Post by Sam Sawyer on Nov 3, 2021 15:53:25 GMT -5
Jack Hamilton takes a break from his phone screen to have a look around. Dressed in a heavy dark green jacket and jeans, he turns his eyes to the Hearth's packed parking lot. The cars sit quietly beneath the starless Sunday night sky. Jack is sitting on a ledge close to the building's entrance. Inside, FIRESIDE is hosting night four of End of Days. While the fans inside are surely going wild, Jack remains alone on the outside. The only noise is the distant sound of traffic on the freeway.
He stands up and walks up and down for a bit to try to fight off the cold. He takes one more look at his phone to check the time then stuffs his hands in his pockets. Sam should be here soon.
Jack sits back down with a deep breath, then watches it fade away in front of him. He wonders if it was even worth coming here. He remembers the last words Sam spoke to him:
"We don't need you anymore."
It was the first thing Sam had said to him in weeks, but the look in their eyes, and the others in the gym's eyes, said much more. When Jack left the gym that day, he felt for sure that was the last he would see of Sam.
He had been a terrible manager to Sam. At first he genuinely tried to help them. Then the patience wore out and the tough love turned into hate and cruelty. That Sam could take, easily, but in the end Jack had the stupid idea to try to exploit Sam for everything they were worth. He thought he could take advantage of their need to work for FIRESIDE - knowing the work they'd already put in to growing the gym here - and get them to do whatever he wanted. Maybe amp up their image, get them to do skits, or just take a bigger cut of their paycheck. Sam kicked Jack out before the plan was even fully formed in his head. Sam probably didn't know what the plan was, not any more than dogs know the price of cocaine, but they knew enough.
Jack shivers, maybe more from fear than cold. The thought of... that day... has bothered him since it happened. And now he's here, about to stare into those eyes once again. It's insane, but... he has hope. Just a little. He remembers what Sam said to him shortly after they first met:
"It has to be you."
He has to do this. Sam chose him, and he let them down. It makes him sick to his stomach, not just for Sam's sake but for his own. It was his destiny and he turned his back on it.
Footsteps start echoing in the distance. Jack turns to look through the open doorway to see a black figure walking towards him. The white, almost yellow glow of the lobby reveals Sam's face. They walk swiftly, but not urgently; their boots clacking against the hard floor. Their eyes burn into Jack's, aware but not staring. Jack tries to break the tension by lifting his arm to wave. Sam doesn't need to do anything, feeling as much tension as they would approaching a potted plant. The faint white makeup on their face is intact; apparently they haven't broken a sweat.
Jack: Hey, Sam...
Once past the door, Sam stops in the open air to look up at the taller Jack.
Jack: What happened? Did the other guys not show up?
Not expecting an answer, Jack remembers that line from Rocky. Maybe despite everything, he was kinda hoping Sam wouldn't show up here tonight. The pull of their eyes is so powerful he has to look away.
Jack: Wow... some night, huh?
Jack looks back at Sam.
Jack: I've been freezing my ass off out here.
Their eyes are the same, but Jack imagines them thinking "get to the point".
Jack: I didn't want to miss you. I know you like to get off early. I... want to apologize.
Jack doesn't know what to make of Sam's vacant expression. He takes too long to think of his next words and Sam starts walking past him. He grabs their arm.
Jack: Wait! Please.
Sam breaks free of Jack without any difficulty and keeps walking.
Man: Hey!
Jack and Sam both turn to look into the lobby of the Hearth. A red-haired man wearing a black Sisters of Mercy t-shirt runs towards them.
Man: Wait up!
He comes to a stop outside, breathless. He ignores Jack and stares wildly at Sam.
Man: Sam!
Jack looks at Sam. Sam is looking at the newcomer in the same way they were looking at Jack. He wonders why Sam is paying this man any attention.
Man: Holy shit! There you fucking are! My man!
Jack winces a little as he stares dumbfounded at the man. Still awaiting an answer from Sam, the man brushes his thin crimson-dyed hair out of his face.
Jack: Who are you?
Man: Sam's uncle. Who are you?
Jack's jaw drops. Sam's uncle addresses Jack in a not particularly friendly tone - probably aware of who he is - then quickly directs his attention back to Sam.
Uncle: You were amazing tonight, Sam. Did the family proud.
Sam continues to stare.
Uncle: I couldn't believe it when I saw you on that End of Days commercial. I was like... is that... my nephew?! Sorry, you know what I mean. Is that Sam?
