Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Apr 24, 2017 2:35:07 GMT
I have a confession to make. The last few months, the crusade that I've been on...this hasn't all been about Spike Kane. There's part of me that's needed this. There's a part of me that's needed to know that I can still deliver when it counts, that I'm not just fooling myself when I say that I'm one of the best technical wrestlers in the world today. I was looking for a cause, something that I could really throw myself into, and Spike was what I found...chasing that dream of bringing him back from the path he's been walking, it's driven me farther and harder than most people would have imagined.
But I've had to come to a painful, slow realization: Spike Kane doesn't want to be saved. Not by me. Pandora Freeman? Maybe. And Pan, I wish you the best of luck, I really do. Maybe it's because he doesn't see you as a threat, the way he sees me. He refused to see any sense of good intentions, he refused to see me as anything but an ankle-grabbing pretender to his throne, someone who wanted to take what made the God of Steel and wear it as a reminder that he slayed the beast. And that's the real tragedy of it, y'know? I've never wanted to kill Spike Kane. I've never wanted to end his career.
But he wants to end mine, and Devlin Raine's, and the career of anyone who crosses his path...anyone he sees as a threat to the only thing that's defined him since that one day. Spike, you want to be the monster? You want to deny that you're worth saving? You do that. You do that all you like. I've tried for months to get through to you, Spike. I've tried for months to empathize, to connect, and you have smacked me down each and every time. Instead of giving you hope, it feels like you've tunneled deeper into your own despair. You need to confront your demons, Spike. Not me. At this point, I'm just another one of them in your mind...and after Sunday, I hope I'm one less thing keeping you up at night.
I can promise you, Spike, I didn't ask to be the special ref for your match with Devlin. Kathy told me that right before I walked out there. I'm going to do my job, Spike, and that means calling it down the middle. If you're going into this thinking you have free reign to inflict pain instead of trying to win the damn match, though, think again. When I say down the middle, I mean down the middle. If you beat Devlin? Congratulations. Then it really will be all in. But I'm not going to keep that belt around your waist just to beat you for it. If Devlin wins that belt, he'll do it on his merits. If he loses it? Same thing.
And Dev? Don't you think for a second I'm going to screw you over either. I'm not that gold-hungry that I need to ruin your chance for my own sake. That's not who I am. They don't call me a boy scout just because I've got a collection of badges at home. I earned my honor, and I've had to earn it back. You want to question it, you're going to get a display of just how strong it is this Sunday.
Both of you will...but Spike? You're going to see something more. You're going to see what happens when you push and push, when you spit in my face, when you insult everything about me...
You're going to see what happens when my patience runs out.
We open on Andrew sitting on the roof of an apartment complex, legs crossed as he sits atop an air conditioning unit and stares out into the night sky. Behind him, the faint sound of a steel door opening and closing can be heard, and Danielle Chase's voice rings out into the night as Andrew stares up. "Hey, you haven't been answering your phone. What's going on?"
Andrew doesn't look back at Danielle, instead continuing to stare into the sky. His tone of voice is conversational, almost a pleasant neutral, and he wears the faintest hint of a smile on his face. "Just been...thinking, I guess. About life. About what I've done. About what I haven't done, really. Like...wow, do I talk a big game and not back it up."
Danielle shakes her head, confused, and makes her way slowly across the roof towards Andrew. Her hand reaches out in front of herself unconsciously, almost warding the way in front of her. "What are you talking about, Andrew? You won the Roulette. You're ready to main event Night of the Immortals. That's what you've wanted, right?"
Andrew begins to shake his head, then hesitates. He takes a deep breath, exhaling through his nose, and looks back at Danielle. It's only now that the light catches his face properly, and we can see redness in his eyes. Andrew's smile turns sad, never leaving his face. "Like...if you'd asked me six months ago? Absolutely. But now...I don't know. I...I'd give it all up if it meant this nightmare could be over. I'd give up every title, every title shot, every single win...for Spike, for Warren, for everyone. And what've I really done? Won some wrestling matches? What's that in the grand scheme of things? Who's that helping besides us?"
