Post by JackHammer on Jun 15, 2008 0:36:15 GMT -6
See, watch this." [JackHammer stands before a small crowd of about a half dozen NCW staff, along with two hired trainers in his gym. His long hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat, his form-fitting black Disturbed t-shirt (sleeves long since torn off) sticking to his chest. Black track pants rustle as he turns to his audience, his wrestling shoes squeak on the painted cement floor as he fixes his blazing green eyes on one face after another.]
[JackHammer pauses the tape. A still image of two boxers waits on the television, as he explains the situation.]
"The one on the right's been dominating the fight the whole way through, right? But watch -- he stops and drops his hands to goad the other guy into letting his guard down. Now watch what happens..."
[With a grin, he hits the play button.] "BOOM!!!"
[He laughs loudly as the cocky fighter catches a left hook square on the chin and collapses like a house of cards. The gathered crowd seems to be enjoying JackHammer's commentary more than the television.] "Man, if I could put something like that into music, I'd be at Carnegie Hall." [He laughs once more, pointing both index fingers at the television, as the boxer's eyes regain focus just as the referee counts ten and motions to ring the bell.] "LOSER!!"
[He calms down as he looks back and sees all the bewildered eyes watching him, and a grin spreads over his face.] "Sorry. But THAT is sheer beauty. It's just..." [He clenches a fist and beams, growling with glee as he finds himself completely unable to describe it.] "Hey, all of us appreciate something with this kind of passion, right? Might be paintings, might be music... hell, might even be body piercing." [His eyes fall on one girl in the pack of staff with an impressive array of eyebrow, ear, nose, and lip studs. She smiles, and he pauses a moment, distracted, before righting himself and continuing.] "But for me, it's this. It's just... the glory. The competition. It's visceral, it's primal... just the feeling of raising your hands and meeting the crowd, as twenty thousand voices praise your victory. There's just nothing like it."
[Suddenly feeling like a college professor lecturing a captive audience, he turns to the camera crew setting up to his left.] "Hey guys, how long till we're ready?"
"It'll be another few minutes, we're trying to get the lighting right." "The flourescents you've got in here just make people look like the walking dead."
"Nice, maybe I'll make a film about zombie wrestlers rising from the grave, to terrorize the living and stand in the spotlight again. Hey, you know Hogan would go for it." [JackHammer smirks and sticks his arms out, rolling his eyes back and stiffly shuffles towards one of his trainers.] "Say your prayers, take your vitamins, and EAT BRAAIIINS!!"
[The entire staff can't help but laugh as he catches the Chicago PD combat instructor, an incredibly fit blonde woman in her early thirties, who playfully tries in vain to escape and then cries out in classic Scream Queen style] "OH GOD NO, HELP! HE'S GOING TO CUT A PROMO!" [The entire NCW staff cracks up at this, JackHammer included.]
[Laughter subsiding, he looks at the chief technician, who nods.]
--
"Today, we take a look into JackHammer's training regimen. His cardio and weight training are already out of the way, so we can get into the fun stuff -- his advanced conditioning regimen." [The reporter begins, uniform and inconspicuous as ever. In the background stands JackHammer, talking to someone off-camera.] "It's extreme, it's unorthodox... it's one hundred percent JackHammer."
[WHAM! A medicine ball strikes JackHammer in the pit of his stomach. He stands completely unfazed by the impact, and motions to the thrower to put a little more into it. The thrower, as the camera pans, is revealed to be a mountain of a man. Easily dwarfing JackHammer in both height and girth, he picks up another medicine ball off the rack, coils up, and sets it off effortlessly like a Randy Johnson fastball. For an instant the whistle of its travel is heard, and it connects with a stinging slap into JackHammer's gut once again. Yet again, the wreslter is unfazed, and grins -- his sharklike teeth sparking in the light, the flash of the studio lighting refracting off his gold cap. Another ball is thrown, and once again it sails in a whistling spiral towards JackHammer.]