He laughs, staring at Sam affectionately. Jack sees a small family resemblance, but not enough to say for sure. He talks with an American accent with a hint of Mexican.
Uncle: Little Sammy, all grown up. What are you now? Seventeen? Eighteen?
Jack: Sixteen.
The uncle doesn't look at Jack.
Uncle: I've been telling everyone about you. That's my boy! I mean... whatever. They think I'm crazy, but... hey, can I get a selfie?
Sam just stares at him. Jack can feel a strange tension in the air, almost. Is it... coming from Sam?
Uncle: Pleeeeease.
No reply.
Uncle: You do talk, right?
After a long silence, the uncle starts to feel the effects of the stare. He looks at Sam quizzically, no longer so sure of himself. Sam is staring at him with a silent intensity. It might be Jack's imagination, but it almost seems like Sam is trying too hard to be cold, as if it's all just a front. There's a palpable undercurrent of anger in their eyes. The uncle shakes his head and laughs weakly.
Uncle: I thought that was all for TV. What happened to you, man? You look like you were buried in a pet cemetery.
His eyes widen as if an idea just came to him.
Uncle: [censored]
His eyes light up as he gives a sick grin.
Uncle: Oh well. Anyway, at least let me take you out somewhere. I came all this way for you. Let's celebrate or something.
He waits, looking at Sam hopefully.
Uncle: Come on, man! I missed Mr. Blobby for this!
Jack: They don't want to.
Uncle: Give him a chance to speak.
Jack: Them.
The uncle ignores Jack and waits for an answer. Sam stares at him for a few more seconds then turns their back on him. The uncle sighs and shakes his head as they walk away. He starts to go after them but Jack uses his arm to block him.
Jack: Don't. Just... leave it for now. Give it time.
The uncle shoves Jack's arm off of him. He glares at Jack threateningly. Jack sees unmistakable malice in his expression, and maybe, more worryingly, insanity.
Uncle: Whatever you say, dude.
He continues to stare Jack down, making a point of it. The threat is so unsubtle it's almost laughable. But even if the look in his eyes is worlds apart from Sam's, it chills him almost as much.
Jack: See you around...
Before Jack can go, the uncle sets off himself. Jack turns around and is surprised to see Sam still there, watching them. Their uncle gives them a double pat on their shoulder as he walks past. They ignore it. They look at Jack.
Jack: Sam... are you okay?
Sam's expression is almost the same as what it has been all night. Jack gets a new feeling from them however. He feels like... maybe Sam doesn't want him to worry? Or that they'll protect him? He's not sure. All he knows for sure is: he feels safe.
. . .
The scene opens in a daylit living room. Jack is sitting in an armchair, wearing a faded blue flannel shirt and jeans. He raises his hand to greet the camera.
Jack: Hi.
As usual his face is cold and stern, but he seems to be more content than usual. There's some warmth in his voice.
Jack: Welcome to my humble abode. That's Nick behind the camera. How do you like the house, Nick?
The camera turns in a circle, slowly revealing the entire room. Large, spacious and modestly decorated, the centerpiece is a 70 inch television. The street outside can be seen through a large window, quiet in the cold afternoon light. The camera returns to Jack in his chair and another male voice speaks out.
Nick: Not bad, Jack.
Jack: Yeah. It'll do. Thanks for coming out here, by the way.
Nick: Don't mention it.
Jack: I think this is the first time I've actually filmed something here. It's... weird. Do you know what? I think I should stand up.
Jack stands up. He looks a little awkward as he faces the camera.
Jack: Is that better?
Nick: I guess...
Jack: Okay, cool. Anyway, better get started.
Nick: I could start over.
Jack: Nah. Kids these days could use a little patience test.
Nick laughs.
Nick: "Kids these days?"
Jack: Yeah, funny. You know what I mean.
Nick: All those commercials growing up made you bitter?
Jack: Something like that. But... seriously... if you're still watching: hello again. It's been a while. You might have wondered where I've been the last two months. The fact is, Sam and I had some growing pains. We don't exactly mix well. I could say it was me, it was my fault, but... Sam doesn't really mix with anybody. To be completely honest, actually, Sam is a total pain in the ass. I think we're good now though. We got there. I needed the patience of a saint, but we got there.
Jack pauses for a moment, and the small smile on his face slowly fades. He looks to the floor.
But Sam... is just a teenager. Just sixteen. I'm supposed to be the mature one. The responsible one.
His eyes widen, peering into the camera almost as if seeking forgiveness.
