red-eye and Jack's bottle of Ozarka off the defense table and shows it to the entire courtroom.
RUSSELL: Yeah...that's my bottle of Kentucky red-eye and an Ozarka bottle.
JACK: And how long've you been drinkin' the whiskey, if I may ask?
RUSSELL: That ain't got SHIT to do with this case.
JACK: Oh...but it does. Ya see...I had a bottle of Ozarka sittin' in Fiona's cupholder, and when the opportunity arose—just as me and my band were goin' full blast—you broke into her car with a ¾-inch blade and spiked my water JUST ENOUGH to get my B.A.C. levels over the legal limit—but less than five one-hundreths of a point.
Russell grits his teeth in light of the accusation.
RUSSELL: Now...why the fuck would I sit there and spike yer goddamn water?! You ain't got shit to prove I did it...
Judge Sisko gives the witness a sinister stare, warning him about the use of profanity, before Jack presses onward.
JACK: Ah yeah...a motive. Mr. Tetsuro Morita—the man who owned the bar and grill that hosted my concert, who testified before this very court last Friday—was gonna tell the court JUST that...that was, 'til all hell broke loose.
RUSSELL: So what? The Oriental dude died on the stand before he could say anything.
That remark brings out a loud gasp from the crowd, knowing that Jack is about to go for the jugular.
JACK: Of course he did, Russell. He was poisoned. According to the Tarrant County Medical Examiner, in a document I will label “Exhibit E,” the cause of death was internal exposure to an experimental steroid known as “Veridian-3.” Mr. Janeway...how much di ya know about Veridian-3?
RUSSELL: It's an experimental steroid that can enhance an athlete's performance without bein' detected by drug testers upon screening.
JACK: And do ya know...what it'll do to a person if he or she drank it with, say, his or her coffee or tea?
The gallery murmurs again.
RUSSELL: I plead the 5th.
The commotion in the pews becomes more pronounced as Jack steps back in horror, knowing that he's about to expose his old rival.
JUDGE SISKO: Mr. Gaither, you seem very distressed. Shall I call a recess and take a break?
JACK: No Your Honor, I'm a'right...in fact, I can see it now. Mr. Janeway, you wouldn't be pleadin' the 5th unless...unless you were hidin' something from the law.
RUSSELL: I ain't hidin' a goddamn thing, you cocksucking son of a BITCH!
Kirk and Fiona muster facepalms as the gallery explodes, yelling "SHAME!" at the prosecutor among other things. The judge raps on that gavel of his, silencing the angry mob.
JACK: Resortin' to name-callin', huh? Sounds to me like you've returned to bein' the old bully who once terrorized the less fortunate students of Arlington High—includin' myself and a certain young lady who just happens to be sittin' at the defense table.
RUSSELL: Pfft, yeah...and I'd get away with it too—that's the funnest part of it all.
JACK: And you did--'cuz you're grandmother, Dr. Katherine Janeway, was the principal, but that didn't , didn't it?! She lost all respect for you the moment you decided to try and stick your DICK into Fiona's mouth in the varsity locker room one mornin'.
More cries of "FRAUD!" and "SHAM!" erupt from the gallery until the gavel quiets them down once more.
RUSSELL: What'd she say--my Granny?!
JACK: Your Granny...wanted me to tell you that she always loved you—that, despite your lack of humility, she always admired your spirit and guile.
Russell silently nods his head.
JACK: But she also didn't want your thirst for revenge to consume me, and that, Mr. Janeway, is the motive behind this whole...goddamn...circus.
The gallery's murmuring begins--albeit quieter than before--as Russell stands up and mockingly applauds the entire Gaither family sitting at their table.
RUSSELL: Congratulations! I must applaud you, your excellent skill in defendin' yourself in this case should be commended. But if you have ANY proof as to why I'd do such a douchebag kind of thing...then by all means, show this court.
Jack confers with his fiancee and son, who all whisper their opinions about what has transpired.
KIRK: Dad, ya got 'im!
FIONA: We've got a chance to end this--now!
JACK: Yeah. Let's win this case.
The judge, however, puts a quick end to the conference by pounding his gavel once.
JUDGE SISKO: Let's take a break—ten minute recess.
**********
Guernica, ya didn't whup my ass last week; rather you...surprised the shit outta me.
