Location: Kings Park, Perth, Western Australia
Date/Time: Tuesday 7 September, 2010

Cast

Eyes on the prize, SJ... eyes on the prize... Steve's voice echoed in the halls of his own mind as he wiped sweat from his brow and pumped his legs up the next round of stairs, deliberately filtering out the heavy burning sensation in his chest and legs and focusing solely on the goal that awaited him. His gray sleeveless shirt was coated in sweat, his blue boardshorts weren't better, and it was a miracle he didn't slip around inside his cross-trainers.

In a rare change of pace, Steve Jason had not decided to return to San Francisco after the previous Anarchy. Talia and Marcus had things taken care of fairly well back there, and Steve had a few other people that he felt he needed to see before he embarked on what was likely to become one of the cornerstone matches of his career. And so it was that he returned to the city of his birth - Perth City, on the southwestern end of Australia.

Although to be honest, Steve didn't really consider it 'home' any more. He'd spent too much time away and it had changed too much. When Steve left Perth to begin his travels, it was a glorified country town with a few skyscrapers - it paled in comparison to cosmopolitan cities like Sydney and Melbourne. In the fifteen years that had passed since he left, construction had begun on a grand scale. What used to be a long, empty patch of marshland had now been converted into a large convention center and train line connecting Perth to the satellite city of Mandurah. Entirely new buildings had sprouted up without Steve even noticing their construction. New malls and all-purpose buildings were being installed, subways had been put in, and there was talk of waterfront development. Perth was, it seemed, finally becoming a real city. But it wasn't the city that he remembered. That was neither a good or bad thing - progress, more or less.

He'd passed through the city briefly on his exercise run for the day, but his main focus had been getting to the foot of Jacob's Ladder so he could begin the gruelling multiple laps required to get a good workout.

Jacob's Ladder was dubbed by most people in Perth as the murder-climb. If you wanted to get in fighting shape fast - or if you wanted to commit suicide by heart attack - Jacob's Ladder was the place to go. A winding staircase at the foot of Mount Eliza - a very large, very steep hill on the fringes of the Perth CBD - it combined staircases, 90 degree turns and more staircases into a 141-foot, 243-step nightmare all the way to the top, where the blessed flatness and emerald lawns of Kings Park awaited. To run this thing - repeatedly - was a surefire way of keeping your endurance and fitness in check. Since Steve was in the area anyway, he'd made sure to challenge himself - and he'd included the enormous stairwell in today's fitness run.

"Come on! Go faster! I own towers taller than this thing! Feel the burn! Fight the power! Master the Tower of Babylon!" Khalid Al-Basrani's voice echoed around the whole of Mount Eliza, amplified by an enormous bullhorn as he observed Steve's progress up the monstrosity. The eccentric Emirati businessman had come down to Perth with Steve - apparently to 'monitor his progress', whatever that meant, and was now attempting to assume the role of personal trainer from his comfortable seat at the top of the climb. Steve gritted his teeth, bit back a retort - it wasn't like they'd hear him anyway - and continued to power up the stairs, rounding another bend and blasting up more steps, the rapid thump of his heartrate spurring him on.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity - a lot of which, Steve was feeling like his limbs were about to drop off - he finally cleared the last set of steps and wound up on the flat brick surface of the lookout area. The view of Perth City from here was stunning - the Swan River was clearly in view with a variety of boats and yachts traversing its surface, cars criss-crossed the Mitchell and Kwinana Freeways, and a variety of buildings, some still being constructed, stretched out along the bank of the Swan as far as Steve could see. It wasn't quite the Perth he remembered, but it was still a hell of a view.

"Bundy?" Douglas Henry Phidippidies McNamara III, Steve's childhood friend and all-around larrikin playboy offered, holding out a black and gold can of Bundaberg Rum and Cola which he had taken from a large crate of the beverages - most of which he seemed to be consuming. Steve shook his head, instead going for a water bottle and instantly downing the contents.

"Not bad, not bad..." Khalid had set up a deckchair by the main platform, "But I can't help but wonder if you could improve your time! You must be fleet of foot and strong of heart if you are to defeat this Ace Philadelphia!"