It wasn't just my job to promote Sam. I was supposed to look after them. They're sixteen years old! AWF found them when they were fifteen! They might have looked like they could handle themselves, like nothing could touch them, but how could anyone know for sure? How did they end up like they did? Why didn't they talk? What happened to them? Everyone was worried about them.
He composes himself.
But over time... I stopped worrying. It was obvious this wasn't just some vulnerable little kid. They might be one of the strongest people I've ever met. But still, it should have been my duty to keep watching out for them. Or at the very least... have their interests at heart. It was hard. Like I said, we didn't mix. Them: a stubborn, independent, ungracious individual. Me: a stubborn, narky, bitter old man. Middle-aged man. It's not that we butted heads. They just wouldn't listen. They as good as blanked me. They drove me up the wall until...
He breaks off, unsure how to continue.
Well. Let's just say I no longer had their interests at heart. I was selfish. I thought I could get one over on them. I really did. I thought I could make them do things my way. Not for the good of their career, but for mine. But I forgot something. Sam Sawyer's calendar goes straight from March 31st to April 2nd. You can't fool them. I don't want to make Sam sound like Chuck Norris, but... it's true. As soon as they caught a sniff, I was done. Gone. I thought that was it. I couldn't believe it when Sam took me back. You're too busy to watch this, but... Sam... thank you. And you already know this, but, I'm sorry.
The genuine emotion is obvious from the look on his face. Just before continuing, he smiles as if putting it all to one side.
But that's enough of that. What about today? Well... Sam is hard at work in the gym. And I've got a match to sell. That's about all I need to do for Sam these days. I don't think there's anymore I can do for Sam in person. I check up on them from time to time, but that's it. They don't need my advice. Even after thirty years in this business, I don't think there's anything I can pass on to Sam that would be of any use. They've barely listened to a word I've ever said, and they're not going to start now. I'm completely superfluous to what Sam's got going on over there. To be honest, I'm a little scared to even set foot in that gym. That's why we're filming this promo in my house. Believe it or not, Sam actually owns the gym. Their name might not be on the deed, but they own it. Sam runs those men and women ragged. They work fifteen hours a day, seven days a week. At first Sam treated everyone there like punching bags, but... now... I'm not sure if Sam knocked them all silly or what, but... they follow Sam blindly now. They all work just as hard as Sam does. Maybe they want to. Maybe they have no choice. I don't know. But now they're more than just training partners. That place is a fucking breeding ground for absolute killers. You're probably going to see some of them on your TV screens sooner or later. But for now, take my word for it, stay away from there. Even as a friend of Sam's, I can honestly say that that place gives me the creeps.
He stops short, looking blankly into the camera as if he forgot his next line. Eventually he regains his composure and seems happy to just let it go. He sighs and looks off to the side. After a while he speaks.
The Kindling...
He lets the thought linger for a while then turns back to face the camera.
Sam Sawyer and Rebecca Brookes, versus Edward Zepp and Apathy. Texas tornado rules. The winners move one step closer to an unknown prize. Talk about chaos.
Concerned, he speaks in a sincere tone, conveying the obvious value of the prize.
I've called Sam a machine, but chaos is a machine's kryptonite. No matter how well it's built, no matter how laser-focused it is, chaos can throw it something it didn't plan for. The word "machine" is thrown around lightly, but... well, who am I to say? The other three competitors could be machines too, and there's some good evidence for that. If so, you probably hate this match as much as I do. This is worse than a triple threat, a fourway, a fiveway, even an over-the-top-rope rumble. Like all of those, you don't have to be defeated to be defeated, but on top of that: you can be dragged down... or betrayed... and then... outnumbered.
His tone becomes more accusatory.
When it stops being every one for themselves, you have to think about other things. Teamwork, strategy, your partner's motivation. The only reason that Sam hasn't reached out to you Rebecca, as far as I know, must be that they know you're not going to be a problem. Because if you were, Sam would do whatever it took to get hold of you and get you into shape, just like they'd do whatever it takes in the middle of a match to fight their way to victory. Well... I hope Sam's right.
He pauses.
All the four of you need to do is be at your best, and be ready. In a match like this, having too much of a strategy going in will only end up being a distraction. Be smart, sure, but mainly trust your instincts. Sometimes there's so much that can go wrong, that all you can do is be ready for it. Whatever it is, you don't even know, be ready. Be ready and you'll know what to do.