[This one he headbutts out of the air, spiking it into the floor. He does this with the next one. And the one after that. And so on, his face growing more and more intent with each repitition as the medicine balls gather on the floor about him. Finally, the last ball is hurled; and in practiced fashion, this too is driven into the cement with JackHammer's cranium. A noticeable mark shows on JackHammer's forehead -- part welt, part bruise, as he bares his teeth and snarls for the camera in a completely over-the-top fashion.]
[The reporter approaches, as JackHammer pulls his hair back and rests his arms on his sides.] "So tell us, what's the purpose of that training, besides looking good for the camera?"
"It braces the neck for impact and builds your reflexes -- it also helps you shake off any fears of getting hit in the head, which happens in the ring whether you want it to or not. It's nothing to be afraid of unless you're afraid to spoil any good looks, or unless you've got the cranial integrity of a grape. [He smirks and continues.] "So, yeah... it's nothing to be afraid of unless you're Ricky Johnson or John Anthony."
"So, yes... about your match with Ricky Johnson and John Anthony--"
"What's to say about it? I rib on them a lot, but they are a talented kids the last time I saw them. They know I respect them, and I know they respect me. Sad part of this deal is that they've gotten themself in over their heads by claiming they're going to single me out and not worry about Dark Prophet."
"Er, what about Fox's warning towards you about this upcoming match? You aren't seemed to be favored in this match, are you?"
[JackHammer grins at the memory of his recent metrosexuality experiment. He'll have to get Fox back for that.] "Hey, she's the boss. She can favor a wrestler if she wants. It won't help the guy win anything, but she's free to state an opinion. Just as I'm free to state that I even thought our most recent Queer Eye For the Straight Guy episode was funny. After it was all over with, of course. See, I can take a joke and laugh it off with the best of them -- but remember, I've got a lot of ways to piss in a man's cornflakes too. Keep your eyes open for that -- both you, Fox... and anyone who wants to see what I've got in mind." [He grins once more, tenting his fingers and drumming them against one another as the smile takes on a more mischievous tone.] "Although I figure if I really wanted to ruin your day, I'd just go and win this whole thing to spite you."
--
[The scene cuts to the other side of JackHammer's gym, where on a wrestling mat he's standing blindfolded. The pretty, though intimidating police instructor is behind him, cuffing his hands behind his back. As the crew watches on, the reporter asks] "So what's this part of training all about?"
[JackHammer bows his head.] "This is just to keep me on the crest of the wave when it comes to getting hit where I'm not expecting it. If you see an attack coming, you can steel yourself for it and block out a lot of the damage. But this teaches you how to do that naturally -- so when you're blindsided you're accustomed to the shock to some degree." [He continues as the instructor slips gloves on her hands.] "The reason I'm getting Lynn here to demonstrate this is because she hits hard enough to sting, but she controls herself so well she won't cause any real damage. That's kinda crucial right before a match." [He grins and continues.] "Plus I like it when she hurts me."
[As if on cue, her right foot slams hard into his ribs with a reverbating smack. JackHammer grunts, and pitches a little as she smirks; obviously a woman who loves her work. His nostrils flare, and his face contorts into a grimace as he catches his breath. Then, as if nothing had happened, he rights himself and smirks nonchalantly -- only to fold in half with an explosive grunt as she slams a knee into his gut. A double axe handle to the back of his neck drops him to a knee, but he promptly rolls away before anything else can be done. Scrambling to his feet and facing in a direction he thinks is facing her, he shouts out.]
"Jesus! Would it help if I said I was sorry?!"
[He drops violently to his knees before toppling over completely, the result of a foot stepping into the back of his left knee and forcing it to the floor. Finally, content with her handiwork, she sits cross-legged on his back, beaming at the camera.] "I think he's had enough, don't you agree?"
"I don't." [JackHammer is quick to reply, despite being completely unable to do anything with his hands tied and one-hundred and forty pounds resting on his shoulderblades.]
"That's because you're demented, hon."
"I thought you loved that about me."
"Never said otherwise, did I. Though I'm married." [She emphasizes the last part for the camera with a cheeky grin.]
"The good ones always are."
--
[The scene cuts once more, this time to JackHammer's practice ring. No ridiculous training regimens here, he's just sitting on the apron, absently bouncing a superball on the cement.]