A part of me wants to consider last week's match an abhorrent reminder that, yes, I can—and will occasionally—have a fuckup or two in that ring. The other part of me, however, wants to take revenge on you. Yet—as I told you a LONG time ago prior to another match we had—revenge might be a dish that's best served cold, but it's a recipe for disaster on both sides. Nobody wins when revenge is involved, and that's somethin' that your family's taught you quite well. Yet what they HAVEN'T taught you very well, however, is how to think for others instead of thinkin' for yourself. If your rather ungodly performance with Fiona as your tag team partner didn't teach you ANYTHING in your existence, it's this one simple tenet:
The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few—or the one.
I understand that life must've really thrown you a curveball over the outside corner, yet I also am fully aware that, yes, what you do out there in that ring is very honorable. That mask ya wear is a proud symbol of your luch libre culture unto itself, and to wear the mask every day is a sign of honor, fairness, and respect. But here's the burnin' question: are ya thinkin' about your family, or are ya just thinkin' about your own life? You were thinkin' about honor for YOURSELF in your match with Fifi, and guess what happened? You flat out choked—and in doin' so, you cost Fifi a possible chance of bein' at Lineage this week with me. If there's one thing that doesn't work, it's that your sense of duty and honor only extends to your own sake—and no one else's.
That's what separates me from you, son.
Ya see, I'm an honorable guy outta the ring myself, but when it comes down to it, I've learned over time that, while havin' honor for yourself is a good thing to have, it just don't work without sharin' your compassion with other folks. I'm loyal to those who've loved and cherished me, yet I will risk EVERYTHING I've got in my soul not just for my sake, but for theirs as well. While you're thinkin' about pullin' another rabbit out of your ass against me, just remember one thing: it takes balls to beat me once, but unless you start thinkin' of the ones 'round you, you ain't got a chance of stompin' my guts out twice.
And I AIN'T lettin' that happen again.
**********
Guernica, ya didn't whup my ass last week; rather you...surprised the shit outta me.
A part of me wants to consider last week's match an abhorrent reminder that, yes, I can—and will occasionally—have a fuckup or two in that ring. The other part of me, however, wants to take revenge on you. Yet—as I told you a LONG time ago prior to another match we had—revenge might be a dish that's best served cold, but it's a recipe for disaster on both sides. Nobody wins when revenge is involved, and that's somethin' that your family's taught you quite well. Yet what they HAVEN'T taught you very well, however, is how to think for others instead of thinkin' for yourself. If your rather ungodly performance with Fiona as your tag team partner didn't teach you ANYTHING in your existence, it's this one simple tenet:
The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few—or the one.
I understand that life must've really thrown you a curveball over the outside corner, yet I also am fully aware that, yes, what you do out there in that ring is very honorable. That mask ya wear is a proud symbol of your luch libre culture unto itself, and to wear the mask every day is a sign of honor, fairness, and respect. But here's the burnin' question: are ya thinkin' about your family, or are ya just thinkin' about your own life? You were thinkin' about honor for YOURSELF in your match with Fifi, and guess what happened? You flat out choked—and in doin' so, you cost Fifi a possible chance of bein' at Lineage this week with me. If there's one thing that doesn't work, it's that your sense of duty and honor only extends to your own sake—and no one else's.
That's what separates me from you, son.
Ya see, I'm an honorable guy outta the ring myself, but when it comes down to it, I've learned over time that, while havin' honor for yourself is a good thing to have, it just don't work without sharin' your compassion with other folks. I'm loyal to those who've loved and cherished me, yet I will risk EVERYTHING I've got in my soul not just for my sake, but for theirs as well. While you're thinkin' about pullin' another rabbit out of your ass against me, just remember one thing: it takes balls to beat me once, but unless you start thinkin' of the ones 'round you, you ain't got a chance of stompin' my guts out twice.
And I AIN'T lettin' that happen again.
**********
JACK: I bring out “Exhibit F”...excerpts from Mr. Janeway's personal blog.
Immediately following the brief ten minute break, the trial resumes. Russell's eyes light up like saucers as Fiona pulls out the three-page-long copy of his own blog entries; the gallery converses amongst themselves, wondering what the next move will be.
RUSSELL: How did you...?! Those are PRIVATE blogs!
JACK: I'm the one askin' the questions here...remember?!
The prosecutor can only silently agree.
JACK: Ya know...I ain't gonna read these excerpts to the court--'cuz they're the sickest things I've ever read in my life. Mr. Janeway...you admitted to the court that these blog entries are yours, correct?
RUSSELL: Yes.
