Ben Jackman sat on the edge of an incline bench in his basement gym at the Tampa, Florida home of Jackman Industries. Jackman's jet black hair hung in a thick mass around his face. Beads of sweat slid slowly down the strands of his hair, hanging fat at the end of each strand before falling and splattering against the concrete floor with an inaudible splat. Jackman rang the thick fingers of his right hand through his ringing wet mop of black hair, pulling it back from his face. "Pretty fucked up situation we find ourselves in this week, gentlemen. Three men, with the utmost respect for each other, forced to fight. Not to say that it takes a lot to get me to fight, but be that as it may, here we are. And here I am." Jackman gestures toward the gym facility around him. Heavy bags...benchpresses...anything and everything a man obsessed with his conditioning could possibly want. "Here I am just like any other week, training my ass off. Partly because thats what I do. Partly because this week is going to be one helluva challenge whether Carver decides to involve himself or not, and partly because its something like this match that makes a man know that he can blow the roof off the joint." Jackman steps to his feet, walking casually around the room his hands gliding over any piece of equipment he walks past before he settles in front of a pair of shackles set into one of the walls about 7 feet off the ground. Jackman sets his feet against the wall and shuts the shackles around his ankles leaving himself suspended upside down. Jackman takes several deep breaths preparing himself before he begins to pull himself upward in a modified sit up. After several situps, Jackman gets used to the rhythm of breathing and continues to speak. "Roland has made a damn good point. This is classic divide and conquer tactics on Raymond's part, but I've gotta know something. What is it that always bring's Raymond's attention back to Hardcore Style? Everytime he decides to really throw himself into fucking with someone, when he decides to give it his all, its always Hardcore Style. Now don't get me wrong, I can't blame Raymond for having a creative hard-on for two of the best to ever set foot in a SHOOT Project ring. But to tell the absolute truth, Raymond's little attention grabbing, 'Hey look I have power' parlor tricks are getting more than a little old. You've played yourself out Raymond, and now for lack of anymore creative ideas you've given away what you could sell and put Hardcore Style on semi-opposite sides of the ring. Thats real quality creative genuis right there." Jackman laughs, all the while continuing his work out, his hair hanging out behind his head, toward the ground. "So, if this is what you're hardon is telling you to do, then Gung-fucking-Ho, Raymond. Goddamn shame, Roland and I are gonna ruin your shitty little plan. See, we're not going to go out there and take the beating we're gonna put on each other personally. We're a little above that. There's a difference between getting your ass kicked, and being the victim of something that requires anger, spite, and most importantly revenge. And both of us fully understand that. So simply put, the two of us are going to fight this week, for the sake of fighting. And that is as far as its going to go. Sunday after the final bell rings, I'll help Roland up off the mat, and we'll all go grab a beer after the show. As a show of solidarity..." Jackman smiles, his abdomen obviously starting to pain him slightly. "Solidarity and perhaps a little hint of alcoholism on my part. Do whatever it is you have planned, because no matter what it is, Raymond. No matter what you've got up your sleeve Hardcore Style and Roland will still stand united after Sunday's Oblivion. And the thorn in your side will only swell all that much more." Jackman pulls himself up one last time before unlatching himself and falling to the mat below. Jackman pulls himself to his feet, a broad smile on his face. "Ain't that a bitch." FADE.