[STEELE] The Hardest Night Part 4 (Shogun-Tron Part 3)
Oct 25, 2017 17:43:49 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Hyperion, and 1 more like this
Post by Steele on Oct 25, 2017 17:43:49 GMT -5
[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6]
*In just one night, Jackson Steele's world became just that little bit more... hostile. Already a marked man with a target on his back - or more accurately, over his shoulder in the shape of the AWF Heavyweight Championship - he found himself in the sights of two potential usurpers to his throne, "Prodigy" Bobby Barrett, and "The Dark Prophet" Ezriel. Both men granted a championship shot by Felix Ziko, to take place on the final night of the XHF End Of Days Tournament.*
*In just one night, Jackson Steele's world became just that little bit more... hostile. Already a marked man with a target on his back - or more accurately, over his shoulder in the shape of the AWF Heavyweight Championship - he found himself in the sights of two potential usurpers to his throne, "Prodigy" Bobby Barrett, and "The Dark Prophet" Ezriel. Both men granted a championship shot by Felix Ziko, to take place on the final night of the XHF End Of Days Tournament.*
*Only... there was one small snag.*
*Defending his championship is not to be Jackson's only obligation at the EoD PPV. After three hard-fought matches against wrestlers far more experienced than he is, he found luck firmly on his side as he defeated Curtis Kanyon, then Michael Storm, and most recently Scorpion to advance to the tournament final, where he will meet Shogun-Tron.*
*Sunday, October 30, is shaping up to be the hardest night of Jackson's life. Three opponents, two matches. Make or break. He could be leaving Pittsburgh on top of the world, as both AWF Champion and the XHF End Of Days Champion for 2017.*
*He could just as easily be leaving with nothing.*
*With less than one week until the Pay-Per-View, we are privileged to be able to catch up with Jackson Steele as he prepares.*
*This is his story.*
JACKSON STEELE: THE HARDEST NIGHT
PART 4: SHOGUN-TRON (part 3)
"RUNNING THE GAUNTLET"
"RUNNING THE GAUNTLET"
Filled with a new-found confidence after some rather unorthodox "training" by his mentor, Harry "The Hammer" Hansen, Jackson Steele awoke early on Wednesday morning to the soothing sounds of birds chirping outside his bedroom window, a warm ray of sunshine beaming in through a crack in the curtain and brightening up the room.
He stretched and yawned, rubbing his eyes as the dawning of a new day revitalized him. Swinging his feet out of the bed and into his slippers, left there lovingly by eXXXstacy, he opened the curtains further and through the French windows he saw a stunning scarlet tanager sitting on the branch of a tree. It opened its beak to sing;
CLANG CLANG CLANG went it's beautiful morning song.
"That's not right," thought Jackson to himself. "That's not right at all."
The songbird was joined by another, and then a third- all of them joining in the rousing chorus.
CLANG CLANG CLANG
WAKE UP MOTHERFUCKER
CLANG CLANG
Jackson moved closer to the window to investigate the anomaly. He suddenly rammed his face into the glass, pressing his whole body up against it until the point that it began to hurt, and then kept pressing.
CLANG CLANG WAKE UP MAGGOT CLANG CLANG
Jackson winced as he found himself unable to peel his face away from the glass pane. He felt the smooth, cold surface against his skin and could feel every single piece of gravel digging into his flesh.
"This is so not right." He reminded himself. The birdsong began to warp and distort in Jackson's mind as he grew more and more confused at the bizarre circumstances. Pressed up against the window pane Jackson's vision blurred in and out, as the songbirds became distant and fuzzy, he briefly caught sight of his own reflection and then a brilliant light.
The room came into focus, dim and dismal focus, and rotated ninety degrees. Cold, harsh and spartan- It was not the lavish, warm, inviting bedroom that Jackson had been in moments before. It was not a bedroom at all. Jackson dribbled onto the bare concrete floor on which his head lay and groaned.
"WAKE UP MAGGOT!" boomed Harry, as he thrashed a baseball bat around inside a steel trashcan. CLANG CLANG CLANG. Jackson's birdsong.
Pushing himself up onto his palms Jackson blinked to try and regain his focus, trying to recall what he might have done in a past life to deserve all of this. Behind him was an empty cot bed, the rough sheet dragged off behind him when he fell thanks to Harry's first alarm call.
"Oh my god... my head... it hurts so much." moaned Jackson. Harry had little sympathy.