Danielle's expression hardens as she hears those words, and beckons to Andrew with a finger. Andrew tilts his head slightly, and Danielle stabs it downward in front of her. "Goddammit Andrew, get down from there and come here! I'm not going to shout up at you on top of your fucking mountain!"
Andrew pauses for a long moment before slowly pushing himself off of the AC unit, landing on his feet and slowly walking towards Danielle. Danielle starts talking, each word hammering itself home with a purposeful intensity. "You've done it. You've let Spike get in your head. Andrew, I'm going to tell you something that I've needed to tell you since you started this stupid crusade, and make no mistake, it IS a stupid crusade: you can't save Spike. You CAN'T."
Andrew pulls to a stop a few steps from Danielle, eyebrow going up. Danielle closes the last few steps on her own, stabbing her finger into Andrew's chest. "And it's not your fucking JOB to save him. He wants to die on the fucking hill that is the Man of Steel Title? He wants to throw away his family? Let him! You're not Jesus Christ, up on the fucking cross, bleeding for his sins! He's an asshole! He's said it himself a thousand times! Spike Kane's not worth saving! And Warren? Don't beat yourself up over Warren. The whole of IWF hasn't been able to find Warren. Hell, they've let that psychotic clown tote him around like a fucking Gucci handbag for months, and they haven't lifted a fucking finger! Why do you have to be the one to throw yourself down the throat of that fucking lunatic freight train?!"
Something flashes in Andrew's eyes, and he barks back, voice bellowing out like a megaphone over the rooftop and out into the roiling noise of the night.
"SOMEONE FUCKING HAD TO!"
Danielle falls silent, taking a step back, and the sentence hangs in the air for what feels like an eternity. Andrew's shoulders heave, as if the effort of letting the words go has taxed him just as much as any wrestling move or hold, and after another moment, he speaks again, closer to his normal voice, though the effort of holding his emotions back is clear in the way his voice nearly cracks every few syllables. "Someone...had to, Dani. Someone had to step up and try to be a good person. This company...this company doesn't have them anymore, not beyond a handful of people. I used to be able to believe in other people in that locker room, but...there's Nighthawk, and there's Jayson, and...like, I don't know. That Astrid kid's good people, but...I feel like I need to take up the slack. I feel like I need to be the hero we didn't have."
Danielle shakes her head, reaching up and cradling Andrew's face with her hand. A rueful smile slips out onto her face, and she makes very deliberate eye contact with Andrew as she speaks. "You are a hero, make no mistake. I know you'd give it all up for their sake. But even if you did, it wouldn't fix Spike. What's wrong with him, it's not something you're going to solve. Don't let him destroy your life too. You have things to live for, you have people to live for. It's not your job to be a father for him, and it's not your job to be a man for him. He wants better, he'll have to get off his ass and earn it, just like the rest of us."
Andrew looks back down at Danielle, and his shoulders sag as he practically collapses into her. His breathing starts to come heavily again, and his frame begins to shake, silent sobs that never reach his lips. "I just...what can I do?"
"You can walk away," Danielle replies, sighing and cradling his form into hers. "You can realize that you can't save them all. You don't have to. Just...breathe. Live. Walk away...while you still can. You're no less of a good person for trying."
Andrew nods, taking a deep breath and letting it back out in shuddering gasps. Danielle starts to open her mouth again, but closes it, shaking her head and patting Andrew's back. She feels a tear splash on her collarbone, and squeezes the hug, not moving back. Andrew's shoulders heave again, and now the sobs begin to come, quiet and slow, as if even letting them be audible is an admission of defeat. We fade out slowly on the two on the roof, a pair of figures silhouetted against the glow of the city and the twinkling canvas of the sky.
I need to put to bed the Ghost of Xtreme. It's not about you and Dev for me this Sunday, Spike. It's about you and me. It's about the fact that you, as you've said, beat me twice...and yet, you still can't let go of me. Why's that? Why do I bother you so much, Spike? Is it because you couldn't break me the way you tried to break Falcon? Is it because you can't put me out the way you put Johnny out? I think I know...
