STEVE JASON: Undeniable

Next Match:	[Aversion Therapy iPPV] Reverse Ladder Match -PDW Bloodshed Championship- Steve Jason (c) versus Nicholas Jaxx
Previous Match:	[Disclosure] Tag Team Match Steve Jason and Julian Dark def. Hannah and Joseph St. John?
Friends:	Julian Dark
Neutrals:	PDW at large
Enemies:	Nicholas Jaxx, Pete Ebdon, Joshua Payne

Perhaps the most defining exclamation point for just how major this next match in my career is going to be is the fact that it's the main event. Of a PPV.

I don't believe that's ever actually happened here before. I don't believe we've seen a situation where the Bloodshed Championship is the main event of a pay per view, and I certainly don't believe we've seen a case on a PPV where the Bloodshed Championship's in the main event while the Platinum Champion's competing for the Platinum Cup instead of defending his title. I think that says something about the Bloodshed Championship itself.

Not to be egotistical here, but when I first competed for this title, it was something you threw the rookies at to placate them. Hell, that's what happened when I went up against Sean Williams- I was a breakout rookie. And hell, look at my first defense. The number one contenders were basically determined by a group of ragtag newcomers- OK, OK, and Shabazz. Now, we've seen the Bloodshed Championship go to a whole new level. Maybe it's the quality of the match, maybe it's the mystique of the Champion Killer tag, maybe it's the difficulty of the Bloodshed Championship to acquire at this point in time, maybe it's just the fact that watching Nicholas Jaxx get his nose knocked out the other side of his head is a spectacle that only the main event would fit. Either way... this contest has been judged as being supreme to all others on the card as a result.

Alright, Jaxx. Fun's fun, but it's about time to finally put this to bed and curb-stomp you for good, and I intend on starting that up with one last, decimating round of the Undeniable Words before backing it all up with action.

So now you don't want to kill me? Let me see if I can get my head around this. Week in, week out, you pull this 'this won't end until one of us stops breathing' line. Even a child can see the implicit threat there. I didn't say it, and you didn't say 'this won't end until I stop breathing', ergo, you made the threat. And now all of a sudden you're swerving and claiming that you don't want to finish me off? In spite of the giant freakin' mace you tried to splatter my brains with- a weapon we know is a deadly one? A weapon you've made rather obvious you intend to use again in a far more vicious capacity? Well, Jaxx, the good thing about this is that even if you lose this match, you still have a chance for gold- all you've gotta do is go to Beijing and represent Canada in the 1500-metre back-pedal.

Back-pedalling. That's another one of those things that you're hardly the first person to do. You talk to me about being cliché... let me tell you this, you're following the exact same pattern. Play the tough-guy 'this won't end until one of us stops breathing' line, the other guy replies with 'fine, give it your best shot, but it's not happening', then all of a sudden pull the 'OH MY GOD, I was being metaphorical!' card. If you don't mean it, don't say it. Because quite frankly, you now look like far less of a threat. It just looked like you were trying to make yourself look tough by using that line- now you've practically admitted doing so in front of everyone. Ever heard the phrase 'it's better to remain silent and be thought a fool than open your mouth and remove all doubt?'. No, of course not, because you'd be on an oath of silence were that the case.

Or maybe you're pulling one of your famous swerves, is that it? You pull the back-pedal, trick me into thinking that you are actually all talk and that you said something you don't intend on cashing in on, and then lull me into a false sense of security and try to finish me off, right? Not gonna work, Jaxx. As far as I'm concerned, your behavior in the last few weeks has convinced me that you're about as honest as a politician, so no, I won't be lowering my defenses. As far as I'm concerned, you're still posing a mortal threat to my life- and I will be prepared to defend and attack with the force that situation requires. It also means I'm free from what little moral compunction I have left- because it's all completely justifiable if it's me or you. You think the world's gonna judge me harshly for shattering your kneecaps if you implicitly threatened me with death? Hah. Not quite. Might be something worth thinking about.