"Of course, I don't consider myself the less fortunate one. I've lost a lot of blood and probably a few years off my life, but what that gave me is something I wouldn't trade for the world -- experience. Not in terms of wrestling itself. Life in general -- it's not like anything else to hear half a million Japanese fans go crazy when you're trading right hands with Big Van Vader, and the ring suddenly erupts from under you. Now, that's hardly something I like to do every day, but it's an experience... a rush I'm never likely to forget."
[He bounces the ball of his bicep, before bouncing it off the floor again and meeting the camera with an icy glare.] "You're making a big mistake in assuming I lose control when I'm angry. Or that I even get angry in the ring -- when's the last time you saw me blow my top? I mean, honestly -- you've gotten a glimpse of how I live. The time my life begins is when the bell rings, and it goes back to sleep when I'm packing my bags to come back home to train another week. It's not anger you're seeing, buddy -- it's intensity. It's focus -- something you yourself need to work on. You said it yourself -- you're focused on Bling-Bling Jozzle MoShozzle, and on your partnership with Big Daddy Dazzo. Not to mention your little Ricky bootlicker."
[He smirks and looks at the floor, the stare fading for a moment... and then BAM, it returns tenfold; two glowering, unblinking dark orbs burning out the back of your head. The most alarming part of all is that he's still smiling.] "The one and only thing that would piss me off is you not giving a damn about your biggest problem of all -- the maniac you've got to pin down for three seconds before he ruins Foxo's day and knocks you out of the race. Because the last thing I want is two squashes in a row, chuckles."
[He sighs and shakes his head.] "As for John coming down and saving your face, by stepping in and making you look like the underdog -- tell him, please do! Because I love to equalize the odds and he's in for a hell of a night if he decides to give me help I didn't ask for. I don't care WHAT the story is between you two -- if that happens, I'm gonna step in and make sure neither of you think about screwing around with a JackHammer match again. Ever."
[Pausing a moment, he admires the swirling designs in the ball and thinks a moment.] "See you in the ring, Ricky and John. Till then, be good."
[With that, he smirks, all signs of intensity gone once more as he gazes up at the lights. The old warrior's scars cast deep shadows in his skin as all fades out.]
[JackHammer pauses the tape. A still image of two boxers waits on the television, as he explains the situation.]
"The one on the right's been dominating the fight the whole way through, right? But watch -- he stops and drops his hands to goad the other guy into letting his guard down. Now watch what happens..."
[With a grin, he hits the play button.] "BOOM!!!"
[He laughs loudly as the cocky fighter catches a left hook square on the chin and collapses like a house of cards. The gathered crowd seems to be enjoying JackHammer's commentary more than the television.] "Man, if I could put something like that into music, I'd be at Carnegie Hall." [He laughs once more, pointing both index fingers at the television, as the boxer's eyes regain focus just as the referee counts ten and motions to ring the bell.] "LOSER!!"
[He calms down as he looks back and sees all the bewildered eyes watching him, and a grin spreads over his face.] "Sorry. But THAT is sheer beauty. It's just..." [He clenches a fist and beams, growling with glee as he finds himself completely unable to describe it.] "Hey, all of us appreciate something with this kind of passion, right? Might be paintings, might be music... hell, might even be body piercing." [His eyes fall on one girl in the pack of staff with an impressive array of eyebrow, ear, nose, and lip studs. She smiles, and he pauses a moment, distracted, before righting himself and continuing.] "But for me, it's this. It's just... the glory. The competition. It's visceral, it's primal... just the feeling of raising your hands and meeting the crowd, as twenty thousand voices praise your victory. There's just nothing like it."
[Suddenly feeling like a college professor lecturing a captive audience, he turns to the camera crew setting up to his left.] "Hey guys, how long till we're ready?"
"It'll be another few minutes, we're trying to get the lighting right." "The flourescents you've got in here just make people look like the walking dead."
