A SHOOT Project camera crew walks into Jackman's private gym at his Tampa condo. Jackman can be seen far across the room, he is shirtless with a pair of black and red fabric shorts hanging loosely around his waist, his jet black hair is pulled back tightly against his head and secured in place by one oversized hairtie. Jackman's back muscles ripple impressively with each successive shot he fires into the heavy bag he now stands in front of. With each shot the heavy bag rocks backward several feet before swinging back toward Jackman only to be met with another stiff shot. The bag has obviously been in use for quite a while as scattered areas of the bag are held together by large patches of duct tape. Another bag, brand new from the look of it hangs nearby but Jackman doesn't even give it a sidelong glance instead choosing to keep at work on his now well worn punching bag. Jackman fires one more huge overhand left into the bag sending it swinging wildly backward before he takes a step or two away from the bags path and turns around noticing the SHOOT Project cameras for the first time. Jackman smiles a haggard smile, before walking to a nearby bench and taking a seat heavily. He leans forward his head lolling between his shoulders and a very noticable haze of sweat now standing out on his shoulders, back and down the length of his chest. Jackman looks up at the camera crew for a moment before he begins to speak. "Only two days away now. The biggest match in Iron Fist Title history. A title built around proving that your the best beyond a shadow of a doubt. Unconciousness leaves no doubt. None at all, but now the bar has been raised even higher than usual. Now the winner of this match must knock out not only one...but two of the very best the SHOOT Project has to offer. A Double knockout. I'm more than positive I could've done it during my reign as Iron Fist Champion but the opportunity never really presented itself. Instead I have my own claim to supremity. How many men have had a tournament held to find a man that even had a chance of taking their title, and then when all was said and done. When the dust settled and the smoke cleared and the new number contender stepped into the ring with the champion. A number one contender that had gone through several other men to get exactly where he was now, only to be ABSOLUTELY DESTROYED. To be left bloody, broken, and defeated in the middle of the ring. How many men? None. Thats how many, and that is one of the myriad of reasons that some still consider me the Gold Standard by which all other Iron Fist Champions will forever be compared." Jackman picks up a towel from beside him on the bench slowly wiping the sweat from his face, the towel coming back from his face soaked. "And because of that simple fact that I destroyed...that I made a mockery of the man handpicked to take the Iron Fist Title from me. Simply because of that I was stripped of a title that Jason Johnson knew goddamned good and well he could never ever hope to have any chance of taking away from me through more accepted channels. Johnson knew full well that I could not and would not be knocked out, and so the title was taken from me, and held up. Empty and useless for almost two months. After over seven months of being made into something huge...something special it was immediatly and thougtlessly cast aside for no reason other than to soothe Jason Johnson's bruised ego. For no reason other than to teach me a lesson. A lesson about respect? Hardly, a lesson that a little man that can't stand to be made to look like a clueless jackass can in fact do what he wants after everything is all said and done. So I held my head high. I carried the same hardass style to the ring week in and week out and I continued to win. Because simply...thats what I do. And in the first week of February a new Iron Fist Champion was crowned. J.D. Ice walked out of the Oblivion following Redemption II the newly minted Iron Fist Champion, and that set perfectly well with me. He deserved it. He earned the Iron Fist Title the same way I had, and then a few short weeks into his reign the idea of J.D. Ice versus Ben Jackman became too much to put off. It was too much of a spectactle to hold off any longer, and the match was made." Jackman works his neck back and forth for several seconds working the kinks out as his neck pops loudly. "And thats exactly what it was...a spectacle. Two of the Greatest stood across from each other and tore into each other like nothing anyone had ever seen before. And then the impossible happened. A body hit the mat. Ten was counted. And I wasn't standing. For the first time in my career I had been knocked out cold. I'd like to say it happens to the best of us, but that would be a crock of shit. It happened to everyone but me, and then after that match where J.D. Ice proved himself more than deserving of his Iron Fist Championship. And then the whispers came. Whispers of dissatisfaction. Whispers that more needed to be proved. Whispers that although J.D. Ice had knocked Ben Jackman out that the victory was tainted." Jackman looks up at the camera the fire of his quiet intensity very visible in his eyes. "There is NO such thing as a tainted victory in Iron Fist competition. A knockout does NOT come easy with the caliber of competition that makes its home here in the SHOOT Project. And a knockout goddamn sure doesn't come easily against me. I was knocked out cold, and in that J.D. Ice has every right to make his claim as the greatest. But the whispers continue that they he hasn't proven himself. Fuck that shit. I've been convinced and if I'm convinced that he did what was asked then there is NO basis for argument or dissatisfaction. J.D. Ice is your SHOOT Project Iron Fist Champion. J.D. Ice is the only man in the history of SHOOT Project to knock Ben Jackman out. Does that not say 'Greatest'? No...No, it doesn't. Not yet." Jackman looks down again, his ponytail falling forward over his left shoulder. "Greatness comes with longevity. Thats something I proved. And that is the only piece remaining to J.D. Ice's puzzle. Longevity cannot be made, it has to be earned and it doesn't come any faster or slower for one man than another. Seven months from now...if J.D. Ice is still the Iron Fist Champion the whispers will cease if they have not ceased before. The whispers may still be there then, but by all rights they should be gone." Jackman pulls himself to his feet, running the towel over his upperbody wiping that last of the sweat from himself. "Its a goddamned shame, you won't get a chance to hear