Prologue:
Jack was furious and frustrated when he walked through the curtain. He felt empty not being the SCW world champion. Despite the standing ovation from the locker room backstage, Jack wasn’t satisfied. A “Good match” and “taking the champion to the limit” was nothing if not a failure in his eyes. He ignored handshakes and walked to the locker room and sat with a towel over his head. He sulked on the locker room bench, punching the locker repeatedly before he had cooled down enough to take a shower, and head back to the hotel.
There were those who cheered in the parking lot, watching him leave and yelling actual encouragement. He ignored it, got into the car and drove off, not bothering to want to stick around.
Most saw this as win-win for Jack. Not matter what, he would be taken seriously. He would get a ton of recognition and respect for even competing in this match. But all Jack saw was a loss. He didn’t care about the recognition, he wanted the win. And in his own mind, he failed. He went back to the hotel, and vented his frustration, but also made it known that he did not tap out or submit, his body gave out, not his heart. And that next time, he would get the job done. This would be enough, at least for now, but Jack was still angry.
As the two weeks passed, Jack did not wrestle, and this, only made him more upset. He was stewing at the fact that he was given the weeks off. He was not eager to fight someone, and get right back into the hunt to become the SCW World champion. He couldn’t settle for anything less.
Outside of that, the construction on the flamingo was coming along. With Brian now running the day to day operations, Jack was more of a figure head, but still had plenty of say-so with the construction, and to be fair, his name was on the paperwork. This was his. Jack wanted to move quickly and get the casino equipment into the building, despite the Flamingo being more of an office building.
Changes were about to be made.
Jack could now focus more on wrestling, and know his purchase was in safe hands, but he wasn’t above keeping tabs on Brian, just to ensure that things didn’t go missing without an explanation. Jack knew that Brian had made a lot of money during his time, but how much was Brian taking a piece of the pie for himself, rather than just taking what he was given, Jack didn’t know, but Jack was determined not to let it happen.
But in the short term, Jack would have to full trust Brian with running the company. He was going to be off on the Summer XXXtreme cruise and hopefully get back to his winning ways and making sure that SCW wasn’t going to get cold feet, or ignore him gunning for the SCW championship.
--
Saxon Hotel
Las Vegas, NV
3 weeks ago
Jack paced in his hotel room. He was angry, annoyed and upset about losing. He would wear a trench in the floor if he could have continued all night. His shoulder ached, but the adrenaline was still high and he was yet to notice it. It would have repercussions soon, but Jack was about nothing but winning that championship.
He was talking to himself. Not making excuses, but swearing revenge like a crazy person. He was growling and snarling like a lunatic. His footsteps were heavy and pounding. Jack was ready to go another round with anybody that stood in front of him so was so amped up.
His phone rang, bringing him out of his trance-like state. He snatched it up and read Bobby’s name.
Jack: What?
Bobby: Dude, you okay?
Jack resented that question. He wanted to vomit it made him so angry.
Jack: No, I’m not okay. What the fuck, Bobby?!
Bobby: Yo, calm down man. I saw your shoulder get popped. Just seeing if your arm was still hurting.
Jack: OF FUCKING COURSE IT IS!
Jack shouted at the top of his lungs. No doubt someone at the hotel would be asking for him to keep the noise down soon enough. He didn’t care.
Jack: My arm feels like shit. Any other brilliant fucking questions, Bobby?
Bobby: Nah man, just seeing if my dude was good.
Jack: I am FAR, FAR from good, Bobby. I didn’t fucking win, and it pisses me off!
Bobby: Dude, you’re a star now. I think you just gotta see the good side of it.
Jack: THERE IS NO…
Jack stopped, and rubbed his face. He needed to calm himself down, but everything Bobby said was upsetting him. And after all he and Bobby were going through, he knew that Bobby was actually trying to help him.
Jack: There is no good side of it.
Bobby: Nah man, everyone is talking about you. Everyone is talking about how you almost won.
Jack: That’s the fucking problem Bobby. Almost doesn’t count for shit. Almost is just code for not being good enough to get the job done.
Bobby: Jack, dude… seriously. That doesn’t even matter. You losing hasn’t done anything. These people think you’re the next big star.
Jack: And how do you know that?
Bobby: You wanted the spotlight, right? Your match is all anybody around here is talking about on social media and the internet in general. You turned heads.
Jack was hearing this good news and it just wasn’t registering in his head. He wasn’t the SCW champion and it bothered him a lot. But Bobby was actually correct that Jack’s plan had succeeded. Jack was determined to be all that SCW’s audience was talking about. And despite the loss, this was true.
Jack: Really?