"Nice, maybe I'll make a film about zombie wrestlers rising from the grave, to terrorize the living and stand in the spotlight again. Hey, you know Hogan would go for it." [JackHammer smirks and sticks his arms out, rolling his eyes back and stiffly shuffles towards one of his trainers.] "Say your prayers, take your vitamins, and EAT BRAAIIINS!!"
[The entire staff can't help but laugh as he catches the Chicago PD combat instructor, an incredibly fit blonde woman in her early thirties, who playfully tries in vain to escape and then cries out in classic Scream Queen style] "OH GOD NO, HELP! HE'S GOING TO CUT A PROMO!" [The entire NCW staff cracks up at this, JackHammer included.]
[Laughter subsiding, he looks at the chief technician, who nods.]
--
"Today, we take a look into JackHammer's training regimen. His cardio and weight training are already out of the way, so we can get into the fun stuff -- his advanced conditioning regimen." [The reporter begins, uniform and inconspicuous as ever. In the background stands JackHammer, talking to someone off-camera.] "It's extreme, it's unorthodox... it's one hundred percent JackHammer."
[WHAM! A medicine ball strikes JackHammer in the pit of his stomach. He stands completely unfazed by the impact, and motions to the thrower to put a little more into it. The thrower, as the camera pans, is revealed to be a mountain of a man. Easily dwarfing JackHammer in both height and girth, he picks up another medicine ball off the rack, coils up, and sets it off effortlessly like a Randy Johnson fastball. For an instant the whistle of its travel is heard, and it connects with a stinging slap into JackHammer's gut once again. Yet again, the wreslter is unfazed, and grins -- his sharklike teeth sparking in the light, the flash of the studio lighting refracting off his gold cap. Another ball is thrown, and once again it sails in a whistling spiral towards JackHammer.]
[This one he headbutts out of the air, spiking it into the floor. He does this with the next one. And the one after that. And so on, his face growing more and more intent with each repitition as the medicine balls gather on the floor about him. Finally, the last ball is hurled; and in practiced fashion, this too is driven into the cement with JackHammer's cranium. A noticeable mark shows on JackHammer's forehead -- part welt, part bruise, as he bares his teeth and snarls for the camera in a completely over-the-top fashion.]
[The reporter approaches, as JackHammer pulls his hair back and rests his arms on his sides.] "So tell us, what's the purpose of that training, besides looking good for the camera?"
"It braces the neck for impact and builds your reflexes -- it also helps you shake off any fears of getting hit in the head, which happens in the ring whether you want it to or not. It's nothing to be afraid of unless you're afraid to spoil any good looks, or unless you've got the cranial integrity of a grape. [He smirks and continues.] "So, yeah... it's nothing to be afraid of unless you're Ricky Johnson or John Anthony."
"So, yes... about your match with Ricky Johnson and John Anthony--"
"What's to say about it? I rib on them a lot, but they are a talented kids the last time I saw them. They know I respect them, and I know they respect me. Sad part of this deal is that they've gotten themself in over their heads by claiming they're going to single me out and not worry about Dark Prophet."
"Er, what about Fox's warning towards you about this upcoming match? You aren't seemed to be favored in this match, are you?"
[JackHammer grins at the memory of his recent metrosexuality experiment. He'll have to get Fox back for that.] "Hey, she's the boss. She can favor a wrestler if she wants. It won't help the guy win anything, but she's free to state an opinion. Just as I'm free to state that I even thought our most recent Queer Eye For the Straight Guy episode was funny. After it was all over with, of course. See, I can take a joke and laugh it off with the best of them -- but remember, I've got a lot of ways to piss in a man's cornflakes too. Keep your eyes open for that -- both you, Fox... and anyone who wants to see what I've got in mind." [He grins once more, tenting his fingers and drumming them against one another as the smile takes on a more mischievous tone.] "Although I figure if I really wanted to ruin your day, I'd just go and win this whole thing to spite you."
--
[The scene cuts to the other side of JackHammer's gym, where on a wrestling mat he's standing blindfolded. The pretty, though intimidating police instructor is behind him, cuffing his hands behind his back. As the crew watches on, the reporter asks] "So what's this part of training all about?"