the whispers end, Jake. You've beat the best in me. You've done everything that anyone could ask, and now begins the hard part. The longevity. But don't worry, I'll end the hard part for you. You knocked me out, and no matter what was going on anywhere else in the building a knockout is just that...a knockout. You beat me..fair and square, but I took my eye off the ball. I let my mind get away from me. This time that will not happen. This time I will take back what is mine. Jake, everyone knows now that you possess what it takes to knock me out. And you know, and a great many others believe that I have exactly what it takes to knock you out. So who takes the dupe this time, Jake. Who's gonna be the Last Man Standing on Sunday? Will it be Me, a freshly crowned TWO-TIME Iron Fist Champion or will you, Jake, will you continue your path to proving beyond a shadow of a doubt, beyond a hint of a whisper that you are in fact the GREATEST Iron Fist CHAMPION Ever...Bar none. Good luck, Jake. But luck alone will be nowhere near enough. Sunday night, I take back what is mine." Jackman tosses the towel over his right shoulder and walks casually out a pair of double doors across the room. Camera fades out. *********** Jackman lays on his stomach across a masseuse's table. The room is richly appointed in whites and soft blues, colors meant to calm and relax those inside. Jackman lets out a long sigh rolling his shoulders back and forth as the sounds of wave crashing against a far away beach seep slowly into and throughout the room from a pair of speakers on the wall. The door to the room swings open and a tall redhead walks in clothed in once again all white. A white button down polo shirt and an almost alarmingly short white miniskirt. Jackman smiles,absently rolling onto his chest completely as he closes his eyes against the lights in the room. Jackman reaches under himself untying the towel around his waist and leaving it draped over the sides of the table. The young redheaded woman walks over to Jackman and leans over her lips a scant few millimenters from his ear. "Welcome back, Mr. Jackman. Its been awhile." Jackman nods his eyes still closed as she steps down to the end of the table and begins her work massaging Jackman's feet. Jackman reaches to his left turning a portable camera on to catch his comments while his massage goes on. Jackman doesn't even bother to open his eyes, only lying still a silly grin etched across his face. "Sometimes a man oversteps his bounds. Sometimes when a man wants something so badly, he takes it all that much farther not realizing that what he wants he already has. Darkbriar, you are that man. You had my attention before. You were inside my head, just like you wanted to be, but now just like any man that's not sure of what he wants, you've done too much. You've taken this to a level it never needed to go. And all because for some reason you thought what you already had wasn't enough." Jackman's lips thin with thought as he shakes his head, his eyes still closed as the massuese begins to work her way up the back side of his legs. "Before that last stunt you pulled you already had more than you wanted. You already had me pissed off, you already had me ready to rip your fucking head off. Simply because a headless man has no mouth to run." Jackman pauses a moment a quick laugh escaping his lips before he continues. "Now...now you've only made it worse for yourself Kyle. You've only upped the ante. You've only made me think that much harder about pulling your ass back up off the mat everytime I knock you down just so I can beat your ass all that much more. If thats what you wanted, Kyle, then congratulations you've got every bit of it. But, like I've said before as much as you may think you want that, you really don't. We've been in the ring before, but you ain't seen shit yet. You haven't seen how truly ruthless, how truly destructive, how truly....Hardcore...I can be." Jackman gasps in mock suprise, his hand flying up to cover his mouth. The massuese laughs softly, moving the towel upward as she begins to pull and tug on Jackman's upper legss. "Did I say hardcore? Oh shit, I couldn't have meant that." Jackman opens his eyes facing toward the camera, they are steely with an anger unseen from him in months. The massuese again pulls the towel down and begins to work on Jackman's back. "Understand this, bitch boy. I am better than you. Just because you choose to involve yourself in my personal affairs in hopes of garnering some sort of heat off me does not even begin to make you any more of a viable competitor. So bring your ass, Kyle. I'm gonna take you down a notch or two but even then you're probably too stupid or stubborn to get the point of it all and take your ass on to something more your style. Jackman exhales heavily, anger seeming to ooze from his pores. The massuese moves up to his shoulders and Jackman seems to relax a bit at the touch of her skilled hands. "Kyle...this Sunday you're going to get hurt. That much I can guarantee, but pain leads to growth, Kyle, so come on down to the ring, and get into it with two of the best the Iron Fist Title has EVER seen...maybe you'll learn something. Or maybe you won't. After all your inevitable unconciousness is bound to be hell on your memory of the match." The massuese takes a step back urging Jackman wordlessly to roll over. Jackman does so taking care not to expose himself. "You're outclassed, Kyle. You're out of your league. And you have not quite two days left to prepare to be broken down from the floor up. You've got your chance, Kyle. Prove your point...or I'll prove mine. Fuck it I'm gonna prove mine, anyway. Now, might I suggest that you keep your fuckin mouth shut the rest of the week, you've already made it bad enough on yourself why on earth would you want to make it any worse? So...the ball is in your court, Kyle. Its all up to you just how bad you get it, Its all up to you, and the hands of this lady behind me. You better hope to God she's as good as she looks." "Pray Kyle, its the only chance you've got left." Jackman reaches out casually turning the camera off, and smiling up at the massuese. She smiles back mischieviously. "I think I've got something you might want to turn that camera back on for, Ben." Jackman laughs heavily. "You know damn well I don't do that after Thursday when I have a match on Sunday. Old boxers superstition. Makes the legs weak." The massuese puts on a face of mock dissapointment. "Dammit, Ben. I guess I'll have to catch you early next week." Jackman nods. "Yeah...you do that." FADE.