As for having to damn well nearly kill you to keep you down? Heh... what in the hell do you think I plan on doing? Doing a merry little jig? Performing a re-enactment of the JFK assassination under a 3D picture of Jesus with the Moscow Symphony Orchestra playing in the background? Pal, if you don't think I'm going in there with the intention of removing your ability to get back up, then you haven't learned a goddamn thing. Not one iota. Yes, you're hungry, you're desperate, you'll do anything and if you have anything to say about it, you won't lose. That's fine- all I have to do is take away your ability to have anything to say about it. The spirit's useless if the body can't carry out its commands- and if you inflict enough damage, or if you damage the right spot, it'll stop functioning. You can be as desperate to put that belt up on the hook as you like- but good luck climbing the ladder if you're unconscious. Or if your legs are broken. Really, the whole 'I'm hungry with desire' thing is all impressive and such, but in certain circumstances, it means nothing. I intend on making those circumstances come to pass.

DATE/TIME: 10:00 PM, Monday May 26, 2008
LOCATION: Penthouse Suite - Club Paramount, Los Angeles, California

[OOC NOTE: This might be best read in conjunction with a piece a friend of mine wrote recently. It's not related to PDW, but there are some common characters and storylines that explain some of the happenings in this RP- click here for it]

'Here' was none other than the top floor of the Los Angeles superclub known as Club Paramount- a prominent nightlife establishment that Steve had some serious past with. Back in the day, it had served not only as a place Steve had managed as part of a business venture and a favor to a friend, but it had also served as his personal base of operations prior to leaving and moving to Philadelphia- and it had even tripled as his home for a brief period. While through most eyes, all one would see was a very large, very affluent and very expensive nightclub, through Steve's eyes- and possibly through Chloe's- one would see a place full of rich back history and many prominent memories- not all of them good.

The penthouse apartment at the top of the building was almost exactly as Steve had left it- except now his belongings had gone and only the furnishings remained. The amber lighting was the same, and the maroon color scheme for the walls and dark gray carpet had been left untouched. The suite itself was circular, and on the far end of it was a broad window overlooking the choked skyline of Los Angeles, all kinds of colors twinkling against the night sky. Directly below that window was a simple single bed. Doors led off to a bathroom and kitchen, but those weren't of interest to any of the three there. Directly in front of the elevator doors was the entertainment area, which consisted of a black plush couch set in front of a large plasma TV. To the left and right of the couch were bookshelves, laid out with both DVDs and books of all kinds.

Steve had not come dressed in his usual clothing- to rock up to his own former headquarters dressed as himself would bring all kinds of attention down on his head, all of it uninvited and not all of it friendly. He'd dressed to blend in to the crowd downstairs- all clubgoers. As a result, he'd donned a thin, silk turquoise short-sleeved shirt with the faint darker emblems of palm leaves imprinted over it, and a pair of dark jeans and Converse sneakers. It wasn't a completely alien outfit, but it didn't scream 'Steve Jason is here' like some of his gear would have.

"We'd probably better not waste any time then." Chloe had a bit more freedom in her outfit, her hair caught back with a red ribbon, clad in a teal-green dress that left her shoulders bare, caught in the middle with a black obi and ending about mid-thigh, "Where's the Vault, Steve?"

"Right in front of us, actually..." Steve answered, moving a hand to gesture to the living area right in front of them.

"Let me guess..." Sergei Volkov stood just by Steve's right, decked out in a black long-sleeve shirt, slacks and polished dress shoes. His expression was amused as he glanced over towards the bookshelves, "Pull the right book, and the shelves move aside to reveal the secret entrance to the vault?"

"No, actually, it's a ridiculous amount more obvious than that." With that said, Steve cast his hand to indicate an area next to the plasma TV which was undecorated and unadorned. Mounted on the wall was only one thing- a piece of machinery which appeared to be none other than a retinal scanner.

"I'm not sure what's more cliché, SJ, the retinal scanner or the idea of actually having a bookshelf as an entrance..." Chloe murmured.