"I'd like to see you do it..."

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Khalid..." Steve murmured, but the businessman had already heard him, leaping up to his feet.

"That sounded like a challenge! Well, far be it from Khalid Al-Basrani to do back down from one! To inspire you, I shall perform this 'ladder' run myself! Observe the master at work!" With that, Khalid immediately made a run for the stairwell, descending it.

"He's in for one hell of a shock when he actually has to climb back up..." Steve deadpanned.

"Bah, consider it a learning experience. It'll be good for him, and it gives us some time to kick back and relax. So I've been meaning to ask - what's the go with all the Kitten stuff?"

"You're asking the wrong guy, Dougy. I don't know a thing about what's going on. I know that she's pregnant... heh, that was a surprise if ever I saw it. Sayors looked like he was about to have a heart attack when he told me that little gem. Still, I think it's a good thing. Lillith's been through a goddamn hard life, she's long overdue a bit of positive karma and some semblance of a happy ending."

"Oh. You... er... you don't know then, do you." Dougy's face suddenly fell, as if he were getting into a sensitive subject.

"About what?"

"Don't ask me how things managed to get this fucked up, but apparently Lillith wound up on the Maury Povich show..."

"That looney-bin? Why in the hell would she be on there?"

"I'm getting to that. There's some mixup apparently with the baby's parentage. It was pretty much announced to the globe that Warstein - Kitten's fiancee, I'm sure you remember him - wasn't the father. It... wasn't pretty. And that's coming from me, I usually love trainwrecks like that."

"Jesus. I had no idea. The poor kid..." Steve felt a flush of pity in his system for Kitten. That was not a pleasant situation to be in - not at all.

"That's why you've got to wrap it before you tap it, bro." was Dougy's sympathetic response, "I wonder who the father is? It's not... it's not you, is it, SJ?"

"Yes, Dougy," Steve drawled sarcastically, "it's me. I somehow impregnated a woman despite having not seen her for years and in spite of all my morals and values on taken women. Of course it's not me."

"Alright, alright, just checking, mate!" Dougy held his hands up in defense, "Don't blow a gasket on me."

"I'm not. I just don't want to have to deal with some idiot getting carried away with the tabloids and making things worse. I mean, she wound up on Maury Povich. That's humiliation enough right there." Steve sighed slightly, "And god knows after you and Talia, I don't want anything to do with another couple falling apart."

"I've told you before man..." Dougy turned to regard Steve sharply, "That wasn't your fault. The marriage was due to fall apart for a while, and it wasn't due to anything you did."

"Then... why? If it's any of my business. I know I'm going into dodgy territory here, so tell me to back off if you want."

"Honestly? We just weren't compatible, mate." The way Dougy said it seemed awfully off-hand as he cracked open another can of Bundy and started drinking again, "We'll always be good friends of course, but let's face it, we were a bad fit. I'm just not a one-woman man, SJ. I tried married life and it didn't suit me. I wanted to go back to getting trashed, rocking out, perving on the ladies without having to worry about hurting Tal. It was... hard, man. It was goddamn hard staying faithful. I did it, but I didn't like it. I guess I'm... I dunno, I guess a playboy by nature. It's who I am and always will be, and Talia didn't deserve that."

"I have to admit, you never struck me as the marrying type." Steve admitted, "So that was it, then? You realised that you wanted to be a bachelor again, but you knew you couldn't enjoy the perks of that life without hurting Talia so you called it a day?"

"Yeah, more or less. Talia could never adjust herself to that kind of lifestyle. It would be unfair. I may be an alcoholic, a womaniser, a party animal and probably at least borderline insane, but I'm not cruel. I did what I thought was the right thing - and after talking, she agreed. And let's face it, SJ, you and I both know I'm not the man she was made for. I tried to convince myself otherwise but we both know that's not true. There's only one man who can fit those shoes - and he should have fit them years ago when he had the chance. Fortunately, now he has another chance."

"Who are you talking about?" Steve raised an eyebrow, "What other man in Talia's life could possibly be consid..." He came to a stop suddenly as a notion occurred to him. No, that couldn't be right. Dougy wouldn't say that to Steve... would he?