He stops and takes a long deep breath as he looks slightly off camera, seemingly finished with that thought. Then he continues, determined and deliberate.
Edward... you and Sam have crossed paths before. You were the one who eliminated Sam from the battle royale at Burn It Down. But it's not just that performance that worries me. I've been impressed by everything I've seen from you. You're the biggest person in this match, and by coincidence, maybe the biggest threat. Big guys are a dime a dozen, but you're more than that. You're one of the most awesome forces FIRESIDE has ever seen. You actually remind me a lot of Sam. You don't talk much, sure, but it's not just that. You make everyone around you look... so weak in comparison. So normal. Like dumb animals almost. You seem to have an unstoppable desire inside of you, and the intelligence, the ability, and the muscle to make it happen. In the first round, you took on three amazing talents - one of them a former X*Crown Champion - and made it look easy. Sam did the same thing, pinning both of their opponents at once in almost no time at all: one of them a former SPARK Champion.
He says this matter-of-factly, showing neither pride nor surprise.
But Ed... you're human. So, so human. I mean... that's a good thing, really. I'm not calling you weak. But... I don't know. Maybe I'm the only one that sees it, but it seems to be written all over everything you do. Maybe I've just spent too much time with Sam. Whatever it is that's in Sam's eyes, you've not got it. Or maybe it's Sam that doesn't have what's in your eyes. Where I would see life in others' eyes, in Sam's I see emptiness. Emptiness... but at the same time, something so powerful, so inhuman, that I feel like I'm not capable of understanding it. So powerful, that it feels like Sam must have thrown whatever humanity was inside of them into the trash long ago. So powerful, it's like looking into the sun. But like I said, I don't understand it. I'm not even saying it can't be stopped. I've felt the power that humanity is capable of myself, however briefly, and I've seen it in others. I'd be a fool to doubt its power... and who can tell whether you have the potential for something inside of you that Sam isn't capable of.
He pauses.
Apathy, you have one hell of a tag team partner. But you bring something important to this match too. Something Ed, Rebecca and Sam don't have a lot of: experience. Your resume is terrifying. You've had more championships than Sam's had matches. And you don't want to stop, do you? You're nearing the end of your career, but you seem like you're going to take it as far as it can possibly go. And even then they'll have to tear it out of your hands. I don't envy whoever's the one to tell you to stop. I see something similar in Sam's future, even if it's hard to picture them at that point in their career. Whatever it is I see in their eyes, I can't imagine it dying. I guess their body will break down just like the rest of us, but not without a hell of a fight. From what I've seen of you this year: you're winning that battle... so that could spell trouble for Sam.
Despite his obvious respect for her, he doesn't sound worried.
But experience is just a small piece of the puzzle. When you're in the moment, the past means nothing if your body isn't ready. Sometimes it's better to just throw your experience out the window. Especially in chaotic matches like this. And especially when you run into something new. All the knowledge in the world won't help you then. It's not knowledge that's your strength, though, it's your passion. But you're not alone. Passion can blow up to the sky even if it was born yesterday. Forget experience. You've never had to face someone like Sam before, and maybe not Rebecca either.
With a brief pause, he continues on.
Rebecca, you don't need me to tell you how much is riding on this. I won't insult you by trying to give you advice. You've been tearing the house down this year. Sam experienced that first-hand in France. But this could be the biggest match of your life. I'm not sure how great you feel about putting your future in the hands of a sixteen-year-old, to be honest. Though I guess it doesn't really matter. This is what's been put in front of you both, so what else can you do but deal with it, show up, and bring it. You're only a few years older than Sam. Even if you have a history in MMA, you've shown everyone what's possible for a rookie with a two-year career to achieve in wrestling. You've shed your underdog skin, and Sam is on exactly the same path.
His tone suggests he's confident of victory.
You've actually got double duty. That could be a problem, but again: you'll deal with it. If anyone in this match has a gripe... it's probably you.
He grimaces, almost in disgust, his eyes still full of confidence.
I mean... I've been talking a whole lot. But what does that count for? What does that matter when Sam hasn't, exactly, had the best track record? Sure, it could be considered a success for someone their age, but I've been hyping Sam as someone unstoppable. Not just today, but for months. Why should you take my word for it that things will be any different now? Well, I'll shoot. When Sam loses a match, where others might start to doubt themselves, Sam just goes back to work. Where others might take a blow to their confidence, they just go back to work. Where others might give up, they just go back to work. They don't try harder, they just keep doing what they're doing. Moving forward, getting stronger by the day, not changing, not budging.