JACK: Well lemme ask you this: how does it feel to want revenge on me 'cuz your grandmother decided to cut you off after our l'il rumble seventeen years ago?!
Janeway doesn't answer. Jack sighs before gritting his teeth, inching closer and closer to the witness stand.
JACK: How does it feel to know that the very same woman who loved and cherished you after your mommy and daddy died was the very same woman who allegedly “turned against you” all these years ago?!
RUSSELL: Don't you fuckin' DARE—!
JACK: How DARE you accuse the longest servin' prinicipal of Arlington High School of betrayal without takin' the requisite time to understand WHY she had to do what she did!
Russell slaps the witness' table with his hands in anger, nearly to the point of screaming at his interrogator.
RUSSELL: You never FUCKING knew her! What about YOU, huh?! This trial's about you—not ME!
Instead of giving "the look," Judge Sisko solemnly shakes his head--knowing full well that nothing good is going to come out of the ex-bully's testimony. Jack steps away and paces around the room.
JACK: A'right...Tetsuro Morita—the poisoned man who was affectionately called “Arnold” after a character on his favorite TV show—was more than just a pub owner to me. He was my caretaker after my daddy died servin' this country...and yeah, while I admit that I was a bit of a knucklehead, I loved Mr. Morita like a father. He helped restore my childhood home, teach me how to cook...and in turn, I showed him proper respect. I kept my grades up, I didn't bully anyone to get my way through school...but what about you?!
RUSSELL: What about me, huh?!
The angered tone of Janeway's voice makes his assistants inch backwards, fearing that their employer is going to have a mental breakdown as Jack continues trekking along.
JACK: Your grandmother LOVED you. She did everything to make sure you were taken care of—from puttin' meals in front of you to makin' sure you squeaky-clean for school—but what did ya do for her, huh? Nothin'--absolutely nothin'--and this lack of humility went with you as you transitioned from the gridiron to the bar. In at least thirty cases, you've managed to convict twenty-nine people on various charges—all the while thinkin' a shot or two of whiskey a day was gonna solve all your problems. But the one man who succeeded in beatin' you in this courtroom...was none other than "Arnold" Morita himself.
Kirk senses danger and slowly stands up from his chair, walking slowly towards his father.
JACK: You dishonored your grandmother by poisonin' her to death—just as ya did my caretaker accordin' to those blogs of yours—and for what?! Just to seek revenge on me for tryin' to do what the entire Arlington High campus wanted me to do. You never gave a shit about your grandma or her legacy...just yourself.
Ignoring his son, Jack points his finger directly at Janeway, who shakes as he reaches into his tuxedo for something.
JACK: You felt NOTHIN' after your grandma died! It didn't even compute with you! You NEVER loved her!
Fiona lets out a blood-curdling scream as she sees the enraged, mentally unstable prosecutor pull out a .45-caliber pistol and fires off a shot. The courtroom devolves into chaos as screaming patrons and media members duck for cover as a violent hail of gunfire erupts from the sidearms of security officials and police officers as Jack is yanked down to the ground by his fiancee. Twenty agonizing seconds later, the hail of bullets come to an end, resulting in a horrifically scary moment of silence. The assembled guests are quickly escorted out of the courtroom, most of whom are in tears. The prosecutor--the former school bully who once proclaimed himself as "God On Campus"--was dead, and as Jack slowly gets up off the floor. He looks on in terror when he spots his son Kirk, lying face-first in a pool of blood, before sprinting towards him and turning him over.
KIRK: I...
JACK: Hold on tight there—EMTs are comin'.
Shaking in fear, Jack uses his suit jacket to try and compress the gunshot wound on his son's chest as the teenager's breathing becomes raspy.
KIRK: Did we do it? Did we...win?
Kirk's father looks on as an initial group of EMTs quickly place a black tarp over Russell Janeway's corpse placing him on a stretching and wheeling him out by way of the side exit.
JACK: Yeah...we won.
Kirk manages to eke out a small grin as Judge Sisko slowly rises from his bench.
KIRK: I didn't come to Texas on a holiday...I got kicked outta school—hackin' into the servers...
Holding back tears, Jack manages to muster a hint of laughter at his son's revelation.
JACK: So ya were a knucklehead like me, huh?
KIRK: Yeah.
JACK: Then why'd ya wanna help me win this case?
Kirk's breathing worsens, yet he manages to hold his father by the hand.
KIRK: You were my father, and I...loved you. We had...fun.