"C'mon, mate, we've known each other for twenty-nine years. I know you're not stupid. You may have the empathy of a block of wood sometimes, but you know precisely who I'm talking about."

"No. You can't be serious. It wouldn't work, Dougy. I mean, I don't even think she feels that way about me any..."

"She does. She always has, Steve. Talia's been in love with you for the past seven years. Do you know how hard she cried that day in 2003 when you cut her loose because of Rigg? Her heart broke into pieces. That's part of why I did this. Not only was I holding myself back, but I was holding her back too. I mean, look at how close you two are. You've always been closer to her than I was - and I think she might even supercede me in the group of people important to you. You're practically soulmates, more so than she and I could ever have been."

Honestly, part of that Steve secretly had to agree with - and part of it had him reeling in shock. To be hearing this from Dougy - Talia's own ex - was ground Steve was most certainly not familiar with. For the first time in the history of their friendship, Steve didn't have a clue what to say to his best friend.

"I... but... it's platonic..."

"Only because you cocked it up. There was that issue with Rigg that pushed you both apart the first time, and then... well, she couldn't wait forever. You never acted and she started to think that it wasn't ever going to happen, and then she started arguing all the time and one thing led to another and..." Dougy spread his hands.

"I didn't even know. I thought after our argument in '03..."

"Of course you didn't, because you can't read signs. You might be one of the best professional wrestlers in the world, a statesman, a martial artist, and a man who somehow isn't dead after the past ten years, but you can't read signs for shit. I'm going to ask you something important, SJ, and I really need you to give me a correct answer. Do you love her in that sense?"

"I dunno..." Steve struggled with the question, "You just sprung this on me out of nowhere and you're her ex, I can't just..."

"Do you or don't you?"

"Dude, you two were married, it's not right that I..."

"Fuck's sake, SJ! Yes or no!"

Frustration finally broke Steve, and his reaction to Dougy was a lot louder, angrier and intense than he had intended it to be, "Alright, fine, YES! I do feel that way about her. I long to be with her. Especially in recent weeks. I would never do anything about it of course, because she's your ex and friends don't do that, but ever since we teamed back up and I returned to the XWF, I find myself smitten with her. I don't want to, but I do. There. You got it. And if you pull the 'stay away from my woman' or the 'I can't believe you betrayed me by wanting my ex' card on me after interrogating the fuck out of me, so help me I'll..." In a rare reversal, Dougy was the one to cut off Steve's impassioned ranting, cutting straight over the top of him - a trick that Steve himself usually used.

"That was all I wanted to hear, SJ. Now, mate, you're gonna listen to me, and I don't want any butting in or flimsy arguing. When you return to San Francisco, you're going to tell her."

"Are you out of your mind? I've got a Universal title match in less than a week, I don't need to be sidelined by any drama right now. What if she gets pissed off? Huh? What if I have to deal with an angry chick creating drama two days before getting into a..."

"I didn't want to have to do this, SJ..." Dougy sighed in what seemed to be regret, "...but you're leaving me little choice. Either you tell her, or I'll make sure she finds out - and trust me, you do not want me to have to do it for you. You missed the boat once. I'm not letting you miss it again. I won't watch you sit on the sidelines lovesick for months on end until some billionaire friend of Nestor snatches her up. And don't think I won't do it. I've got ten bottles of Bundy in the house, eventually I'll get so fucking drunk that I won't be able to stop myself from doing it."

Steve's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched, "Are you blackmailing me?"

"I guess you could call it that. You'll thank me for it one day though. Now, are you gonna do it, or am I going to have to get on the horn to Steve Sayors and have him broadcast it across the known galaxy?"

"You wouldn't - not to Sayors!"

"You really want to bet on that?" Dougy retorted.

"Alright, alright! Jesus! I think this is a huge mistake, but since you're obviously leaving me no choice, I'm going to keep the ball in my court rather than let you or Sayors turn it into world headlines."

"I'm glad we could agree on that so easily..." Dougy smirked and downed the rest of his can before letting a triumphant belch, "Man, I'm such an awesome Cupid."

