Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Oct 22, 2010 20:14:41 GMT -6
Open on Andrew Jacobsen in the back of a limo, driving down the main Vegas strip. He grins to himself as the neon signs roll by: Caesar's Palace, the Mirage, the Luxor. He reaches over and picks a can of Mello Yello out of the mini-fridge, smirking at what no doubt was a special request from his friend Zelda Knite. That smile is only diminished slightly as he moves mentally from Zelda to her boyfriend/partner in crime/his opponent, Kyle Braddock...aka Falcon.
"Here we go. We're going into Road to the Gold FOUR. Big landmark in nCw history. Y'know, this means that I will have officially appeared on every nCw pay-per-view on the calendar. Three title matches. Velez. Star. Bates. The Coliseum. The Warfare match. The Riot. Venom. Mr. Happy. The Front Office. Alex Jones. Ten matches. Only three wins. Pretty abysmal. But I'm fixing to up my win average. You might be good, Falcon. But I know that I'm better than I've ever been. I know that I can drop you to the ground for ten. I'm going to kick your ass into next week and walk out of Road to the Gold. You? You'll need to be stretchered out."
He sighs, cracking open the can and taking a swig of the carbonated and highly caffeinated contents. Andrew grins as he finally gets some refreshment, resting the can in one of the convenient cupholders laying around his immediate area.
"We both fell short on the Road. Charlie Velez took you out in the opening round, and Ricky Johnson eliminated me in the quarterfinals. However, I proved something with my one win: I showed once and for all that I can and will be able to dance with the big dogs when I beat Doc. Incidentally, isn't it funny how people try to tear down other people's matches on the same show? Charlie, you lost. Big deal. People are buying this card for more than you. As a matter of fact, I'd be willing to bet that more of them were sold on this match than yours. We've got a story building here, and sometimes people like that. But enough about you."
Andrew's thoughts drift back to his Live conversation with Zelda, passing over Emma's call with him. He immediately dismisses his seemingly former friend's accusations towards his relationship with the Women's Champion as being heat of the moment, focusing once more on the task at hand.
"Know what, Falcon? I want the beast within. I want you to try to kill me. I want to see you go nuts and try to put me down. If that's what it takes to finally put this crap behind me, so freaking be it. I asked for this because I want to prove once and for all that I'm on the level of guys like you. I don't want people telling me I'm the future of this company...I want them saying that I'm the present."
He looks back out the window as the limo passes by a billboard advertising Road to the Gold, this one featuring the match between Freakke and Jason Blair for the National Title. He shudders upon seeing the image of Freakke with a belt. Andrew looks away again, back towards the driver's compartment.
"You've got more experience with these sort of matches, Falcon. You're a hardcore innovator, an extreme icon, an X-Division founding father. I'm just a young gun with a bag full of suplexes and a hold for every person on the roster. If I were looking at this from the outside, I'd say that I challenged you to the last match I should have. Rest assured, though. I know what a street fight is. I know how to work with my surroundings. Or is everyone forgetting when I warped Rob Diamond's spine around that ladder last year? Have you all forgotten the men I've made pass out in pain with my submissions? I've beaten World Champions. I took down DDK for the world to see. I felled the monster that was Gib. I've taken briefcases to the head for this company. My blood runs nCw. I sweat Trauma, I bleed Collision. I go out every week and throw myself into the path of whoever I've been set up at because I don't believe in the concept of letting the fans down. If you really buy what people have been saying about me, you're stupider than I gave you credit for. And you know I hate to say that."
He looks at his phone, smiling faintly at his background, a picture of himself and Zelda hanging out together at the arcade. Andrew sighs, seeing that enchanting smile on her face, but other emotions force him to put it back away.
"All of this bickering, this back-and-forth BS. It's not worth it, man. At this point, we're just going to go out there and beat the unholy hell out of each other. Because that's what this is going to be. This match is going to be hell on Earth for both of us. In the end, however...it all boils down to our need to prove who the better man is."
Andrew's eyes light up as he says that, seemingly coming to a realization that very moment. He grins to himself, leaning back and grabbing his Mello Yello again for a few sips. His general demeanor suggests the cat that caught the canary.
"And that's all you are in the end. Strip away the reputation, take off the facepaint, throw away the titles and who are you? Just a mortal like everyone else. You're not forgotten. You're a revolutionary no more. This is you: a man with a decade-long career, a chiropractor bill bigger than Steve Awesome's list of antibiotics, and a girlfriend whose father you could have been. You're standing here in the dusk of your career, asking yourself a simple question: what do I do now? The answer seems simple: go out there and fight. Just like you always have."
His jaw clenches in resolve, and Andrew leans forward, stretching a bit. He stretches one arm, getting a satisfyingly resounding pop from his shoulder joint and each of his knuckles.
"So give me your best shot. Give me the Aerial Spike, hit me with a Swanton off the top of the stage, enfold me within the Falcon's Wings and leave ms staring into that Black Sky Blue. Then watch me get back up and keep coming after you. Nothing you can do will keep me down. I won't stop fighting, Kyle. Because I know that deep down, when everything is on the line, that I will beat you. Not because of your failings. But because I don't know what quit means. I don't acknowledge pain. I'm fighting for a lot of things. My pride. The fans. The respect I know I need. And that little girl from Dallas with the heart of a lion. I won't falter for any one of those things. Combined? I'm going to be like a freight train barreling down on you. Bring your worst, Kyle. I'll bring mine. And may God have mercy on your soul."