He pauses, staring intently into the camera.
'Cause they know exactly what they're doing. They've known it right from the start. A few bumps in the road isn't gonna stop them. Not a damn thing in this world is gonna stop them... except maybe the FBI. I can't promise you anything, Rebecca, but I like your odds. You're going to be teaming with a machine, functioning at 100%. Doubt isn't in their dictionary. I hope for the sake of the three of you that you can say the same. You've all been thrown into chaos. But as far as I care, if FIRESIDE wants chaos: bring it. Sam's got the weapons to beat it. They don't let chaos change them. They don't fight chaos with chaos. They fight it with intelligence. By being stronger. By staying true. Not faltering. Not slowing down.
He continues to stare, as if daring someone to question him, before the scene fades to black.
He stands up and walks up and down for a bit to try to fight off the cold. He takes one more look at his phone to check the time then stuffs his hands in his pockets. Sam should be here soon.
Jack sits back down with a deep breath, then watches it fade away in front of him. He wonders if it was even worth coming here. He remembers the last words Sam spoke to him:
"We don't need you anymore."
It was the first thing Sam had said to him in weeks, but the look in their eyes, and the others in the gym's eyes, said much more. When Jack left the gym that day, he felt for sure that was the last he would see of Sam.
He had been a terrible manager to Sam. At first he genuinely tried to help them. Then the patience wore out and the tough love turned into hate and cruelty. That Sam could take, easily, but in the end Jack had the stupid idea to try to exploit Sam for everything they were worth. He thought he could take advantage of their need to work for FIRESIDE - knowing the work they'd already put in to growing the gym here - and get them to do whatever he wanted. Maybe amp up their image, get them to do skits, or just take a bigger cut of their paycheck. Sam kicked Jack out before the plan was even fully formed in his head. Sam probably didn't know what the plan was, not any more than dogs know the price of cocaine, but they knew enough.
Jack shivers, maybe more from fear than cold. The thought of... that day... has bothered him since it happened. And now he's here, about to stare into those eyes once again. It's insane, but... he has hope. Just a little. He remembers what Sam said to him shortly after they first met:
"It has to be you."
He has to do this. Sam chose him, and he let them down. It makes him sick to his stomach, not just for Sam's sake but for his own. It was his destiny and he turned his back on it.
Footsteps start echoing in the distance. Jack turns to look through the open doorway to see a black figure walking towards him. The white, almost yellow glow of the lobby reveals Sam's face. They walk swiftly, but not urgently; their boots clacking against the hard floor. Their eyes burn into Jack's, aware but not staring. Jack tries to break the tension by lifting his arm to wave. Sam doesn't need to do anything, feeling as much tension as they would approaching a potted plant. The faint white makeup on their face is intact; apparently they haven't broken a sweat.
Jack: Hey, Sam...
Once past the door, Sam stops in the open air to look up at the taller Jack.
Jack: What happened? Did the other guys not show up?
Not expecting an answer, Jack remembers that line from Rocky. Maybe despite everything, he was kinda hoping Sam wouldn't show up here tonight. The pull of their eyes is so powerful he has to look away.
Jack: Wow... some night, huh?
Jack looks back at Sam.
Jack: I've been freezing my ass off out here.
Their eyes are the same, but Jack imagines them thinking "get to the point".
Jack: I didn't want to miss you. I know you like to get off early. I... want to apologize.
Jack doesn't know what to make of Sam's vacant expression. He takes too long to think of his next words and Sam starts walking past him. He grabs their arm.
Jack: Wait! Please.
Sam breaks free of Jack without any difficulty and keeps walking.
Man: Hey!
Jack and Sam both turn to look into the lobby of the Hearth. A red-haired man wearing a black Sisters of Mercy t-shirt runs towards them.
Man: Wait up!
He comes to a stop outside, breathless. He ignores Jack and stares wildly at Sam.
Man: Sam!
Jack looks at Sam. Sam is looking at the newcomer in the same way they were looking at Jack. He wonders why Sam is paying this man any attention.
Man: Holy shit! There you fucking are! My man!
Jack winces a little as he stares dumbfounded at the man. Still awaiting an answer from Sam, the man brushes his thin crimson-dyed hair out of his face.
Jack: Who are you?
Man: Sam's uncle. Who are you?
Jack's jaw drops. Sam's uncle addresses Jack in a not particularly friendly tone - probably aware of who he is - then quickly directs his attention back to Sam.
