Ben Jackman sits in the upper deck of the Arrowhead Pond in Anaheim, California. A cigarette burns away slowly between the index and middle fingers of his right hand. Jackman pulls the cigarette to his lips, taking a deep drag before exhaling a thick cloud of blue grey smoke out into the arena. The cigarette hangs limply between his teeth smoke rolling lazily upward toward the roof of the arena. Jackman fishes in the pocket of his jeans for a moment before producing his now trademark fist tape. He picks at the edge of the tape for a moment or two before getting it loose and rolling it tightly around the knuckles of his left hand. The tips of his fingers turn a dark pink as the tape is wound tighter and tighter around his entire fist until he is wrapped from the tips of his fingers to the an inch or two past his wrist. Just like every week before. Just like every week after. Sunday afternoon. Tape Fists. Last Minute Run Through in the arena's gym. Go out for Oblivion and beat some poor sap's ass. Every Sunday night. Every week. Jackman takes another drag from his cigarette never bothering to pull the butt from his mouth as he begins to wrap his right hand. Jackman takes one more quick drag from his cigarette before tossing it to the ground and stomping it under the heel of his boot. His eyes stayed focused on his fist as he winds the tape around and around his knuckles and palm. "Here we are, Kyle. The Arrowhead Pond. Anaheim, California. The SHOOT Project Presents Players or Pawns. Live on Pay-Per-View." Jackman looks up for a second a broad smile on his face, before turning his attention back to the job at hand. "What better place, what better stage to put your ass away One...last...time. We both want this, Kyle. We've waited for the final act to play itself out, and now here we are on the other side waiting for the curtain to rise and the time to come to lay it all on the line." Jackman looks up again, though not at the camera. His stare instead settles on the ring being set up in the middle of the Arrowhead Pond. Jackman smirks to himself, before continuing to wrap his hand. "There it is, Kyle. The site of your final stand. Your final chance to prove that you've got what it takes. Thats what this is all about for you isn't it? Thats why you got in this from the start, isn't it? To better yourself. To prove that you've got what it takes to be a main event player, and a win here takes away every loss you've suffered at my hands for the last month. This is the big one, Kyle. So are you gonna be able to grab that opportunity, or will it evade you yet again?" Jackman smile into the camera, pulling the end of the tape to his teeth and tearing it apart, his hand taped to his specifications now, he shoves the tape roll back into his pocket and begins to flex his fingers and knuckles under the tape. "Y'know in any other situation, against any other man. I might be swayed not to bet against you, Kyle, but the outcome of this match lays in my hands. You want to better yourself, Kyle, you've gotta go through me and over the last few months you've come to realize how little fun that can be. If you want to be the Number One Contender to SHOOT Project World Heavyweight Championship, and isn't that what every man wants at the end of the day. If you want your shot, then you're gonna have to beat me. Pretty fuckin cut and dry, but definitely easier said than done." The smile begins to fade from Jackman's face as he continues to flex his fingers. You've asked me why I would want the world title. Who would I have to hold me up? Who would I have to watch my back? And the answer is simply...noone. Seven months as the Iron Fist Champion and I had no help from anywhere keeping that belt around my waist. Don't get me wrong, Carver was in the back every step of the way, but never once did he make his presence felt in any of my title matches simply because there was no need. I stand alone, Darkbriar, because I for one don't need any backup. All the back up I need is right here." Jackman holds his massive fists up toward the camera, a cocky smirk on his face. "The SHOOT Project Championship, coveted by many, held by few and sadly Darkbriar you just don't fit the mold, which is not to say that you can't break that mold but today is just not your day. 'The Real Deal' Josh Johnson. Chris Lee. Stoned Cold, better known as J.D. Ice, OutKast. All technical masters. All SHOOT Project Champions since I joined SHOOT. So whats the difference between you and them, Kyle? They were hardcore when they needed to be, but were able to lean on their technial prowess to get them through. These are men that would much rather suplex your ass from one side of the ring to the other than piledrive you through ten tables stacked on top of each other, doused in gasoline and lit ablaze. These are my champions. This is the group I fit with. The technical champions." Jackman's eyes go steely, his glare burning a hole through the camera. "But don't get me wrong, Darkbriar, not every SHOOT Project Champion has been a technical marvel, most specifically 'Diamond' Del Carver. Carver doesn't know a wristlock from a hole in the ground, but he got by just the same as you. Beat them with anything you can get your hands on until they stop fucking moving. Del Carver, a true Hardcore Outlaw. A true SHOOT Project Champion." Jackman looks down at the floor below his feet for a moment before his eyes turn back up toward the camera. "And then there were the fluke champions. Jeff Cross, and Ravage. Men, that couldn't do it again if their very lives depended on it. Men that lucked up on the SHOOT Championship and took it home around their waists only because the chips fell their way, not through any technical prowess or cut-throat hardcore nature. They were lucky." Jackman smiles half-heartedly into the camera. "So I guess what I'm asking you is. Where do you fit in, Darkbriar? Or do you fit in at all? I guess you'll have to answer that one for yourself, if you ever get the chane to do anything more concrete than dream about it." Jackman shifts uncomfortably in his seat, trying in earnest to get comfortable. "But that brings us back to right now, Darkbriar. Tonight, in this very ring. You can bet your ass its gonna be a bloodbath. You're kinda ball game, eh? Well for once, Darkbriar, somebody wants a bloodbath as much as you. Don't think for one second that I'll hesitate to crease a chair over your head. Alls fair, Kyle, and I'm sure the thought just makes you giddy. Its gonna be a damn shame, when I beat you at your own game and leave you face down in a pool of your own blood, unconcious. But when you wake up, you'll be happy, cause Kyle Darkbriar is the happiest man on Earth because he's become desensitized to being a loser." Jackman stands to his feet, obviously almost done. "Kyle, just a few quick words of wisdom before I let you get back to your next joint. After I beat you tonight, after I do what my son wants and put your ass way..for Good. Just let it go. Take your ass on down the road. Because if you'll remember Stephanie came to you, Kyle. She wanted you, for one thing and one thing only, she wanted to use you to get to me. Simple as that, and once you fail in that purpose on Sunday she'll be gone, and the best you can hope for from her is a clean bill of health." Jackman laughs heavily. "After you lose, Darkbriar, just let it go. Or keep fucking with me, and you'll spend the rest of your life spitting chiclets...Bi...oops shit, motherfucker." Fade to Black