"Not as much as it will do by time you finished learnin! Look alive motherfucker!"
Jackson sat himself on the edge of the bed - and immediately was forced to parry a speeding trashcan as Harry launched it into his chest. Jackson managed to block most of it, but it caught him by surprise and knocked him on his back.
"That was a flying body press from Shogun-Tron! And now he's got ya pinned! You gotta shape up, maggot- or else yer fucked!"
Jackson didn't know whether he was coming or going. Just half a day before he'd felt like he was making progress, both in terms of his preparations for Sunday's matches and in terms of actually earning some respect from Harry. Now here he was, spooning with a trashcan and back to being called "Maggot".
Harry wrenched the trashcan away from Jackson. "You got ten minutes," he growled. "Then I want you in the gym and in your gear. You've got yer physical trainin' today."
Harry shuffled out of the room and Jackson groaned. He knew Harry wouldn't take it easy on him. This was, after all, the man who kidnapped Jackson and taped him to a chair for nine hours to watch some videos.
Jackson looked at the bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. He wondered if the cord might support his weight.
"{No, Jackson. Don't be so stupid.}" he thought to himself. "{It's far too frail. You should try to bite through it or something.}"
The door creaked open behind Jackson, cutting short his thoughts of cutting himself short.
"Are you alright?" asked eXXXstacy as she walked into the room. She was fully dressed, apparently having been up for some time. Jackson nodded, not entirely meaning it. He knew however that he'd come so far now, backing out would ruin everything. And "backing out" wasn't in Jackson Steele's vocabulary. "Pulling out" - now that was in his vocabulary, but that's a different story entirely. Jackson's key strength was longevity, staying power- and he wasn't ready to admit defeat.
"Harry's got me doing PT today." said Jackson, grimly. eXXXstacy tried to encourage him.
"I know. He's setting up the gym at the moment. Just don't think too hard about it and you'll be fine. You've done PT with Harry before."
She added, almost prophetically; "How bad could it be?"
Jackson climbed through the ring ropes and looked up to the rafters. A rope hung down, suspending Harry's beloved trashcan above the center of the ring.
"Alright you pathetic cocksucker!" Harry shouted. "So far you've only gone up against meatbags in the ring! Well every so often you'll find yourself up against a guy who's either too much of a PUSSY to fight like a REAL man, or he's so INSANE he thinks he's a frickin' robot!"
"Now I don't know if either of those apply to this Shogun-Tron or if he really IS from ...THE FUTURE... either way, he's one a them kooks who decides to make everyone else's life harder by wrestling in a suit of fuckin' armor!"
Jackson hung his head as he started to anticipate what was coming next. Harry indicated the suspended trash can.
"So when you train to fight a regular MEATBAG wrestler, stands to reason that you train on a regular punching bag. Some guys train on an animal carcass for added realism - we'll save that for if you ever fight the pig."
"This right here, this is YOUR punching bag. To get your hands used to the feel of Shogun-Tron's armor! So go ahead - throw a punch."
Jackson exhaled. He didn't particularly want to punch a trash can, but he knew Harry wouldn't give up until he did. If anything, if he refused to fight the bin, Harry would only find something even worse for Jackson to do. Besides, how bad could it be, really?
Jackson closed his eyes and pulled back a fist - firing off a hard right-handed straight jab his knuckles hit the metal and crunched. Hard. The trashcan wobbled slightly off-center, but didn't move very far at all.
"Oh yeah, I filled it with sand." Harry helpfully added, far too late. "Too bad you didn't feel out yer opponent first." Jackson's eyes watered as his hand throbbed and he tried his best to shake it off.
He stretched and yawned, rubbing his eyes as the dawning of a new day revitalized him. Swinging his feet out of the bed and into his slippers, left there lovingly by eXXXstacy, he opened the curtains further and through the French windows he saw a stunning scarlet tanager sitting on the branch of a tree. It opened its beak to sing;
CLANG CLANG CLANG went it's beautiful morning song.
"That's not right," thought Jackson to himself. "That's not right at all."
The songbird was joined by another, and then a third- all of them joining in the rousing chorus.
CLANG CLANG CLANG
WAKE UP MOTHERFUCKER
CLANG CLANG
Jackson moved closer to the window to investigate the anomaly. He suddenly rammed his face into the glass, pressing his whole body up against it until the point that it began to hurt, and then kept pressing.