Bobby: Yeah dude, I’m telling you, you’ve got people talking. You’ve got a lot of people talking and it’s pretty fucking dope.
Jack: Maybe I do. I’m just gonna need to build on this. Yes, build on it. Look, I’m gonna need some time, call me later.
Jack hung up the phone, for the time being, he was content with this news. He had a lot of momentum, and now, it was only him needing to capitalize on it. He sat on his bed, and now with the adrenaline now fully worn off, he groaned at clutched at his shoulder. He checked his phone, finding out he had the next show off. In a way, this was good, but Jack didn’t want to be gone on television for too long. It was now a waiting game, and Jack hated to wait.
He awoke the next day, and found his twitter page blowing up to several messages and tweets, talking about his match and how well he had performed. This softened the blow of losing just a touch, but he was hungry to get back on track after this.
--
The Flamingo Grand Plaza
Las Vegas, NV
1 week ago
Jack walked into his office to find Brian standing, looking through the new glass window at the construction going on below.
Jack: How’s it looking?
Brian: Pretty good, Stick. You still sore about that match.
Jack: I don’t wanna talk about it.
Brian: I wouldn’t either. All that bluster and you come up with nothing.
Jack: I just said I don’t wanna talk about it. Why you gotta hassle me over this? You think the shit is funny, don’t you?
Brian: Call it a learning experience, Stick. You put up a good fight, but you were inexperienced. Just got outsmarted.
Jack: Why are we still on this?
Brian: Because you don’t see the forest for the trees son. You’re getting all mopey and as mad as a hornet about losing to the world champ. Most people would consider it an honor to be in the ring with the champ, and you act like you expected this.
Jack: Because I did. I know I can do this. I was that damn close to winning anyway. What would you have said then, huh?
Brian: Good shit. That would have been about it.
Brian sits down at Jack’s desk and pulls up some papers and spins them around in front of Jack.
Jack: What’s this?
Brian: Papers that need to be signed, and we need to get a gambling license. And your signature and promise you ain’t gonna do dumb shit when you get one.
Jack: I probably shouldn’t sign then.
Brian: Smart ass. Just sign the things so we can get some god damn booze in here.
Jack: Don’t we need a liquor license for that too?
Brian: Maybe. Nothing says you can enjoy a beer at a business you own.
Jack: You don’t own it.
Brian: I’m a partner in this. Besides I’m tired of trying to find a god damn bar that’s open anymore. Nobody wants to open anything.
Jack: Because dipshits don’t wanna listen and make shit worse around the country. Simple shit about wearing the mask and all that. Not sure why it’s so hard.
Brian: People don’t like being told what to do.
Jack: Even when it’s for their own good. Fuck man, that’s just dumb shit.
Brian: It is what it is.
Jack: They are the reason you can’t get a decent drink around here.
Brian: Well fuck ‘em then.
Jack: Anyway, are we getting a liquor licesne?
Brian: It’s in one of these forms. I can fill it out and all that. I trust you’re leaving me in charge when you got on your little vacation.
Jack: It’s not a vacation.
Brian: Bullshit. Fancy cruise out of LA. Shit, that sounds like a vacation to me.
Jack: I got a match on there, and … that’s really all I care about. I’m leaving you in charge, because I at least… think I can trust you.
Brian: Be still my beating heart.
Jack: But don’t think I don’t think you’ve above fucking me over.
Brian: I’ll hold down the fort til you get back. If anything goes crazy, well… shit… I guess you’ll find out when you get back!
Jack: Don’t make me regret this.
Brian: No worries, Stick. I may even make ya some money while you’re gone.
Jack: Don’t make any deals, man. Not without me.
Brian doesn’t actually say anything, he simply nods as Jack signs the papers, looking over them before he made any markings. Once he was satsified, Jack headed back to the hotel to prepare for his trip to Los Angeles.
--
Port of Los Angeles
Los Angeles, CA
Jack made the shorter drive to Los Angeles from Vegas, now having a car to call his own. He drove alone, not wanting to talk to any wrestler, or share any ride or anything that could even be considered “bonding” He drove out and was determined and focused on getting this match out of the way, but also dreading that he would at this point, be even closer packed in with the other talent. You had to get to know Jack to even be close to considered someone he would talk to, and that was just the way Jack liked it. The less people that know about you, the less they can use against you down the road. Jack always believed that quick friendships were fleeting, and in the right situation, anyone can turn on you.
Jack packed his bags eager to get this trip over and done with. He drove quickly and may have been one of the first passengers or SCW talent to actually arrive. He parked his car in the designated lot, and brought his boarding pass, getting his hotel room key.
Receptionist: Welcome to the Sun Princess, we hope you enjoy your stay.