"If Cupid held somebody at arrowpoint maybe..." Steve grumbled. Dougy opened his mouth to respond - but at that moment, Khalid had finally at long last made his way up to the top of the staircase. He did not run, however, as Steve had. Nor had he walked. Instead, Khalid crawled painfully on his hands and knees, his head now resembling a brightly-polished dome, his tracksuit saturated with sweat as he coughed, wheezed and groaned his way onto the brick pathway, rolling over onto his back.

"How... how can people climb such a contraption?!? It is not fitness, it is torture! I cannot breathe! The blood is rushing to my head! The world is spinning! I'm going to have a heart attack, I can feel it! SJ - you must ensure that I am buried in a solid gold mausoleum in Dubai, in a sarcophagus constructed of platinum that doubles as a cryogenic tank so that medical science can resurrect me. You must also bury me with six naked supermod..."

"You're not going to die, Khalid..." Steve muttered, "But you might want to do some fitness work of your own. I've been doing laps of that thing..."

"Oh dear lord, no! No more fitness! I was not put on this Earth to do such things! I want nothing more than to climb into my fur-lined bed with my four supermodels and play my advance copy of Halo: Reach on my forty-inch screen and never hear the word 'Jacob's Ladder' ever again! You people and your insane self-inflicted tortures! What is wrong with you?" With that having been said, Khalid tried to rise... only to find himself falling back over onto the ground, dizziness having clogged his senses.

"Perhaps you'd better take His Fragile Excellency over here and take him back to his hotel - or an emergency room, whichever comes first." Steve said to Dougy, "I've still got to make the run to the DNA tower before sundown."

"Gee. Thanks." Dougy did not seem pleased by that at all, "If he yacks in my car, I'm not going to be happy."

"Call it payback for blackmailing me. Gotta go!" Without even giving Dougy time to react, Steve got straight back into a running pace, heading out for the long, stretching lawns of Kings Park. He only had one more objective to get to before sundown, then he could officially call it a day and make use of some much-needed rest time. Within the space of a fifteen minute run over long stretches of grass, he finally found himself closing in on the final destination.

The DNA tower wasn't as tough a climb as Jacob's Ladder, but it was still a worthy end to the run. The tower rose from a brick base in the form of several metal poles reaching fifty feet up into the air, with several metal platforms interspersed from the bottom to the top. Winding around those poles were two winding staircases, criss-crossing the structure in curves taking the form of a strand of DNA - hence the name of the tower. Once he'd reached the top of that structure, he'd have completed his run, and so it was that he sucked up as much oxygen as he could for that one final rush of energy needed, and did his best to filter out the throbbing aches in his legs as he quick-stepped up the closest staircase, moving his feet rapidly as he turned with the curve of the staircase, making his run all the more difficult. If he caught his foot between a step, the results would be... embarrassing.

The first two platforms were a breeze - the adrenaline had been firing Steve up for so long that he didn't even feel the effort involved. As he climbed higher and higher however, his chest began to heave, the dizziness of such a curved run began to sink in, and the burning in his legs returned. He gritted his teeth, determined to ignore the pain to get to the end. Platform after platform passed by him until finally, at long last, he came to the top of the tower.

The view was breathtaking. The top of Mount Eliza had been enough of a view of Perth City as it was, but at the top of the tower, Steve could see in all directions for miles upon miles of Perth - even beyond the city and out into the endless stretches of suburbia. Some even said it was possible to make out the ocean from such a height- but Steve's eyes were stinging with sweat to the point where he couldn't focus them. He crouched down, setting hands on his shorts, and breathed in and out hard when a rough, gravelly voice came from the other end of the platform.

"I was starting to wonder if I was going to have to send out a search party, Steve..."

"What the... Lance?!?" Steve recognised that voice instantly, whirling around to see that sure enough, his uncle was waiting on the top of the DNA tower for him.