CLANG CLANG WAKE UP MAGGOT CLANG CLANG
Jackson winced as he found himself unable to peel his face away from the glass pane. He felt the smooth, cold surface against his skin and could feel every single piece of gravel digging into his flesh.
"This is so not right." He reminded himself. The birdsong began to warp and distort in Jackson's mind as he grew more and more confused at the bizarre circumstances. Pressed up against the window pane Jackson's vision blurred in and out, as the songbirds became distant and fuzzy, he briefly caught sight of his own reflection and then a brilliant light.
The room came into focus, dim and dismal focus, and rotated ninety degrees. Cold, harsh and spartan- It was not the lavish, warm, inviting bedroom that Jackson had been in moments before. It was not a bedroom at all. Jackson dribbled onto the bare concrete floor on which his head lay and groaned.
"WAKE UP MAGGOT!" boomed Harry, as he thrashed a baseball bat around inside a steel trashcan. CLANG CLANG CLANG. Jackson's birdsong.
Pushing himself up onto his palms Jackson blinked to try and regain his focus, trying to recall what he might have done in a past life to deserve all of this. Behind him was an empty cot bed, the rough sheet dragged off behind him when he fell thanks to Harry's first alarm call.
"Oh my god... my head... it hurts so much." moaned Jackson. Harry had little sympathy.
"Not as much as it will do by time you finished learnin! Look alive motherfucker!"
Jackson sat himself on the edge of the bed - and immediately was forced to parry a speeding trashcan as Harry launched it into his chest. Jackson managed to block most of it, but it caught him by surprise and knocked him on his back.
"That was a flying body press from Shogun-Tron! And now he's got ya pinned! You gotta shape up, maggot- or else yer fucked!"
Jackson didn't know whether he was coming or going. Just half a day before he'd felt like he was making progress, both in terms of his preparations for Sunday's matches and in terms of actually earning some respect from Harry. Now here he was, spooning with a trashcan and back to being called "Maggot".
Harry wrenched the trashcan away from Jackson. "You got ten minutes," he growled. "Then I want you in the gym and in your gear. You've got yer physical trainin' today."
Harry shuffled out of the room and Jackson groaned. He knew Harry wouldn't take it easy on him. This was, after all, the man who kidnapped Jackson and taped him to a chair for nine hours to watch some videos.
Jackson looked at the bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. He wondered if the cord might support his weight.
"{No, Jackson. Don't be so stupid.}" he thought to himself. "{It's far too frail. You should try to bite through it or something.}"
The door creaked open behind Jackson, cutting short his thoughts of cutting himself short.
"Are you alright?" asked eXXXstacy as she walked into the room. She was fully dressed, apparently having been up for some time. Jackson nodded, not entirely meaning it. He knew however that he'd come so far now, backing out would ruin everything. And "backing out" wasn't in Jackson Steele's vocabulary. "Pulling out" - now that was in his vocabulary, but that's a different story entirely. Jackson's key strength was longevity, staying power- and he wasn't ready to admit defeat.
"Harry's got me doing PT today." said Jackson, grimly. eXXXstacy tried to encourage him.
"I know. He's setting up the gym at the moment. Just don't think too hard about it and you'll be fine. You've done PT with Harry before."
She added, almost prophetically; "How bad could it be?"
TEN MINUTES LATER
Jackson climbed through the ring ropes and looked up to the rafters. A rope hung down, suspending Harry's beloved trashcan above the center of the ring.
"Alright you pathetic cocksucker!" Harry shouted. "So far you've only gone up against meatbags in the ring! Well every so often you'll find yourself up against a guy who's either too much of a PUSSY to fight like a REAL man, or he's so INSANE he thinks he's a frickin' robot!"
"Now I don't know if either of those apply to this Shogun-Tron or if he really IS from ...THE FUTURE... either way, he's one a them kooks who decides to make everyone else's life harder by wrestling in a suit of fuckin' armor!"
Jackson hung his head as he started to anticipate what was coming next. Harry indicated the suspended trash can.
"So when you train to fight a regular MEATBAG wrestler, stands to reason that you train on a regular punching bag. Some guys train on an animal carcass for added realism - we'll save that for if you ever fight the pig."
"This right here, this is YOUR punching bag. To get your hands used to the feel of Shogun-Tron's armor! So go ahead - throw a punch."