"It may be cliché, but it's secure. Nobody gets into that vault but me. Shall I?" Without waiting for an answer, Steve strode across the carpet towards the scanner, setting his hands on the wall on both sides of the scanner before lowering his face onto it. It suddenly lit up, and the eyepieces shone a bright light into Steve's eyes, temporarily dazzling him.

As soon as Steve pulled his face away from the retinal scanner, a brief clicking sound could be heard, followed up by a loud, almost ear-grating whirring noise as the section of the wall next to the scanner suddenly began to fold in upon itself, like a secret door- which was fair enough, as that was exactly what it was. Both Chloe and Sergei watched in awe as the wall-door folded in to one side, revealing a concealed space behind it.

A set of steps descended down into a red-lit narrow chamber of sorts, lined on both the left and right walls by many steel shelves packed to the brim with various items. Some seemed to be your standard run-of-the-mill files and DVDs... and then on the right end of the shelves were the more exotic items. Those items varied from different forms and colors of Steve's ringwear throughout the years, to gloves, to far more unusual items such as nunchucks, sais, a long, dragon-hilt katana on the highest shelf, and even what appeared to be a combat suit of some kind consisting of kevlar-padded pants, armguards and an armored vest. Perhaps the crowning glory of it all was a Vietnam War-era M79 grenade launcher. Whether it was a replica, or an actual working piece was left uncertain. There was absolutely no question about it- this wasn't your standard collectors' vault, this was...

"...an armory." Sergei said in awe, observing the items around him clinically, "SJ, this is an armory. How much stuff do you have in here?"

"Disturbing amount..." Steve answered casually, "I've mentioned that my life in California was vastly different to my life in Philadelphia. It's been... necessary for me to have a lot of this stuff on hand throughout the years. There were a lot of people who kinda wanted me dead."

"He's telling the truth," Chloe affirmed, "Those were... scary times. For all of us. I wasn't sure we'd have made it through a few times."

"I wanted to put this behind me," Steve shrugged, "but it's obvious we still need some of this stuff. And now that Jaxx seems to be waving the 'this doesn't end until one of us is dead' card around, some of this hardware... and some of the knowledge here... might be necessary. But first, what I promised to come here for." Steve turned to face the left rack, peering through a number of files with various labels on them- 'Setsujoku-Kai', 'D-R-W', 'Iscariot', 'Black Order'... until finally, a thick file labelled 'Hallie Halliwell' worked its way into Steve's hands, "This is the file you're looking for, Chloe. Psychological analysis, observed behaviors, her victims in the past, her attempted victims and potential future victims. Possible weaknesses. There's some stuff in there about what happened to you, so..." Steve chewed on his cheek, "...be careful. Some of it is graphic."

"I will. Thank you, Steve..." she said as Steve handed the file over to her, almost dropping it from the hefty weight of the file, "Do you need it back?"

"Not right away, but I'd prefer it if you don't lose it. Bring it back to me from time to time too- I want to monitor this situation."

"OK. Did you... did you want to pick up any stuff while you're here? For Jaxx, I mean?"

Steve didn't actually answer Chloe's question verbally, he simply answered by plucking items off the shelves and slotting them into his backpack. The first thing to go in were a set of steel nunchucks, followed shortly thereafter by two blueprint files- the first marked 'pressure points', and the second marked 'limb-breakage zones'. His hands then reached up for the katana on the top shelf. Its hilt was surmounted with a small golden figurine of a dragon- a gift presented to him by one Justin 'Raziel' Jones. A weapon Steve had been forced to use against enemies in the past to defend himself. He took it and strapped it over his back. Then, finally, he turned his attention to the far end of the vault. A large metal safe was elevated on a podium there, locked with a combination lock. If his memory served him, the centrepiece of what he was looking for was there. He stepped over towards it, then began twisting the lock to get the correct combination in. Sure enough, the door swung open with a shrieking sound.

"What else could you possibly need? You've got knowledge on how to take somebody out of commission, all kinds of exotic weapons..." Chloe spread her hands.