While not as old as Steve's father, Lance Jason was a weather-beaten, battle-scarred man in his late fifties - the prototypical war veteran. He stood a little under Steve's size, about six foot one or so, and was slightly less muscular, but otherwise there was an uncanny resemblance between the two - indeed, more so than between Steve and his own father. His graying hair was cut very short around his head, and several angry battle scars crossed his face, including a long line above and below his eye - which was covered with a thin black patch, a legacy of a rogue grenade in Vietnam. While Richard Jason had been a statesman, academic and lawyer, his younger brother Lance Jason had been the renegade and warrior. A green sprayjacket and gray undershirt covered his upper body, and utilitarian pants and boots covered his lower.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were off doing your whole 'walk the earth' thing."

"I did for a bit. Actually, I was solely here on a brief vacation, then I was going to see what was going on in the South Pacific. As it happened, Stretch McNamara told me that you'd come back to town for a few days, and I thought I'd check in. You've been a very busy man I hear."

"Busy doesn't even begin to describe it, Lance..." Steve laughed dryly, "It's certainly been one hell of a month. Successful comeback, proving I'm not a flake, fighting match after match, and now I'm in the finals for the title. Plenty of people've tried to break me - claim I'm past my use-by date - but week after week they've been proven wrong. I think this might finally be the redemption I need."

"Yes, I've noticed. It's good that you're not allowing those idiots to get the better of you or to bait you into a frenzy. You simply dismiss their claims and disprove them. I'm proud of that."

"Yeah, well, the wrestlers aren't the only ones..." Steve replied.

"What do you mean by that?"

"You're not the only one to spring a surprise meeting on me. Trevor tracked me down too. Tried to convince me that I was putting myself at risk continuing to wrestle and that maybe it was time to hang it up. That was hard to take. Idiots trying to wind me up with 'you can't go any more' statements, but my own brother questioning my capability? That stings. Hard. I tried to make him see, but..." Steve spread his hands.

"Your brother isn't capable of understanding it. He takes too much after your father- if it's any consolation, Rick continually tried to talk me out of going to 'Nam... and he exploded when he found out I'd talked you into following your dreams and seeing the world. Even years later, he thinks I should settle down in Perth and stop putting myself at risk exploring the world." Lance paused to take a drag from his cigarette, "They can't look at it like you or I do. We're adventurers, warriors, call us what you will. We're different to them. Trevor can't understand that wrestling is in your blood - much like Rick can't understand that it's my destiny to walk the Earth until I die. They don't understand that we can't give up our lives. It would be like me asking Rick to stop being academically-minded, or you asking Trevor to give up psychology. It's what we were born to do. You'll continue to chase your titles... and I'll continue to walk the Earth... until we're physically unable to. And we aren't yet. I understand that you are every bit as good as you were in your prime, and me... well, I've still got one eye working."

"You think I can do it, then?" Steve asked his uncle, looking him straight in the eyes, "You reckon I'll go out there and prove Trevor and my father - and everybody else - wrong?"

"I can only go by what I've seen, but the evidence certainly indicates you can. I still watch every week, you know. You hit some rough comebacks some time ago, but you were confused and uncertain. You don't seem to be that any more. You seem to be radiating confidence and you seem to have your eye on the prize. Yes, Steve, I think you're capable of seizing that title. I think Trevor is wrong, and I think your father is wrong. You just need to cast any doubts you have aside and focus on the main prize. Don't listen to anybody who doubts you. If somebody's dragging you down, cut them loose. If somebody attacks you, hold your ground. That's the advice this old man can give you."

"As for me..." Yet another familiar voice, warm and silvery, echoed from behind him, "...all I can tell you is what I've been telling you since day one. Follow your dreams, Steve."

That was the voice of none other than Steve's ex - albeit still a very close friend and the bride of his own brother - one Felicia Hawking. Family life had treated her well, Steve had to admit - she practically seemed to glow with warmth. Five feet ten, with dark hair cut to a medium length and sea-green eyes, she was the other person aside from Lance who had been instrumental in beginning Steve's journeys and his eventual wrestling career. A warm smile crossed her face as Steve noticed her, his brow raising in surprise.