The camera moves out through the back window of the limo, watching it mingle with the assorted traffic flowing through the luminescent streets of Sin City. We pan over to another advertisement, this time outside the MGM, which shows both Falcon and Andrew staring dead on at each other. Fade out on that image of the two men.
"Here we go. We're going into Road to the Gold FOUR. Big landmark in nCw history. Y'know, this means that I will have officially appeared on every nCw pay-per-view on the calendar. Three title matches. Velez. Star. Bates. The Coliseum. The Warfare match. The Riot. Venom. Mr. Happy. The Front Office. Alex Jones. Ten matches. Only three wins. Pretty abysmal. But I'm fixing to up my win average. You might be good, Falcon. But I know that I'm better than I've ever been. I know that I can drop you to the ground for ten. I'm going to kick your ass into next week and walk out of Road to the Gold. You? You'll need to be stretchered out."
He sighs, cracking open the can and taking a swig of the carbonated and highly caffeinated contents. Andrew grins as he finally gets some refreshment, resting the can in one of the convenient cupholders laying around his immediate area.
"We both fell short on the Road. Charlie Velez took you out in the opening round, and Ricky Johnson eliminated me in the quarterfinals. However, I proved something with my one win: I showed once and for all that I can and will be able to dance with the big dogs when I beat Doc. Incidentally, isn't it funny how people try to tear down other people's matches on the same show? Charlie, you lost. Big deal. People are buying this card for more than you. As a matter of fact, I'd be willing to bet that more of them were sold on this match than yours. We've got a story building here, and sometimes people like that. But enough about you."
Andrew's thoughts drift back to his Live conversation with Zelda, passing over Emma's call with him. He immediately dismisses his seemingly former friend's accusations towards his relationship with the Women's Champion as being heat of the moment, focusing once more on the task at hand.
"Know what, Falcon? I want the beast within. I want you to try to kill me. I want to see you go nuts and try to put me down. If that's what it takes to finally put this crap behind me, so freaking be it. I asked for this because I want to prove once and for all that I'm on the level of guys like you. I don't want people telling me I'm the future of this company...I want them saying that I'm the present."
He looks back out the window as the limo passes by a billboard advertising Road to the Gold, this one featuring the match between Freakke and Jason Blair for the National Title. He shudders upon seeing the image of Freakke with a belt. Andrew looks away again, back towards the driver's compartment.
"You've got more experience with these sort of matches, Falcon. You're a hardcore innovator, an extreme icon, an X-Division founding father. I'm just a young gun with a bag full of suplexes and a hold for every person on the roster. If I were looking at this from the outside, I'd say that I challenged you to the last match I should have. Rest assured, though. I know what a street fight is. I know how to work with my surroundings. Or is everyone forgetting when I warped Rob Diamond's spine around that ladder last year? Have you all forgotten the men I've made pass out in pain with my submissions? I've beaten World Champions. I took down DDK for the world to see. I felled the monster that was Gib. I've taken briefcases to the head for this company. My blood runs nCw. I sweat Trauma, I bleed Collision. I go out every week and throw myself into the path of whoever I've been set up at because I don't believe in the concept of letting the fans down. If you really buy what people have been saying about me, you're stupider than I gave you credit for. And you know I hate to say that."
He looks at his phone, smiling faintly at his background, a picture of himself and Zelda hanging out together at the arcade. Andrew sighs, seeing that enchanting smile on her face, but other emotions force him to put it back away.
"All of this bickering, this back-and-forth BS. It's not worth it, man. At this point, we're just going to go out there and beat the unholy hell out of each other. Because that's what this is going to be. This match is going to be hell on Earth for both of us. In the end, however...it all boils down to our need to prove who the better man is."
Andrew's eyes light up as he says that, seemingly coming to a realization that very moment. He grins to himself, leaning back and grabbing his Mello Yello again for a few sips. His general demeanor suggests the cat that caught the canary.
"And that's all you are in the end. Strip away the reputation, take off the facepaint, throw away the titles and who are you? Just a mortal like everyone else. You're not forgotten. You're a revolutionary no more. This is you: a man with a decade-long career, a chiropractor bill bigger than Steve Awesome's list of antibiotics, and a girlfriend whose father you could have been. You're standing here in the dusk of your career, asking yourself a simple question: what do I do now? The answer seems simple: go out there and fight. Just like you always have."
His jaw clenches in resolve, and Andrew leans forward, stretching a bit. He stretches one arm, getting a satisfyingly resounding pop from his shoulder joint and each of his knuckles.
"So give me your best shot. Give me the Aerial Spike, hit me with a Swanton off the top of the stage, enfold me within the Falcon's Wings and leave ms staring into that Black Sky Blue. Then watch me get back up and keep coming after you. Nothing you can do will keep me down. I won't stop fighting, Kyle. Because I know that deep down, when everything is on the line, that I will beat you. Not because of your failings. But because I don't know what quit means. I don't acknowledge pain. I'm fighting for a lot of things. My pride. The fans. The respect I know I need. And that little girl from Dallas with the heart of a lion. I won't falter for any one of those things. Combined? I'm going to be like a freight train barreling down on you. Bring your worst, Kyle. I'll bring mine. And may God have mercy on your soul."
The camera moves out through the back window of the limo, watching it mingle with the assorted traffic flowing through the luminescent streets of Sin City. We pan over to another advertisement, this time outside the MGM, which shows both Falcon and Andrew staring dead on at each other. Fade out on that image of the two men.