It's because I don't give up, right? It's because I refuse to acknowledge this fantasy you've invented that you're really this dark and dangerous person, and that's all you'll ever be. You're a father. You're a decent man. You're not always a good man, but you can be. And if it makes your blood boil to hear that? If it makes you scream in fury every time I remind you of what you can be? If you want to rip my heart out for thinking you've still got one of your own?
Good. I want it to. I want that rage to burn away the fog in your eyes, and I want you to see yourself again. I want you to look yourself in the mirror, and I want you to see the shell of a man you've become. I want you to see what you really are, after all you've done. I want you to see who you've become...
And I want you to WEEP for what you are. I want you to hate what you've become, because...finally, I do. I hate what you've become, and I hate how you refuse to take any responsibility for yourself. Talking like you had no choice but to turn into this beast. You always had a choice, Spike, and you chose WRONG. I'm done martyring myself for you. I'm done taking responsibility for everything you've done wrong. It's not my fault you're this way. I didn't break you...and I won't end myself to fix you.
You've been right about one thing, though: I haven't saved Warren. And you know why? Because I've been too consumed with trying to save you. That ends Sunday. The moment the bell rings and you're laid on that mat, finally broken in your tracks, I walk away from you for good. Yeah, I'll go find Warren. Not like his location's been public knowledge or anything, Eternity keeps him squirreled away where nobody can see. What was I supposed to do, crash Brad's funeral? That wouldn't have been right either and even you know it. Make no mistake, I've failed to save one Kane,
but I won't fail both of you.
At the end of the night, Spike, the only one who will have failed is you. You want to act like the Man of Steel Title is all you had? You could have had so much more, but it's all you wanted. Is grief the reason why you wanted my shot at Night of the Immortals? Is a father's anguish the reason you were willing to wrestle twice in one night just to wear the gold and silver all at once? No. It's greed, Spike. It's greed, and for as much as you've accused me of it greed is what flows through your veins. It's what keeps you going, not rage. That's your dirty secret. You're not a beast of fury...you're just wearing it as a mask to hide your own craven cowardice.
I refuse to acknowledge the divinity you think you're owed, Spike. You're not a god. Gods earn worship. All you've earned is my pity. This isn't the Spike Kane that they inducted into the Hall of Fame. This is just a joke wearing his face. And Sunday, at Motor City Mayhem, the joke ends, the darkness breaks...and IWF remembers that there's always light.
You just have to look to the North Star.
But I've had to come to a painful, slow realization: Spike Kane doesn't want to be saved. Not by me. Pandora Freeman? Maybe. And Pan, I wish you the best of luck, I really do. Maybe it's because he doesn't see you as a threat, the way he sees me. He refused to see any sense of good intentions, he refused to see me as anything but an ankle-grabbing pretender to his throne, someone who wanted to take what made the God of Steel and wear it as a reminder that he slayed the beast. And that's the real tragedy of it, y'know? I've never wanted to kill Spike Kane. I've never wanted to end his career.
But he wants to end mine, and Devlin Raine's, and the career of anyone who crosses his path...anyone he sees as a threat to the only thing that's defined him since that one day. Spike, you want to be the monster? You want to deny that you're worth saving? You do that. You do that all you like. I've tried for months to get through to you, Spike. I've tried for months to empathize, to connect, and you have smacked me down each and every time. Instead of giving you hope, it feels like you've tunneled deeper into your own despair. You need to confront your demons, Spike. Not me. At this point, I'm just another one of them in your mind...and after Sunday, I hope I'm one less thing keeping you up at night.
I can promise you, Spike, I didn't ask to be the special ref for your match with Devlin. Kathy told me that right before I walked out there. I'm going to do my job, Spike, and that means calling it down the middle. If you're going into this thinking you have free reign to inflict pain instead of trying to win the damn match, though, think again. When I say down the middle, I mean down the middle. If you beat Devlin? Congratulations. Then it really will be all in. But I'm not going to keep that belt around your waist just to beat you for it. If Devlin wins that belt, he'll do it on his merits. If he loses it? Same thing.
And Dev? Don't you think for a second I'm going to screw you over either. I'm not that gold-hungry that I need to ruin your chance for my own sake. That's not who I am. They don't call me a boy scout just because I've got a collection of badges at home. I earned my honor, and I've had to earn it back. You want to question it, you're going to get a display of just how strong it is this Sunday.