"Felicia. I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Your brother wanted me to try to talk some sense into you, in his own words. However..." A wry, almost impish grin crossed Felicia's face, "...I'm going to interpret that my own way. This is one time I'm going to have to disagree with my own husband. Your uncle got in touch with me, Steve - he'd been planning to have this talk for some time and given we kind of helped you get on your way, we figured we should be the first ones to offer our best wishes. This career is in your blood, Steve. I've always known that, and I've always known you were born to chase it. That's why I encouraged you to go after it when we were kids. And now I'm pretty much directly defying my husband here and I'm going to tell you to shoot for it."

"You came all the way up here for that?" Steve blinked, "Coulda emailed me."

"No, Steve. You know as well as I do that it'd have the most impact if I looked you right in the face and said it. So here it is - I believe in you. I believe you are still capable of incredible feats, I believe you still have a destiny in the industry, I believe you are capable of winning the title. When we were nineteen, I told you to see the world because I knew you could do great things. I was right then, and I'm right now. Your uncle's saying it and I'm saying it - shoot for the stars, SJ."

An energetic statement indeed, given the past between Steve and Felicia. She almost had as much impact on his life as Talia had - and to hear those words coming from her truly encouraged him. Even after all they'd been through respectively, she still had his back, still believed in him. The naysayers could say what they wanted - the only people who truly understood and whose opinions truly mattered had his back. A flush of warmth crossed him at that, but Felicia had one last thing to say.

"...and for God's sake, talk to Talia already."

-Promo: The Undeniable Words - 8/9/10-

SJ's Theme: "Heaven's Devils" - Derek Duke / Glenn Stafford / Neal Acree / Russell Brower

So here we are. After three rounds of blood, sweat and tears, for the first time in five years, Steve Jason main-events Rage In The Cage and competes for the Universal Championship. This is the very Pay Per View where I first rose to prominence as a Universal Champion - I find it kind of fitting that I seek my fourth - and my redemption - here.

Half a decade is a long time to go without the title. Many people have had their careers rise and fall in that period. I think Jonathyn Brown's dropped into and out of about three comas in that period of time, Drake Komodo's attempted about six runs in that period. Let's put it this way - last time I was Universal Champion, Ace Vincent was still getting cock-blocked by the captain of the local football team.

Yet I still remember its glory like it was yesterday. A nimrod like Ace Vincent doesn't completely understand what the belt means - he assumes it's just something you wave around to boost your ego and give you bragging rights. I do. To have that belt around your shoulder is to know that you are at the pinnacle of your capabilities - and the capabilities of everybody else in this federation. It means that you have made it, that you've climbed to the top, you've bled, sweated and damn nearly worn yourself to the ground getting there, but you climbed it. And it also guarantees that in most cases, only the best will be selected to fight you. It's a perilous task - everyone wants to bring you down when you're the Universal Champ, you're pretty much a target 24/7 and some desperate people will do terrible things to try to take the title from you. But that comes with the territory.

Ultimately I have come to accept that wrestling is in my blood. I've tried to leave before, only to find myself drawn back. So many XWF Legends slip away into the night and we never hear from them again - The Brand, for example - and I tried that, but something always happened. Sometimes an event took place here that I had to stop, sometimes a person came here who I needed to see or fight, and sometimes - hell, sometimes I don't even know why I'm there - but I'm bound to this federation. I'm at peace with that. And part of that means that I'll always - probably forever - be chasing the Universal Championship. As long as I am physically able to, that's what I'll do. I know that eventually - hopefully a very long time from now - I won't be physically able to continue, and that day frightens me. But until then, this is what I do. This is who I am. This is the core of my life and my identity. And my destiny will always be to pursue the Universal title and remain at the top of my game.

I admit though, I even have an additional ulterior motive than the Universal Championship. Ever since I stepped back into this ring, there's been barb after barb and claim after claim that my time is over - that I have no business here in the XWF any more - that I'm somehow damaged goods that can't run any more. Winning the Universal Championship - and breaking Ace Vincent into humility - will be the final debunking of that myth once and for all. If I come out of Rage In The Cage with the Universal Championship over my shoulder, every jaw that's doubted me, mocked me, and made me out to be a lame duck will drop. They will be forced to admit that they were wrong - and will be forced to recognise me as their Universal Champion. And to be honest, I kinda want to install webcams in some of the locker rooms so I can see the expressions of some of those people.