Jackson exhaled. He didn't particularly want to punch a trash can, but he knew Harry wouldn't give up until he did. If anything, if he refused to fight the bin, Harry would only find something even worse for Jackson to do. Besides, how bad could it be, really?
Jackson closed his eyes and pulled back a fist - firing off a hard right-handed straight jab his knuckles hit the metal and crunched. Hard. The trashcan wobbled slightly off-center, but didn't move very far at all.
"Oh yeah, I filled it with sand." Harry helpfully added, far too late. "Too bad you didn't feel out yer opponent first." Jackson's eyes watered as his hand throbbed and he tried his best to shake it off.
"S- sand!?" he whimpered. "What the fuck did you fill it with sand for!?"
"For added realism!" Harry declared triumphantly. "Shogun-Tron ain't gonna be fuckin' hollow now, is he?" he added. eXXXstacy gave the hanging trashcan a small shove, to feel how truly heavy it was.
"He's not, you're not wrong there..." she struggled against the can as it swung slowly back towards her. "...but I doubt his armor is made from stainless steel either. He'd be fucked before he even got in the ring. It's probably something lightweight like ABS plastic or carbon fiber... or some sort of high-tech material from ...THE FUTURE..."
"This must weigh about 350 pounds. Maybe even 400. Shogun-Tron is only 211."
Harry thought for a few seconds, before relenting. "Alright. I'll tip some of the sand out. BUT- yer still gonna be throwin' fists against this! I don't care what his costume is made out of, whether it's stainless steel, carbon fiber or fuckin' bricks... you need to train up yer hands fer hittin' something solid instead of soft skin!"
Harry grumbled under his breath as he started lowering the trashcan into the ring. "{Goddamn kids these days don't wanna go in the chair, don't wanna fight the trashcan...}"
SOME MORE TIME LATER
Jackson collapsed into the turnbuckle as the trashcan swang wildly on the end of the rope in the middle of the ring. eXXXstacy poured a bottle of water over his bandaged fists, the white linen stained deep red from bloodied knuckles.
"Much better! Much better!" cried Harry, to Jackson's relief. Jackson would never have guessed there were so many ways to fight a trashcan half-filled with sand, but apparently Harry knew them all. And now, so did Jackson. If Shogun-Tron was to show up right now, filled to the knees with sand, Jackson would kick. his. ass.
Or, he might - because there was still something Harry hadn't shown him.
"OK! No time to rest - you won't be getting any of that on Sunday! We move on to defenses, boy!"
Jackson was too tired to object. His head lolled back and he let out a whimper as Harry hopped out of the ring, still barking instructions as he opened the door to a side room.
"C'mon, boy! You ain't gettin' out of it that easy! It's time to face... The Gauntlet!"
Jackson moaned. "Gauntlet?"
eXXXstacy sat on the middle rope, lowering it and making a path for Jackson. "Come on," she said. "Let's get this over with. The sooner it's finished the more time you'll have to rest up before Sunday."
Jackson wearily pulled himself out of the turnbuckle and clumsily rolled through the ropes, onto the apron and then finally down to the floor of the gym. He wasn't looking forward to whatever Harry had in store for him, and with a name like "The Gauntlet" he already had an intense feeling of dread knotting up his stomach. He trudged over to the next area of the gym and stood in the doorway.
Nothing he could have imagined would even come close to what stood before him.
"What.. the... fuck?" Jackson ejaculated. And not in the good sense of the word.
In front of him stood a huge box, apparently constructed on a budget slimmer than a broomstick and with Stevie Wonder's eye for aesthetics. It was made from materials of varying provenance, from doors to sheetrock to girders to 2X4. Every conceivable building material known to man had apparently been utilized in its construction- including a bicycle that sat on a frame attached to the vast abomination.
The back wheel of the bicycle had been removed and the gear system was hooked up to the box.
"This here's the Gauntlet, boy!" Harry's voice almost cracked with sadistic glee. Apparently he had been building up to this for some time. He opened one of the many doors on the box - the only door that was actually a door in fact, and it wasn't even made from a real door - and Jackson peered in from a safe distance. It was pitch black inside.
"What, are you afraid of the dark, boy?" asked Harry. "Don't worry- there's a light!" he added, grinning evilly as he pulled a head-mounted torch out of his pocket. He tossed it to Jackson, who clicked the light on and shone the beam inside the structure. The light was too weak to reveal anything new. "Don't be scared, boy- go on in!"