A second group of EMTs arrives on the scene, but it is too little, too late. Jack can only watch as his firstborn's breathing stops; he gazes into his fallen child's blue eyes, which have lost their twinkle.
JACK: No...
Fiona slowly walks in and places an arm around her fiancee, who lets out his family ritual's primal scream before standing upright. Jack Gaither had indeed won his case, but it was an empty Pyhrric victory. The price for defending the reputations of himself and those around him would be far greater than anyone could ever imagine.
His firstborn was gone--and he'd become a shell of himself.
**********
Ya know, there comes a point in life when defending your reputation is gonna cost you somethin' greater than you will ever imagine.
From the time I was growin' up to the time I've spent in the wrasslin' gig, I've made it a habit to put my own image on the line on a consistent basis. The “asshole” part of me would always say that I'm just doin' what I'm doin' for my own sake, yet the “angel” part of me says that, perhaps, I'm out there for the sake of other people—from Fiona and Arnold to those who've been a part of my support system over the years. It would be strange enough for me to believe that, despite what some folks might think of me, that my whole life has been nothin' more than some 80s-era cop show in disguise—ya know, with the good guy always winnin' the day without some sort of consequence happenin' to him—and ya know what, my doubters would agree with me. Except that my life—especially in the past few months or so—hasn't exactly been like y'all would see on TV. Sure, I won my trial and exposed a former bully for the fraud he really was. In the end, however, it was nothin' more than a Pyhrric victory.
I lost my firstborn son.
Yet his death wasn't in vain—he used himself as a shield to protect me, my family, and my friends.
For that, I praise God for allowin' me to go on livin' an honest man's life.
I'm not a corporate kiss-ass—nor will I EVER be—but I AM a company guy who's been loyal to every single promotion I've ever joined—whether it'd be Premiere, Redemption, Imperial, etc. People tend to misunderstand me or mislabel me as bein' the loudmouthed, maverick cowboy who's got nothin' in the case to back it up, and for just a small, fleetin' moment...they'd be right on the button. But it doesn't matter no more. What matters now is that, while I think of myself as the “honorable” dude 'round this sport, I've gotta do what I think is right—not just for my own sake, but the sakes of those who've loved me from the very beginning. Despite everything I've been through, I'm gonna keep on trekkin' through the stars at warp speed—for the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one.
Even if it costs me everything I've got—I'm gonna make it through to the Heir to the Throne.
After all, I'm still a “company guy”--and I love my work, no matter what y'all might say.
That's how I see it.
Ya know, there comes a point in life when defending your reputation is gonna cost you somethin' greater than you will ever imagine.
From the time I was growin' up to the time I've spent in the wrasslin' gig, I've made it a habit to put my own image on the line on a consistent basis. The “asshole” part of me would always say that I'm just doin' what I'm doin' for my own sake, yet the “angel” part of me says that, perhaps, I'm out there for the sake of other people—from Fiona and Arnold to those who've been a part of my support system over the years. It would be strange enough for me to believe that, despite what some folks might think of me, that my whole life has been nothin' more than some 80s-era cop show in disguise—ya know, with the good guy always winnin' the day without some sort of consequence happenin' to him—and ya know what, my doubters would agree with me. Except that my life—especially in the past few months or so—hasn't exactly been like y'all would see on TV. Sure, I won my trial and exposed a former bully for the fraud he really was. In the end, however, it was nothin' more than a Pyhrric victory.
I lost my firstborn son.
Yet his death wasn't in vain—he used himself as a shield to protect me, my family, and my friends.
For that, I praise God for allowin' me to go on livin' an honest man's life.
I'm not a corporate kiss-ass—nor will I EVER be—but I AM a company guy who's been loyal to every single promotion I've ever joined—whether it'd be Premiere, Redemption, Imperial, etc. People tend to misunderstand me or mislabel me as bein' the loudmouthed, maverick cowboy who's got nothin' in the case to back it up, and for just a small, fleetin' moment...they'd be right on the button. But it doesn't matter no more. What matters now is that, while I think of myself as the “honorable” dude 'round this sport, I've gotta do what I think is right—not just for my own sake, but the sakes of those who've loved me from the very beginning. Despite everything I've been through, I'm gonna keep on trekkin' through the stars at warp speed—for the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one.
Even if it costs me everything I've got—I'm gonna make it through to the Heir to the Throne.
After all, I'm still a “company guy”--and I love my work, no matter what y'all might say.
That's how I see it.
Well howdy there pardner.