"That's right, but there's just one last thing. One thing that could neutralize interference-runners. One thing that could unleash devastating stopping power on Jaxx- and again could put him down long enough to allow me to put the belt back up. And if I do succeed in breaking Jaxx's legs, it'll probably be with this. I call it 'the Annihilator Arm'."

With that said, Steve emphasized his point by reaching into the safe, fumbling around for the Arm itself. It took a good few moments of fumbling around, but eventually he felt his hand grasping onto the familiar hand-restraints of the Annihilator Arm, and as he tried to lift his arm he felt the formidable weight of the weapon making it a serious struggle. Both Chloe and Sergei strained their eyes to see what exactly the Annihilator Arm was, but with little avail. Steve stood back from the safe, then reached up for a silk black cloth sack that was hanging nearby, then held it in front of him. The Annihilator Arm itself was concealed from view as Steve pulled back the heavy weapon, dropping it into the sack and holding onto the sack tightly to keep it from dropping. He finally worked his arm around the sack's sling and slung it over his own shoulder. With a backpack, a katana and now the Annihilator Arm hanging from his shoulder, he was severely overloaded as he turned to face his friends.

"What in the hell was that thing?" Sergei's voice was stunned, "I got a glimpse of it, but... are you really going to use that?"

"You're damn right I am." Steve answered, leading the way back away from the safe and towards the steps out of the vault, "If Jaxx wants to play with fire, then he's going to have to accept that occasionally, you can start a firestorm. He wants to upend me with a mace and claim this won't end until one of us stops breathing? Fine, but I think he'll find that he's made the stupid mistake of revealing his 'big stick' and allowing me the time to one-up it." He smirked, then shook his head, "I'm fairly willing to bet the nimrod hasn't even considered it."

Suddenly, a new voice joined the conversation, echoing over from the far end of the room near the elevator. Another familiar voice, and one that made Steve's arms tense up and his brain to suddenly flash into red alert. His hand went straight to the katana on his back in response as he squinted to get a better view.

Steve wasn't the only one affected by that voice- Chloe visibly shrunk back at the sound of it as they recognised the source. The only person seemingly unaffected was Sergei, who simply watched, staring over at the far end of the room. Sure enough, it was exactly the last person Steve wanted to run into while he was in California. Unlike most of Steve's adversaries in the past, who had by and large been powerful-looking men, this one was a woman- and almost a foot shorter than Steve to boot. Dark hair, slender figure, cat-like turquoise eyes and downright captivating facial features. Where most of the attractive women Steve knew were either on the cute side of the spectrum or the classically beautiful, this one was downright seductive. Steve would have even admitted she was beautiful if she wasn't one of his dearest enemies. She'd even gone as far as to sex up what was an obvious ambush, clad in heels and a very short velvet black dress. She was backed up by a sandy-haired, green eyed man in a suit, about Steve's size- and armed with a 9mm no less, hanging it loose by his side.

"Hallie. Goddammit, I knew this was too simple to just be able to walk on out of here..." Steve muttered, staring up at the murderess across the room, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of the katana on his back.

"So close, Steve. So close to getting out of California without any of your oh-so-horrible past catching up..." Hallie Halliwell almost purred as the two blocked off any possible access to the elevator, "You didn't really think you'd slip around without me noticing, did you?"

"You know that homicidal psycho I was telling you about? That's her." He eyed Hallie cautiously, his expression masking itself carefully, "Lotta guts showing up here. Is there anything you want, or should we just get this over with?" His hand still rested cautiously on his katana.

"Hand Chloe over, Steve. And the file. In fact, I think maybe you should let me take anything from this vault of yours that I might need."

The reaction from Chloe was... not good. She shrank back even further, obvious fear in her eyes now as she stared first at Hallie, then at Steve. Then she finally lifted her head and stared the enemy straight in the face.

"You heard the lady, Hallie. How about I just finish this right now?" was Steve's none-too-diplomatic reply.