If there's one good thing about being considered an underdog, it's that moment of sheer satisfaction when you observe the shock of all those people you proved wrong. So gentlemen backstage who've been shit-talking - I advise you to take the next few days to get every jibe, every insult, every 'old man' claim, every 'you aren't the man you were' claim, every 'you can't survive in today's world' claim out of your systems. Say it all while you can. Because after Sunday, September 12, you will never be able to say those words ever again. At Rage In The Cage, consider your mouths sealed for good. And consider yourselves cordially invited to the Universal title belt ceremony on Anarchy. Trust me, I really look forward to seeing all of your faces.

Of course, there's one mouth in particular I'm going to enjoy bricking shut - the ever-yapping, syphilis-stained jaw of Ace Vincent. I've been hanging on for quite some time of the opportunity to demolish this man - I've held back every retaliation that's come to mind with every idiotic thing he's said. At times this month where he's tried to rile me up by talking crap, I've swallowed my pride and said very little. That is because I did not want to waste a single bullet of the ammo he's been practically dumping at my doorstep for the last month. Sure, it would have been fun to just outright shoot him down week after week, but now that he's so close, now that he's convinced himself the title is his, now is the time to obliterate him, physically and mentally. So let's get this show started, shall we?

Now this would be the point where I ramble on about a bunch of guys I'm not even fighting, right? No, wait, that's not the case, because it doesn't matter. Honestly, Ace accuses me of trying to eat up his TV time? Judging by how he tries to call out about half the roster every single time he cuts a promo, I don't think there's much time for me to actually be chomping into. Newsflash, Ace - you really, really, really don't want to be distracted with about three or four other guys because they mocked the size of your dingaling. Not this week. Any other week you can do that, but man, if you don't make me your prime and only concern this week, I'm going to eviscerate you. You want to survive with a shred of dignity intact, from here on out, there is only one person of any concern to you - Steve Jason.

Of course, I have to doubt whether you'll actually take this match seriously at all. I mean, it's fairly clear to me that you're already starting with self-delusion, given you seem to think you're going up against some archaic battletank who's so far past his prime that he'll be lucky to make it into the ring.

...uh... dude? I'm thirty-three. Not forty-three, not fifty-three - thirty-three. By wrestling standards, that's not that old. Some people hadn't even reached the peak of their career by then. Did you know that Cyren, the drug-addled wreck that he was, won his first Universal Championship when he was older than me? Did you know that Ranma Saotome won his first Universal Championship when he was older than me? Of course you didn't - that would involve actually investigating your own lines of thought and coming to the horrific realisation that maybe, just maybe, you're barking up the wrong tree. Oh, no, couldn't do that, could we? Couldn't have Epsilon Epsilon Epsilon's finest being wrong, could we? Nope, it's far more convenient to conjure up some kind of bullshit fantasy land where I'm coming out on a zimmerframe and can barely even breathe on my own. Because that'd be a damn sight easier than looking reality in the face and realizing precisely what it is that you face.

It's hilarious actually - to see the idiocy in your line of thoughts, believe it or not, you need look only to your own little cadre of nimrods who seem to mean a lot to each other, but nothing to everybody else. I'm talking about Truth Until Death, of course. You know, there was once a man who thought very much along the same lines as you did - that I was an old man, that I was moving slower than before, that I had been passed by and my time was done. That man was your buddy Aidan 'Blizzard' Collins. Do you know what actually happened to him the two times he went against me with that assumption? I put him out of commission - for a long time. That's the risk you take when you underestimate me. That's the risk you take when you assume that I'm down and out for good - in spite of all the evidence to the contrary. Do you honestly think I'd make it this far in the tournament if I wasn't here to stay? Trust me, if I was going to 'flake', I probably would have done it straight out the gate. But you're talking to me about flaking?

Ha! Do you have any idea how ironic that is, given you're basically smoking the pole of the greatest fizzler in XWF history - and with someone like Andrew Gibson in the history, that's saying something - Flake Komodo? Oooh, that's right, pal, I don't think you took your mentor into account when you came up with all this bullshit, did you? How can you possibly sling mud at me for flaking with any kind of credibility at all when you're pretty much the prize project of a man whose entire career consists of 'appear in the XWF for three or four weeks, achieve something, then get swarmed and vanish off the face of the Earth'? You might want to look a little closer to home if you want to start talking about Brett Favres of the XWF, buddy, because your Truth until Death homeboy pretty much fits the bill far more than I ever could.