There was a seemingly unnecessary stare down as Jack accepted his room key and headed straight there. He plopped his bag down and laid down on the bed. He felt it was uncomfortable, but he had slept on concrete before. So this was at least not that. Jack went into his bag and pulled out his laptop, plugging it in and finding everything he needed to charge and turning on the TV. Jack was going to need to busy himself because otherwise he would get bored.
Once some time had passed, Jack found his brocure and began to explore the ship. Not that he was too concerned with anything on it, he only needed to know where the gym was. Perhaps the bar, but he would be drinking alone. He didn’t want anybody near him. The fact they were all in this cramped space was already annoying him.
He stood on the deck, looking out at the ocean and casually keeping an eye out as other staff and wrestlers arrived. He would watch for some time, pondering things and then returning to find the gym. He knew he needed to stay ahead of the game, so once he located the gym, he returned to his phone, grabbed his phone, and workout gear, and headed back down to the gym.
He was going to get to work early.
The staff had to remind him to before they really got going, there would be a ship safety briefing once everyone arrives. Jack groaned at this, but assured the staff and the crew that he would be in attendance.
It wasn’t long before the ship’s horn blew and the entire crowd of people were there for the ship safety briefing. Jack paid little attention to this, as was his style. He didn’t plan on going overboard, he didn’t plan on getting near the edge of the boat for any reason. If he had it his way, he would only be in his room, at the gym, or eating. There wasn’t anything else to do. There was no need to do anything else in his mind. He wasn’t here for a vacation, though it was good to get away from the hotel and see something new, but he wanted this trip to be over quickly. He was here to win. That was all that was important to him.
Jack returned to his spot in the gym, and the workout started. Back on the hunt, for victory.
--
On Camera
Click.
Jack was outside on the deck of the cruiser liner, and pacing. His face was one of determination, and more anger.
Jack: I was that goddamn close.
Jack held his fingers equidistant apart.
Jack: Within a cunt hair of winning the SCW World title. I was that damn close and it was, as some call it, a tough day at the office. But make no mistake, Ben Jordan escaped with his precious title, and he’s one of the smartest men in the world for calling himself lucky, because that’s exactly what he is. The man applied his best hold, and wrestled a perfect match, and at the end of the day, he couldn’t make me give up. I didn’t quit, I didn’t tap out, I didn’t say I’ve had enough. I passed out. My body wouldn’t let me continue the way I wanted to. And Ben Jordan can bet every last dollar that if I hadn’t of passed out, I was going to get up and beat him ass some more. Because that’s what I was doing that whole match. He can thank his lucky stars he’s been using that hold for a long time, and that I injured my shoulder prior to it happening. Because without it, you’d be looking at the SCW champion right now, and I’d be getting ready to knock the hair spray out of Girffin Hawkins ass.
Jack spits. Further showing his disgust.
Jack: And there’s plenty of people, who are coming out of the woodwork now, saying “Jack, man, you were so close, you really did a great job, and you should be the champion.” Thank you to all those dipshits who are telling me shit I already know. Next time, just write it on a sticky note and keep it to yourself. I never asked for anything like that, I just demanded that people step up and take notice, and I’ll be damned if that’s what happened. So they ask, what’s next? What is in Jack Washington’s future, and everybody wants to jump on the damn train.
Well, unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past three weeks, jack shit has happened. They’ve been keeping me off TV, and I haven’t had much to say. I could have come on there and pissed and moaned and cried like some little baby, but that’s not me. I told you that I knew Ben was not going to be a pushover, and he wasn’t. What else is there to say? Jack Washington got his shot, and he was damn close. But at the end of the day, I didn’t get the job done. Point blank, period.
And all this waiting around and jerking me around like I’m some chump, has only made me pissed off even more. I was that damn close, and then I don’t get anything? Okay, I see how it is. You have made me stew for three weeks and not given me any action. And all that has done, has made me crave the SCW world title even more. Now, I am more determined than ever to get back to getting a shot at the championship and taking it from either Ben Jordan or Griffin Hawkins. I will accept nothing less of myself, and now, after that match, you will should know damn well, that I can take it from either one of them, once I get back in contention.[/font]
Jack scowls as he shakes his head. He leans his head back, and sighs, almost nodding in understanding.
Jack: But I get it now. I’m at the back of the line, and that’s okay. Because you can rest assured, I will run through every single person they put in front of me, to get back to the front of the line. So, if I was Ben Jordan, or Griffin Hawkins, I would be looking over my shoulder for Jack Washington. I’d be watching my back, because I took a piece of Ben Jordan’s ass three weeks ago, and I already told him, and the rest of the world, that I’ll finish the damn job next time. And I will take everything from Griffin Hawkins too is he picks the bones I set for him.