"You're going to give me Chloe, and I'll let the two of you live. Or you can say no, but you'll all end up dead, so that's rather pointless, isn't it?" As if to emphasize her point, she motioned to her accomplice, who merely smirked, while holding his gun down by his side.

Steve gritted his teeth, gazing between Hallie and her armed hireling, then at Chloe and Sergei. He was at an impasse right now. Steve knew damn well what happened the last time Hallie had Chloe. It was... bad. Really bad. Bad to the point where he knew Chloe still had terrors over what happened. But to get them all killed would accomplish nothing. He released the hand on his katana, resulting in a sadistic smile from Hallie as he desperately tried to think of something, anything...

Then suddenly, the silence was punctured by the sharp click of a handgun being cocked.

Both Steve and Hallie turned their heads simultaneously only to see Sergei standing in a ready position, his hands now clenched around a bulky silver handgun which he was aiming squarely as Hallie's head. Obviously, all of the attention had been solely focused on Steve, and had allowed the Russian security guard to get the drop on both Hallie and the hireling. Sergei's usually-casual expression was now all business, his eyes narrowed as he closed in his aim on Hallie, whose expression was a mixture of shock and disgust. The hireling with her, left with little choice, dropped his weapon to the ground with a clatter.

"This is a Desert Eagle, loaded with seven .50AE rounds. It is one of the most powerful handguns in the world. It's actually considered more like a hand-held rifle than a pistol. If you take one step out of line, if you make one move towards any party in this room..." A cold, chilly smile crossed Sergei's face, "...I'll blow your fucking head off."

"You don't honestly think you'll hold us at bay, do you?" Hallie snarled back, anger and irritation clearly visible on her face, "There are two of us here. One of us can do the damage."

"I don't think so. I think you'll find I'm a little more than just a hired thug. I know how to use this weapon... probably better than you know how to do the 'damage' you've been threatening to do. All I need are two seconds. Three at the most. One to shoot you, one to reorient, and one to kill pretty boy over there before he can even pick his gun back up."

"I won't." As if to emphasize that point, Sergei fired a deafening round directly in front of the hireling's feet, causing him to jump back in shock. Hallie stepped forward, but true to his word, Sergei recovered from the gun's recoil and aimed straight back at Hallie's face, pulling her up short.

"Do not test my patience. Here's what we're going to do. You're going to take the pretty boy over there and you're going to get back into that elevator. Then you are going to get the hell out of this nightclub. And if you ever come back, or if you ever come near any of these people again, I'll kill you. Do you understand?"

Rather than attempt to argue back, or to even offer an answer, Hallie simply scowled, backing away towards the elevator and hitting the button to open the doors. All the while, Sergei kept his gun trained on Hallie, while Steve held his katana blade at the ready just in case. As the doors finally opened, Hallie's rage-fuelled eyes set on both Sergei and Steve.

"One word to Sergei, and it will be over- fast." Steve chuckled darkly, "As it is, I'll deal with you another day. Take care, will you?"

Hallie didn't even respond, backing away towards the doors with a scowl. The hireling backed in after her, then finally the doors swung shut with a faint *ding*, and the entire group collectively let their breath explode, Steve returning his katana to its sheath in relief, while Chloe returned to as relaxed a state as she could be given the circumstances. Sergei kept his gun trained on the doors for a few seconds before finally lowering the weapon.

"Let's just say you're not the only one with a past he'd rather forget..." was Sergei's enigmatic answer as he clicked the safety back on the gun and slid it back into its hiding place in the pocket of his slacks.

"I..." Steve began to reply, then drew himself up short, letting his shoulders slump before he changed his mind, "...thanks, Sergei. You didn't have to do that."

"And now they might try to do the same to you. Because of that, I owe you one, Sergei." He turned to gaze around the room, "Everybody alright?"

"I've been worse..." Chloe remarked, "...but I think it's probably about time we got out of here, Steve. We're going to be sitting ducks here."

"Alright then. Here's what we're going to do, people..." He turned his gaze to take in the two, "It's not safe here. We have everything we needed to get here. There's absolutely no reason why we should stay here. So we're going to go our own separate ways. I'm not even going back to Philly- I'm going straight into Boston. Chloe, you need to get back to Heather. Sergei, I need you to get back to the Shack- fast."