Both of you will...but Spike? You're going to see something more. You're going to see what happens when you push and push, when you spit in my face, when you insult everything about me...
You're going to see what happens when my patience runs out.
We open on Andrew sitting on the roof of an apartment complex, legs crossed as he sits atop an air conditioning unit and stares out into the night sky. Behind him, the faint sound of a steel door opening and closing can be heard, and Danielle Chase's voice rings out into the night as Andrew stares up. "Hey, you haven't been answering your phone. What's going on?"
Andrew doesn't look back at Danielle, instead continuing to stare into the sky. His tone of voice is conversational, almost a pleasant neutral, and he wears the faintest hint of a smile on his face. "Just been...thinking, I guess. About life. About what I've done. About what I haven't done, really. Like...wow, do I talk a big game and not back it up."
Danielle shakes her head, confused, and makes her way slowly across the roof towards Andrew. Her hand reaches out in front of herself unconsciously, almost warding the way in front of her. "What are you talking about, Andrew? You won the Roulette. You're ready to main event Night of the Immortals. That's what you've wanted, right?"
Andrew begins to shake his head, then hesitates. He takes a deep breath, exhaling through his nose, and looks back at Danielle. It's only now that the light catches his face properly, and we can see redness in his eyes. Andrew's smile turns sad, never leaving his face. "Like...if you'd asked me six months ago? Absolutely. But now...I don't know. I...I'd give it all up if it meant this nightmare could be over. I'd give up every title, every title shot, every single win...for Spike, for Warren, for everyone. And what've I really done? Won some wrestling matches? What's that in the grand scheme of things? Who's that helping besides us?"
Danielle's expression hardens as she hears those words, and beckons to Andrew with a finger. Andrew tilts his head slightly, and Danielle stabs it downward in front of her. "Goddammit Andrew, get down from there and come here! I'm not going to shout up at you on top of your fucking mountain!"
Andrew pauses for a long moment before slowly pushing himself off of the AC unit, landing on his feet and slowly walking towards Danielle. Danielle starts talking, each word hammering itself home with a purposeful intensity. "You've done it. You've let Spike get in your head. Andrew, I'm going to tell you something that I've needed to tell you since you started this stupid crusade, and make no mistake, it IS a stupid crusade: you can't save Spike. You CAN'T."
Andrew pulls to a stop a few steps from Danielle, eyebrow going up. Danielle closes the last few steps on her own, stabbing her finger into Andrew's chest. "And it's not your fucking JOB to save him. He wants to die on the fucking hill that is the Man of Steel Title? He wants to throw away his family? Let him! You're not Jesus Christ, up on the fucking cross, bleeding for his sins! He's an asshole! He's said it himself a thousand times! Spike Kane's not worth saving! And Warren? Don't beat yourself up over Warren. The whole of IWF hasn't been able to find Warren. Hell, they've let that psychotic clown tote him around like a fucking Gucci handbag for months, and they haven't lifted a fucking finger! Why do you have to be the one to throw yourself down the throat of that fucking lunatic freight train?!"
Something flashes in Andrew's eyes, and he barks back, voice bellowing out like a megaphone over the rooftop and out into the roiling noise of the night.
"SOMEONE FUCKING HAD TO!"
Danielle falls silent, taking a step back, and the sentence hangs in the air for what feels like an eternity. Andrew's shoulders heave, as if the effort of letting the words go has taxed him just as much as any wrestling move or hold, and after another moment, he speaks again, closer to his normal voice, though the effort of holding his emotions back is clear in the way his voice nearly cracks every few syllables. "Someone...had to, Dani. Someone had to step up and try to be a good person. This company...this company doesn't have them anymore, not beyond a handful of people. I used to be able to believe in other people in that locker room, but...there's Nighthawk, and there's Jayson, and...like, I don't know. That Astrid kid's good people, but...I feel like I need to take up the slack. I feel like I need to be the hero we didn't have."