Harry gave Jackson a shove and he stumbled into the darkness. Harry quickly shut the door behind him and locked it.
Inside the box, Jackson got to his feet as the last of the light from outside was extinguished by the closing of the door. Thankfully, as the only light source inside the box, the head-torch proved slightly more useful now.
But only slightly.
"Alright, stay in the middle, try not to go too close to the edge!" Harry's muffled voice came through the wall of the box. "The edge is where all the movin' parts is!"
Jackson wasn't sure if he'd heard correctly.
"Moving parts!?" he stammered. He heard some sort of creaking come from within the box as, unknown to him, Harry mounted the bicycle.
"Alright boy, listen up! You're gonna hear a whistle and then I'm gonna start off slow! But I ain't gonna take it slow fer long - you gotta keep yer wits about ya if you wanna make it out of there in one piece, you hear me? Now- any questions?"
"Yes! What the fuck is-"
"Good!" Harry interrupted. "Alright, here we go!"
Jackson started to worry. "Wait! What is-"
A shrill blast of Harry's whistle pierced the air and Jackson heard a low rumbling inside the box. He took up a defensive stance, trying to make out anything he could in the pathetic light. He turned, slowly, cautiously...
THWACK!
Something came out of nowhere and smashed Jackson in the face. It was like getting hit full-on with a kendo stick. Jackson went down and landed hard on his back, getting the wind knocked out of him as he wondered what the hell just happened.
"Oh Jesus Christ what was-"
SMACK!!
Another blow, this time to the back as he lay on the floor, as something swept in from a low level. Jackson rolled out of the way, and scrambled up to his feet.
BOSH!!!
He reeled as something dealt him a glancing blow across the front of the face. Turning around he staggered in the opposite direction and narrowly avoided another strike from the first implement. As he breathed a sigh of relief, his ankles were taken out from underneath him whatever had hit him on the back as he lay on the floor previously.
"You gettin' the hang of it yet, boy?" Called Harry from outside. Jackson was beginning to piece together what was happening to him... he got to his feet again, and tried to find his place in the rhythm of the machine.
High sweep - he dodged backwards.
Low sweep - he quickly jumped to avoid it.
Straight jab - he ducked to the side.
High sweep - quick dodge.
Low sweep - jump.
Straight jab - duck.
High sweep - quick dodge.
Low sweep -
CRUNCH!!!!
"Pay attention boy! I changed up the gear!" shouted Harry. There was a new obstacle now.
"Jesus fuck..." Jackson hissed under his breath. "He's just straight-up trying to murder me now!"
The game had changed, but Jackson adapted. He dodged as best he could when he knew the blows were coming and he figured out the placement of the newest weapon. Soon he was back in the saddle, ducking and dodging as implements swung in, trying to knock him down again. Until...
After about three cycles without a failure, Jackson heard a click behind him and off to the left. A sudden "whoosh" of air and he instinctively ducked - and a rod or stick of some kind sailed over his head.
Jackson was elated - not only had he figured out the machine's purpose before it could beat him to death, but he'd successfully anticipated a change in its pattern. He didn't skip a beat, and effortlessly worked the new obstacle into his existing regimen.
And so it continued for quite some time - every time Harry switched up a gear, it would add a new obstacle for Jackson to dodge, or change the pattern of attack slightly. He took a few bumps, he played far from a perfect game, but eventually Harry ran out of gears and stamina, and he slowly pedaled to a standstill.
Harry opened the door to the box and Jackson emerged, blinking, into the light. He had several large welts across his chest and back, as well as a split lip, but Jackson walked out of the box breathing heavily and sweating buckets, but triumphant.
"Holy SHIT son! I ain't never seen no-one FINISH the damn thing! They usually give up around the sixth gear!"
Jackson leaned against the door frame. "I... I could have given up?" he regretted not actually trying that tactic. Harry shook his head.
"I wouldn'a let ya. Not while you was still alive anyway;" He nodded towards a corner of the room. A small monitor was set up, displaying a night-vision camera feed from the inside of the box. Harry had been able to watch the entire ordeal from the comfort of his bike. Harry continued; "I had a feelin' you'd make it if you could figure out the first couple of rounds. Believe it or not some kids are too stupid to work out what's happenin' and just curl up in a ball on the floor, get damn near kicked to death by that boot on a stick."