[JackHammer bows his head.] "This is just to keep me on the crest of the wave when it comes to getting hit where I'm not expecting it. If you see an attack coming, you can steel yourself for it and block out a lot of the damage. But this teaches you how to do that naturally -- so when you're blindsided you're accustomed to the shock to some degree." [He continues as the instructor slips gloves on her hands.] "The reason I'm getting Lynn here to demonstrate this is because she hits hard enough to sting, but she controls herself so well she won't cause any real damage. That's kinda crucial right before a match." [He grins and continues.] "Plus I like it when she hurts me."
[As if on cue, her right foot slams hard into his ribs with a reverbating smack. JackHammer grunts, and pitches a little as she smirks; obviously a woman who loves her work. His nostrils flare, and his face contorts into a grimace as he catches his breath. Then, as if nothing had happened, he rights himself and smirks nonchalantly -- only to fold in half with an explosive grunt as she slams a knee into his gut. A double axe handle to the back of his neck drops him to a knee, but he promptly rolls away before anything else can be done. Scrambling to his feet and facing in a direction he thinks is facing her, he shouts out.]
"Jesus! Would it help if I said I was sorry?!"
[He drops violently to his knees before toppling over completely, the result of a foot stepping into the back of his left knee and forcing it to the floor. Finally, content with her handiwork, she sits cross-legged on his back, beaming at the camera.] "I think he's had enough, don't you agree?"
"I don't." [JackHammer is quick to reply, despite being completely unable to do anything with his hands tied and one-hundred and forty pounds resting on his shoulderblades.]
"That's because you're demented, hon."
"I thought you loved that about me."
"Never said otherwise, did I. Though I'm married." [She emphasizes the last part for the camera with a cheeky grin.]
"The good ones always are."
--
[The scene cuts once more, this time to JackHammer's practice ring. No ridiculous training regimens here, he's just sitting on the apron, absently bouncing a superball on the cement.]
"Of course, I don't consider myself the less fortunate one. I've lost a lot of blood and probably a few years off my life, but what that gave me is something I wouldn't trade for the world -- experience. Not in terms of wrestling itself. Life in general -- it's not like anything else to hear half a million Japanese fans go crazy when you're trading right hands with Big Van Vader, and the ring suddenly erupts from under you. Now, that's hardly something I like to do every day, but it's an experience... a rush I'm never likely to forget."
[He bounces the ball of his bicep, before bouncing it off the floor again and meeting the camera with an icy glare.] "You're making a big mistake in assuming I lose control when I'm angry. Or that I even get angry in the ring -- when's the last time you saw me blow my top? I mean, honestly -- you've gotten a glimpse of how I live. The time my life begins is when the bell rings, and it goes back to sleep when I'm packing my bags to come back home to train another week. It's not anger you're seeing, buddy -- it's intensity. It's focus -- something you yourself need to work on. You said it yourself -- you're focused on Bling-Bling Jozzle MoShozzle, and on your partnership with Big Daddy Dazzo. Not to mention your little Ricky bootlicker."
[He smirks and looks at the floor, the stare fading for a moment... and then BAM, it returns tenfold; two glowering, unblinking dark orbs burning out the back of your head. The most alarming part of all is that he's still smiling.] "The one and only thing that would piss me off is you not giving a damn about your biggest problem of all -- the maniac you've got to pin down for three seconds before he ruins Foxo's day and knocks you out of the race. Because the last thing I want is two squashes in a row, chuckles."
[He sighs and shakes his head.] "As for John coming down and saving your face, by stepping in and making you look like the underdog -- tell him, please do! Because I love to equalize the odds and he's in for a hell of a night if he decides to give me help I didn't ask for. I don't care WHAT the story is between you two -- if that happens, I'm gonna step in and make sure neither of you think about screwing around with a JackHammer match again. Ever."
[Pausing a moment, he admires the swirling designs in the ball and thinks a moment.] "See you in the ring, Ricky and John. Till then, be good."
[With that, he smirks, all signs of intensity gone once more as he gazes up at the lights. The old warrior's scars cast deep shadows in his skin as all fades out.]