That brought Sergei up short, a brow raising in curiosity, "I thought the plan was for us both to go back to Pennsylvania and then to Boston."

"The plan's changed. I'm going to Boston alone. And I'm going to stay in Boston alone. Dougy and Stretch need to stay where they are right now, and I don't think Kate really wants to lay eyes on me right now. You need to keep things running back over there."

"But are you even ready to go, Steve? I mean... all your things are back at your apartment in Philadelphia. Don't you need to pack a little more before you go marching into Boston? Are you even ready?"

Was Steve ready? That was the question that needed to be asked. Once Steve went to Boston, there was no turning back. No going back to Philly- or LA- to get anything he might have forgotten. Or anyone. There wouldn't be time, once he got there he would be locked into heavy preparation and training. Once Steve was there, he would also cross another point of no return- he would cast his humanity aside and finally let the rage that had been boiling inside him for the last few weeks loose.

It had seemed impossible to keep it contained at more than a few points in the last month. So many times, Steve had felt his blood boiling and his brain going into overdrive as the natural instinct to hunt down Nicholas Jaxx and his cronies and tear them apart with his bear hands had almost overtaken him a few times. It had been a serious exercise in almost military-like discipline to force himself to literally freeze over his anger and force it back under the surface. He'd had to literally force his fists to unclench and de-tense his body at every Disclosure. Only the knowledge that he'd be able to fully turn loose his anger at Aversion Therapy had kept him sane and in control. Particularly the last week, after the double-whammy of Jaxx's attack with his club and the Pantheon jumping Steve. Steve had come so close to finally losing it and trying to beat Jaxx to death that he was amazed he actually held back.

It had never gone away, though. It had merely been added to, week after week. He'd never really calmed down, never really let it go away. All he'd been able to do was cool it and keep it stored for a better day. But there was only so much he could take, and he was just about at breaking point now. Fortunately... now was the ideal time to reach breaking point. With nothing left to do but walk into the PPV, he was now free to allow himself to explode into a fury... a rampage, if you would... and lay such a brutal, bloody beatdown on Nicholas Jaxx that his Pantheon cronies wouldn't be able to watch.

Was it finally time to turn it loose? Once he went into Boston, odds were it would only be a matter of time before it did. The timing had to be right, though- if he went too early, he'd explode before the PPV. If he went too late, he'd miss the boat to unleash the full magnitude of his rage. He had to be certain, and he had to make absolutely certain that it was the right time to go.

"Oh, I'm ready. Believe me, I've got everything I need..." He paused, and then finally patted the cloth containing the Annihilator Arm. A metallic clank could be heard from the covered object before he finished what he had to say.

And here's a classic- you still believe that my last victory over you was a fluke?

I'm curious... how exactly was breaking your face with the Bloodshed title a 'fluke', Nikki? You use Odd and Tank as excuses for your loss, but pal, if you'd even paid attention to your own match, you used them to rack up points just as much as I did. In the end, it came down to you and me, and whether you want to believe it or not, I was faster. I seized the moment better than you did. Whatever way you want to look at it, it ended with me proving superiority over you. I didn't end the match by taking out Odd. I didn't end it by getting Tank. I ended it by taking you down. Isn't that how you're supposed to 'beat' somebody? What the hell else do I have to do, Jaxx? Oh, wait, let me guess! You tripped, fell, and faceplanted onto the title, right? Or someone actually told you that getting beaned in the face with the Bloodshed title actually gained you five million points! Anything, anything other than actually being outgunned and outwitted! Heaven forbid Nicholas Jaxx actually faces the truth! Of course, we both know that if you'd won, you'd have 'beaten me' and you'd have been the first one to proclaim it from the rooftops.