Danielle shakes her head, reaching up and cradling Andrew's face with her hand. A rueful smile slips out onto her face, and she makes very deliberate eye contact with Andrew as she speaks. "You are a hero, make no mistake. I know you'd give it all up for their sake. But even if you did, it wouldn't fix Spike. What's wrong with him, it's not something you're going to solve. Don't let him destroy your life too. You have things to live for, you have people to live for. It's not your job to be a father for him, and it's not your job to be a man for him. He wants better, he'll have to get off his ass and earn it, just like the rest of us."
Andrew looks back down at Danielle, and his shoulders sag as he practically collapses into her. His breathing starts to come heavily again, and his frame begins to shake, silent sobs that never reach his lips. "I just...what can I do?"
"You can walk away," Danielle replies, sighing and cradling his form into hers. "You can realize that you can't save them all. You don't have to. Just...breathe. Live. Walk away...while you still can. You're no less of a good person for trying."
Andrew nods, taking a deep breath and letting it back out in shuddering gasps. Danielle starts to open her mouth again, but closes it, shaking her head and patting Andrew's back. She feels a tear splash on her collarbone, and squeezes the hug, not moving back. Andrew's shoulders heave again, and now the sobs begin to come, quiet and slow, as if even letting them be audible is an admission of defeat. We fade out slowly on the two on the roof, a pair of figures silhouetted against the glow of the city and the twinkling canvas of the sky.
I need to put to bed the Ghost of Xtreme. It's not about you and Dev for me this Sunday, Spike. It's about you and me. It's about the fact that you, as you've said, beat me twice...and yet, you still can't let go of me. Why's that? Why do I bother you so much, Spike? Is it because you couldn't break me the way you tried to break Falcon? Is it because you can't put me out the way you put Johnny out? I think I know...
It's because I don't give up, right? It's because I refuse to acknowledge this fantasy you've invented that you're really this dark and dangerous person, and that's all you'll ever be. You're a father. You're a decent man. You're not always a good man, but you can be. And if it makes your blood boil to hear that? If it makes you scream in fury every time I remind you of what you can be? If you want to rip my heart out for thinking you've still got one of your own?
Good. I want it to. I want that rage to burn away the fog in your eyes, and I want you to see yourself again. I want you to look yourself in the mirror, and I want you to see the shell of a man you've become. I want you to see what you really are, after all you've done. I want you to see who you've become...
And I want you to WEEP for what you are. I want you to hate what you've become, because...finally, I do. I hate what you've become, and I hate how you refuse to take any responsibility for yourself. Talking like you had no choice but to turn into this beast. You always had a choice, Spike, and you chose WRONG. I'm done martyring myself for you. I'm done taking responsibility for everything you've done wrong. It's not my fault you're this way. I didn't break you...and I won't end myself to fix you.
You've been right about one thing, though: I haven't saved Warren. And you know why? Because I've been too consumed with trying to save you. That ends Sunday. The moment the bell rings and you're laid on that mat, finally broken in your tracks, I walk away from you for good. Yeah, I'll go find Warren. Not like his location's been public knowledge or anything, Eternity keeps him squirreled away where nobody can see. What was I supposed to do, crash Brad's funeral? That wouldn't have been right either and even you know it. Make no mistake, I've failed to save one Kane,
but I won't fail both of you.
At the end of the night, Spike, the only one who will have failed is you. You want to act like the Man of Steel Title is all you had? You could have had so much more, but it's all you wanted. Is grief the reason why you wanted my shot at Night of the Immortals? Is a father's anguish the reason you were willing to wrestle twice in one night just to wear the gold and silver all at once? No. It's greed, Spike. It's greed, and for as much as you've accused me of it greed is what flows through your veins. It's what keeps you going, not rage. That's your dirty secret. You're not a beast of fury...you're just wearing it as a mask to hide your own craven cowardice.
I refuse to acknowledge the divinity you think you're owed, Spike. You're not a god. Gods earn worship. All you've earned is my pity. This isn't the Spike Kane that they inducted into the Hall of Fame. This is just a joke wearing his face. And Sunday, at Motor City Mayhem, the joke ends, the darkness breaks...and IWF remembers that there's always light.
You just have to look to the North Star.