So, here I am, back of the line, ready to fight, and what is this garbage they put in front of me? Some asshole in a racing suit driving his little car around in circles. Oh, I’m sorry, motorcycles. Like it really matters. Just some jack-off racing around like he’s some kind of athlete or someone that is even remotely important. You know who drives around in circles? Clowns. And that’s exactly what this guy is.
Agostino Romero. Okay then.
Jack begins to pace.
Jack: Some little Italian man who thinks this is all a big joke. It’s all fun and games for this guy. You can take one look at this guy, and the unstoppable urge to beat the shit out of him hits. It’s just a guy with a punchable face. With his shit-eating grin and his stupid outfit, and his dumb hat. You look at him, and know right away he’s a jackass. The kind of guy who you look at, or you hear him talk, and you just make the determination that he needs his ass kicked. That is the guy who SCW is putting in front of me, and I have to openly ask if this is a joke.
I just took the SCW champion apart, and now, they wanna give me this guy? But, again, I get it, back of the line. Didn’t realize I was in the longest line possible because this dipshit is so far back it’s ridiculous. You give me a guy that is some kind of glorified stunt man and say “Have fun?” Nah, that ain’t how this works. I’m going to take this little asshat, and I’m going to beat him ass right in the middle of the ring. He can be all fancy and do all the cool stunts and get the kiddies all cheering and happy, and it ain’t gonna make a damn bit of difference when he’s in the ring with me. You know why people even watch racing in the first place? To see if they’re going to crash. You watch a skateboard video or whatever and you watching fall and it’s hilarious. That’s what you’re putting me against? Somebody should shout “Do a kickflip” during his matches or something. The dude is a nobody. And that’s supposed to be a challenge for me? Some moron who’s a sucker for the cheers? No, I’ve taken this damn place by storm, and this clown is worried about the wrong shit. You can impress with your performance, or you can impress with your lack of anything else.
The guy won some little dirtbike or go-kart races, and that’s supposed to be impressive? I’m supposed to be shitting my pants because this guy raced some other little morons and they went all vroom-vroom and now he’s supposed to be a wrestler? Get the fuck outta here. I’m not taking him lightly, but god damn you gotta do better than that. You’ve made me starve for three weeks, and you toss me a crumb? You expectt me to just take it and smile? That is a load of crap, and I’m going to take this asshole apart piece by damn piece, just to let all the SCW brass know, that I’m ready for the big fish. I’m ready to fight anybody on this roster. I don’t like anybody on this roster, male or female. I don’t need anybody on this roster to like me either. Whether it’s the champ, or the piece of white bread Austin Mercer. All you have to do is shut up and watch me work.
And you know, since the bitch-ass dude is Italian, I’m gonna make this personal. You know why? I’m from Philly. Philadelphia is the home of one of the greatest boxers of all time, Joe Frazier. Joe was the fucking man, and you know what happened? Sly Stallone goes and makes a boxing movie about Joe Frazier, except he puts himself in the title role. And he comes “The Italian Stallion”. Rocky Balboa was nothing but a Joe Frazier wannabe. And you know what the fuck happened? There’s a goddamn statue of Rocky Balboa in Philadelphia, and it was supposed to be Joe! It took 3 years after Joe Frazier DIED to get that statue.
Jack spits again, his anger growing.
Jack: Rocky Balboa, isn’t even a real person, man. Joe Frazier, the man who was Philly to his god damn core, is real. And he was fucking great. So, I’m going to do Agostino was Joe did to the bums in his day. He beat on them. He beat them up and busted them up really bad. That’s what this guy has coming to him. He’s going to get his ass whooped, and that’s going to be all there is to it. That’s just what happens when you disrespect me.
You can love me, or you can hate. I don’t care. Cheer, boo, whatever. At the end of the day, the result will be the same. I’m about to tear through the SCW roster, and I’m going to kick the crap out of the little bike ride guy and then, whoever is next. The champ better be watching, because it’s going to glimpse into his future.
Sorry, but I don’t know any other way to be, besides honest and frank about what I do. Agostino Romero is about to get his short funny looking ass kicked and he can go back riding his moped or whatever in circles for all the kids to see. He’s much safer doing that, then ever stepping in the ring with me. Maybe we ought to throw him overboard and see if he can swim any better than he can ride his bike. Ride your bike in the damn ocean, you’d have a better chance.
That’s how I’m feeling right now SCW. Watch what I do to this clown, and understand, that it’s going to whomever you put in front of me, moving forward.
I’m coming for that championship. Watch me.
With that, Jack walks away, and we cut to black.
Click.
Watch. This. Space.