I'm going to let you in on a little secret, Jaxx- until you accept that you weren't the better man that day and until you realize that you were bested, you will never stand a chance of topping me as you'll never have truly learned where you went wrong if you deny you ever did. You don't have to accept that I'm the better man for this match, but you do have to accept that I was in the last one. Blinding yourself to the truth is painful, I know. It must be like self-mutilation for somebody as full of it as you are. But surely if this Bloodshed Championship is so important to you and if you really want to beat me so bad, you'll harden up, stop being such a princess and face facts, right? If you don't... well, clearly you don't want this as bad as I do. Cause I've been evaluating how you got the drop on me the last few weeks. I've even accepted you've tricked me a couple of times and have committed myself towards not allowing it to happen again.

Hell, I've even accepted I may not be a hundred percent going into this. You're absolutely right, Jaxx, the damage has piled up. I've taken so many blows that it's probably a miracle I'm still actually in action. I've had people come up to me and tell me just how shocking it's been to see me out and about after what you've placed on me, and I accept it's shocking. I accept that logically I shouldn't be at a hundred percent. But the difference between you and me is that I intend to compensate. Whatever injuries I suffer, whatever pains I have, I'll work my way around them. I'll either condition myself to fight through the pain as best I can, or I'll condition myself to neutralize it. What was it you said... I might not even know if left is left, or whatever? Well, my vision is just fine and my brain is working... but if in the event I do get disoriented, I've read up enough and prepared myself enough that I think I might actually be able to work with it.

That's the difference between you and me. You desperately crave the advantage and have tried so hard to get it, knowing that without it you will fail. I don't need the advantage. Combat superiority's about being able to fight out of any situation, no matter what goes wrong. An old sometimes-friend, sometimes-enemy of mine once told me that I was a man who conditioned myself to do the impossible. I'd say that's pretty damn apt. So fine, laud yourself, celebrate that you've knocked me for a loop. But don't for a second think that it's a sure-fire victory as a result of that... because once again, I'll surprise you and even dare I say embarrass you. I've walked into tougher scrapes than this and come out victorious- and I've been beaten around week after week after week leading up to it. You didn't honestly think you were the first to try to soften me up, do you, Jaxx? No. So many people I know have tried only to watch their precious plan fall to pieces and for panic to take them right before I strike them down.

But hey, since you seem to love talking about your 'swerves' so much as if they'll actually make a difference and as if they'll actually protect you from facing the retribution you so richly deserve, I feel it only fitting that I return to your first 'big swerve'. The one directly after I beat you the first time, when you started whining on about how you weren't going to wrestle any more and how you'd pick up your ball and go home like the overgrown infant you are, and how you had Silicon Matthews play the guilt trip on me, only for you to come back at the last second, 'change your mind', and dedicate yourself to bloodying me up big time. I expect the outcome of this match to be very similar, but with one major difference.

After I am finished with you... whether or not I'm actually successful in breaking your legs regardless... there will be no swerve, no plot, no 'last-second change of heart' this time. After I've pasted you all over that ring this time around, you'll probably retire in shame once again, much like last time. Maybe we'll even see the same guilt trips from Christy. Maybe we'll even see Ebdon and Payne try to gain some revenge, although I actually suspect they may be too frightened to try. Things will appear to have gone more or less the same as they always have, and people might even suspect that I'll fall for that same old trick again- pretending your career's over and that you'll jump me and demand yet another rematch. But week after week after week will go by, and this time... it won't happen. You will stay out of my face. Either you will make some low-key return going after someone like the Next Big Thing Champion, the Cyber Champion, or somebody that'll lead you far, far away from me, or alternatively... you just won't return at all, and you'll retire in shame. Either way, by the time I'm done with you, you won't even be capable of being a problem for me ever again.

You're finished, Jaxx. I'm not just going to 'break' you this time, I'm not just going to humble you, shock you, embarrass you, and I'm not just going to unleash enough collateral damage on you to make both Pantheon members wince in half-revulsion and half-worry- this time around, I'm going to do something a lot more permanent and a lot less reversible. You'll probably hate me for it forever- and probably the worst part about that hate would stem from the fact that there's nothing you can do about it: