Ben Jackman stood in the center of the living room of his Tampa condo, his cell phone pressed tightly against his ear with his right hand. A look of deep concentration laid across Jackman's face as he listened intently to the voice on the other end of the phone. He paced slowly back and forth across the room, the tone of the conversation obviously making him a little nervous, a little pensive or perhaps a little of both. "Yeah, Keith. I understand that." "Yeah. Yeah. I know I fucked up." "Yeah, but theres only so much a man can take." "Look, put yourself in my situation, Keith. For one fucking second. Think about it, you'd have done the same goddamned thing." "Bullshit. Think about it, you know you would have." Jackman shakes his head, the look of intense concentration never leaving his face. "Damn right. And you're gonna blame me for doing something that any man in the same situation would've done?" "Look. I could've handled it alot worse than I did. I cooperated every step of the way. Thats gotta do something for me, right?" A look of defeat appears on Jackman's face for a moment before dissappearing again into the cloud of concentration. "Jesus Christ, Keith. Yes, I screwed the pooch on this one. Alright, I understand that you're doing what you can to help me, but have some fucking compassion and give me a fucking break. You've already said that you'd have done the same thing." Jackman stopped dead in his tracks, anger clouding his face again. "Oh, you'd never put yourself in a situation like this? Is that a fact?" "Well, its not like I went down to the courthouse and signed up for this shit. I didn't say 'Hey, you know what'd be fun? Let me put my self through a mental and emotional hell. Yeah, that'd be great.' Its not like that, Keith. I never asked for any of this shit to go this way, and I've done everything in my power to stay on top of this as best as possible." "Alright." "Fine." "I'll talk to you tommorow." Jackman's finger slides over the panel of the phone looking for the hangup key. "Take care of yourself, Keith. Goodnight." The key is pressed and the call ends. Jackman flopped heavily onto his leather sofa, his head landing on the padded armrest with a soft thud. Jackman exhaled heavily, and closed his eyes, his fists immediatly seeking them out and attempting to rub the weariness from them. A sharp series of knocks came outside Jackman's door and he leaned forward in an effort to answer the door only to stop halfway and lay back down instead opting to raise his voice to whoever was outside the door. "Yeah...come in. Its open." Jackman's front door swung open and a SHOOT Project camera crew walked almost hesitantly. Jackman offered a wane smile and forced himself into a seat position on his sofa, motioning for the camera crew to set up across from him. The camera crew immediatly went to work and Jackman again leaned back against the cushioned sofa and closed his eyes. Several minutes later, the cameraman cleared his throat noisily in an attempt to get Jackman's attention without distracting him from whatever was going through his mind. Jackman opened his eyes slowly and stared across the room at the camera and crew silently nodding his ready. The record button was pushed on the camera, Jackman cleared his throat with some amount of effort and began. "Whats the point of playing games? Generally its to prove your prowess over your opponent at something. To prove that you're better. That you're more skilled in a particular endeavor. And still some choose to play games knowing full well that they have no chance of winning. Such is the case with Kyle Darkbriar. Darkbriar plays games. And maybe he's convinced himself that he's good at what he does, but somewhere in the deep dark recesses of his unconciousness he HAS to realize that this game he's chosen to play with me is a complete and total waste of time. I've not fallen for your bullshit yet, Darkbriar, what makes you think I'm gonna start now? Less than two weeks from the moment of truth? Are you that delusional? Are you so lost in your own mind that you've convinced yourself that I've followed your every word. That I've taken everything you've said. Everything you've shown me. Every game you've played. Hook. Line. And sinker. Have you actually convinced yourself that you're the better man? I should hope not, but if you have, maybe...just maybe you're in the wrong profession entirely. If you've convinced yourself that after a month plus of consistently getting your ass handed to you by yours truly that you actually have a chance in HELL of beating me then maybe you should look into motivational speaking. Hell if you can convince yourself of something like that, you should be more than able to pull the wool over the eyes of any number of other idiots. Why the hell not, Darkbriar? Its bound to be good money. And, theres zero chance of getting your ass kicked by me on a weekly basis. Sounds like a solid career move all the way around. Keep that shit in mind, cause your obviously not cutting the mustard here." Jackman paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts before continuing. "I'll give you one thing, Darkbriar, you're either too stupid or too ballsy to realize when you're beat, and in this situation thats a bad thing for your well being. But it leaves me able to rest a little easier at night knowing that I can be sure that you'll bring your ass to the ring at Players or Pawns, simply because you think you've got a chance. Well, newsflash, Kyle, thats all you've got...a chance. And its a miniscule one to say the least. Its all laid out for you. Everything you've ever wanted from SHOOT. The respect and adulation you'd get for beating me on a grand stage such as Players or Pawns, and the shot at the SHOOT Project World Heavyweight Championship that you've been mooning over for months. Heres your chance, Darkbriar, just two weeks away. Its a goddamned shame I'm gonna have to snatch it right from your grubby little mitts. Damn shame I'm gonna be compelled to rub your nose in it after I beat you...again. And most of all its a damn shame, that after its all done, I'll come out smelling like a rose, just like always, and you'll sink right back to the bottom, where you belong. I've grown tired of carrying you, Darkbriar. I'm tired of your games of cat and mouse, but if it pleases you to continue then what the hell, go for it. Two weeks from now, you won't have any choice but to pack it up and take it back to the undercard where you belong." Jackman laughed hollowly. "Which brings me to this week. Apparently, nowhere in our contract for Players or Pawns did it say that we couldn't spend the next two weeks beating the hell out of each other, which in essence kills all the rest of your games before they even limp out of the starting gate. Do your worst, Darkbriar, because I know that once Sunday rolls around, I'll get you in the ring again, and again I'll get to toss you around like a full grown rag doll. Like I've said before a man can only be driven to the edge by games, when he can't get his hands on his antagonist, and sadly for you thats just not the way the cookies gonna crumble this time. This Sunday night, four men with four wholly different agendas will step into the ring and beat the living hell out of each other. Each man has an intense hatred for at least one of the men on the other side of the ring. In actuality we've got two matches that could both easily headline any number of Oblivion's rolled into one HUGE tag match up. Ben Jackman and 'The Real Deal' Josh Johnson, two men that have for the most part been on the same side of the fence at all times, but have never quite seen eye to eye. We've had a vocal respect toward each other before, but that has for the most part been eroded away by time and a collection of differences. Both of us know full well what the other is capable of, and because of that still keep a quiet respect for the other man. Is any of that going to matter when the bell rings on Sunday? Nope, not one goddamned bit. Will we be able to co-exist as a team? Damn right we will, if only for the simple fact that through our own teamwork we'll allow ourselves more time and more opportunities to hurt those against us. Simple as that. We'll get along so we can kick Darkbiar and Cronos' collective ass. I can't think of any better motivation, and in reality our opposition could work on that same fact. But seriously can Darkbriar and Cronos' coexist? Can they? Not a fucking chance. Cronos will tire of Darkbriar's bullshit pretty fucking quickly and from there he'll have to restrain himself from slapping the shit out of his partner. Cronos is an intelligent guy, he'll spend the week trying to analyze Sunday's match from every possible angle, and Darkbriar will struggle along blindly behind picking his nose, because his brain is incapable of keeping up. It'll be almost comical in its sadness." Jackman stands up from the couch, prepared to make his final statement. "So this Sunday night, from Oblivion. Josh Johnson and Ben Jackman will do what they do best. What they made they're name doing." Jackman smiles. "What is that you ask?" Jackman's smile broadens even farther. "Just win, baby." FADE.