So either you're full of shit, or you're basically admitting that the man who introduced you to the XWF is every bit as incapable and useless as you made me out to be - and by association, you're saying that about yourself. I mean, did you even think about this before you shot your mouth off? No, of course you didn't. And that's why you'll never be Universal Champion so long as I'm around. The Universal Championship relates to this universe, not your little fantasy one where you're the man and I'm a cripple and the Philadelphia Eagles can actually accomplish something worthy of praise. Until you decide to get with the program and join the rest of us in reality, you will never hold this title. That much I promise you.

And honestly, you have the hide to talk to me about surrounding myself with flunkies? Hah. Once again, I'll answer you with three words: Truth Until Death. You honestly think they don't just tell you what you want to hear? Once again, I think you might want to check a little closer to home before you just cast out accusations like that, because it's well documented that Truth Until Death is perhaps the biggest circle-jerk in all of recorded history. And your entourage ain't much better. You honestly think Bree Benz has enough independent brain cells in her head to actually be able to think of a valid critique of anything you come up with? Let's face it, she'd rather think about when she's getting her next Brazilian than have to engage her brain for long enough to find reasons why her man is maybe not all he hypes himself out to be. Ultimately, Ace, you're nothing but a hypocrite.

Hell, even your little snipe at me regarding Jonathyn Brown is hypocritical in and of itself. I mean, again, the Truth Until Death thing, man! How can you honestly accuse Centurion and I of sucking the previous owner's wang when it's plain as day for everybody to see that you're in good with the current one? You can't! Not without looking like a complete and utter nimrod who obviously isn't thinking before speaking! Do you get people to write this shit for you, Ace? Cause if you do, I think you need to fire them and hire a trained monkey. It'd do a better job and it's more cost-effective.

Let me ask you this, Ace - did you hear Jason Mudd's post-Anarchy broadcast? Of course you did, you were listening intently to check if there was one syllable that sounded even remotely like your own name. Did you notice some of the things that he said? Up until last Anarchy, Jason Mudd believed very much like you do - he assumed I was a lame duck, that I'd never get back to the heights of my career, that I was just embarrassing myself, blah blah blah. The same old crap you nimrods have regurgitated week in, week out. Do you know what he was saying after Anarchy? Not only was he humbled enough to outright admit he'd been bested - but he went as far to hint that he will be coming after my Universal title in the future. Do you know what that implies, Ace?

It means that one of the most vocal critics of legends, one who'd had nothing but contempt for me beforehand - and now one person who is actually qualified to speak from experience - thinks you're going to lose. He basically all but said he wanted to make me a former four-time Universal Champion. He's already assumed that you're not going to take the belt. I would pay some serious heed to that, rather than immerse yourself in the sycophantic ego-stroking of Truth Until Death or listening to the pathetic mewling of sour-grape superstars who never even fought me.

Am I the underdog? Yes, it would appear that for the first time in a very long time, I am. But you know something... that may not be as bad as you would think. Because history shows that I perform at my best when all hope in me has been abandoned. You don't seem to understand this, Ace - you aren't the first person to question my abilities. Back in the day, it was the established stars who told me that I'd never make it, that I wasn't good enough. I brought every last one of those tools down, one by one. I even sent some of them packing for good. The more you stress the odds that are against me, the more you encourage me to condition myself to achieve the impossible - and that tends to have very bad results.

I'm going to straight up tell you what I intend to do to you, Ace. I intend to break you. I intend to humiliate you. I intend to take all your puffed-up sense of self-esteem and arrogance and snap it in half like a twig. Since you seem to be buying into all this 'backstage politics' bullshit with that comment about Jon Brown, I'll play along - by the time I'm done with you, I intend to have you buried so far underground that they'll have to start a mining operation to get what's left of you out.

And that... IS UNDENIABLE!