Jackson checked the display and saw for the first time the array of weapons that lined the walls of the "Gauntlet". Sure enough, the second implement that struck him in the back was literally a work boot tied to the end of a curtain pole.
"Harry... why? What was the point of that?" Said Jackson breathlessly. Harry didn't respond as he went over to the monitor and shut it off.
"Harry?" asked Jackson. "Was there a point? Or do you just get a boner watching other people get the shit kicked out of them?"
Harry turned to face him. He shrugged. "Yeah, I s'pose I do. Just a little anyway. But you're asking me what the point was? You that dense, boy? What's Shogun-Tron's style?"
Jackson thought for a moment, then he admitted; "I... I don't know, actually. He's fast. I know that much."
Harry scowled at him. "Kicks. Punches. Strikes. Lots of 'em. You getting it yet, boy?"
Jackson was getting it. Harry continued.
"I put you in that box and you went from bein' blind as a bat and takin' a bigger dicking than an altar boy to cat-like reflexes and damn-near night vision! By the end of that thing you weren't even relyin' on the pattern - cos that last round don't even have no pattern! Do you know how fuckin' hard it is to engineer somethin to fire off random shots like that!? Six years I been waitin' for someone to get to the last level! SIX!"
Despite feeling incredibly sore from his ordeal, Jackson felt an immense amount of pride at his achievement.
"Now just for full disclosure - you're gonna have to adapt this lesson somewhat when you're in the ring... y'ain't gonna be able to listen out for his attacks when there's a stadium full of screamin' fans all yellin' shit at ya. But what this exercise did - hopefully - was work on yer reflexes, yer perception, yer ability to anticipate his strikes and dodge an attack WITHOUT gettin' yerself fucked over by a follow-up! You were chainin' dodges together like a pro in there, Jackson!"
Harry paused, before adding; "I'm proud of you."
Jackson beamed. This sort of praise was extremely rare coming from Harry, and he'd been able to coax out some positive feedback two nights running.
"Thanks, Harry. I don't think you realize how much that means. You know, I felt like shit waking up this morning, after the ordeal-by-chair finally caught up with me. And I felt shit after going twelve rounds with a bin full of sand. And to be honest with you, I feel like shit right now after going through the "death-O-matic"... but in all likelihood, I'll probably feel like shit come Monday morning too. So it's good to be prepared. And at least I'll get to wake up in my own, soft bed. Or a hospital bed if it goes really tits-up... but even that's preferable to your fuckin' guest room."
"But, as shit as I feel, I also feel a thousand times more ready to take on Barratt, Ezriel, and now Shogun-Tron. Thanks to your - quite frankly, insane - training regime, I won't break my hands the first time I swing a punch at Shogun's helmet. I'll be better-equipped to anticipate and evade his strikes. And even if he does take me down with a few - which I know he will, I'm not gonna come out of either match completely unscathed - I know I can suck it up, shrug it off and keep on truckin'."
"These boys had better be really prepared to face me on Sunday. Because I'm sure as hell ready to face them. And I'm going into the End Of Days Pay-Per-View with absolutely no fear."
He paused, nodding his head.
"Ok," he added, "Maybe just a little fear. Ezriel's pretty damn scary-looking. And I'm not gonna ignore the very real possibility that one of these guys could be leaving Pittsburgh with my title, or as the End Of Days Champion."
He started to undo the tape around his fists, as he continued speaking about his chances on Sunday.
"It's my job to make sure that they don't do that. Two days ago I would have said that I can do this just because. I would have come up with some sort of bull to make myself look good and make my opponents look bad. To try and bluff my way out of this and pretend that I wasn't looking down the barrels of a triple-barreled shotgun."
"Well now... the shotgun's still there. But I'm not looking down the barrels any more, I'm looking down the sights. Two days in the "Hammer House Of Horrors" can fuck a man up. But not Jackson Steele. I'm ready."
Jackson pulled the rest of the tape off of his wrists and threw it down to the floor.
"I'm ready." he said. He turned to Harry, and Harry turned to him - Jackson recoiled in horror as Harry unloaded a bucket towards him - a shoe, a dog's bone, some custard, a braille bible, a green bow tie among other miscellaneous items flew at Jackson and he flailed, flapped, and then fell to the floor.
"READY?" Harry cackled.
"Boy you ain't ready fer SHIT if you can't dodge his FUTURE BLASTER!"