Uncle: You were amazing tonight, Sam. Did the family proud.
Sam continues to stare.
Uncle: I couldn't believe it when I saw you on that End of Days commercial. I was like... is that... my nephew?! Sorry, you know what I mean. Is that Sam?
He laughs, staring at Sam affectionately. Jack sees a small family resemblance, but not enough to say for sure. He talks with an American accent with a hint of Mexican.
Uncle: Little Sammy, all grown up. What are you now? Seventeen? Eighteen?
Jack: Sixteen.
The uncle doesn't look at Jack.
Uncle: I've been telling everyone about you. That's my boy! I mean... whatever. They think I'm crazy, but... hey, can I get a selfie?
Sam just stares at him. Jack can feel a strange tension in the air, almost. Is it... coming from Sam?
Uncle: Pleeeeease.
No reply.
Uncle: You do talk, right?
After a long silence, the uncle starts to feel the effects of the stare. He looks at Sam quizzically, no longer so sure of himself. Sam is staring at him with a silent intensity. It might be Jack's imagination, but it almost seems like Sam is trying too hard to be cold, as if it's all just a front. There's a palpable undercurrent of anger in their eyes. The uncle shakes his head and laughs weakly.
Uncle: I thought that was all for TV. What happened to you, man? You look like you were buried in a pet cemetery.
His eyes widen as if an idea just came to him.
Uncle: [censored]
His eyes light up as he gives a sick grin.
Uncle: Oh well. Anyway, at least let me take you out somewhere. I came all this way for you. Let's celebrate or something.
He waits, looking at Sam hopefully.
Uncle: Come on, man! I missed Mr. Blobby for this!
Jack: They don't want to.
Uncle: Give him a chance to speak.
Jack: Them.
The uncle ignores Jack and waits for an answer. Sam stares at him for a few more seconds then turns their back on him. The uncle sighs and shakes his head as they walk away. He starts to go after them but Jack uses his arm to block him.
Jack: Don't. Just... leave it for now. Give it time.
The uncle shoves Jack's arm off of him. He glares at Jack threateningly. Jack sees unmistakable malice in his expression, and maybe, more worryingly, insanity.
Uncle: Whatever you say, dude.
He continues to stare Jack down, making a point of it. The threat is so unsubtle it's almost laughable. But even if the look in his eyes is worlds apart from Sam's, it chills him almost as much.
Jack: See you around...
Before Jack can go, the uncle sets off himself. Jack turns around and is surprised to see Sam still there, watching them. Their uncle gives them a double pat on their shoulder as he walks past. They ignore it. They look at Jack.
Jack: Sam... are you okay?
Sam's expression is almost the same as what it has been all night. Jack gets a new feeling from them however. He feels like... maybe Sam doesn't want him to worry? Or that they'll protect him? He's not sure. All he knows for sure is: he feels safe.
. . .
The scene opens in a daylit living room. Jack is sitting in an armchair, wearing a faded blue flannel shirt and jeans. He raises his hand to greet the camera.
Jack: Hi.
As usual his face is cold and stern, but he seems to be more content than usual. There's some warmth in his voice.
Jack: Welcome to my humble abode. That's Nick behind the camera. How do you like the house, Nick?
The camera turns in a circle, slowly revealing the entire room. Large, spacious and modestly decorated, the centerpiece is a 70 inch television. The street outside can be seen through a large window, quiet in the cold afternoon light. The camera returns to Jack in his chair and another male voice speaks out.
Nick: Not bad, Jack.
Jack: Yeah. It'll do. Thanks for coming out here, by the way.
Nick: Don't mention it.
Jack: I think this is the first time I've actually filmed something here. It's... weird. Do you know what? I think I should stand up.
Jack stands up. He looks a little awkward as he faces the camera.
Jack: Is that better?
Nick: I guess...
Jack: Okay, cool. Anyway, better get started.
Nick: I could start over.
Jack: Nah. Kids these days could use a little patience test.
Nick laughs.
Nick: "Kids these days?"
Jack: Yeah, funny. You know what I mean.
Nick: All those commercials growing up made you bitter?
Jack: Something like that. But... seriously... if you're still watching: hello again. It's been a while. You might have wondered where I've been the last two months. The fact is, Sam and I had some growing pains. We don't exactly mix well. I could say it was me, it was my fault, but... Sam doesn't really mix with anybody. To be completely honest, actually, Sam is a total pain in the ass. I think we're good now though. We got there. I needed the patience of a saint, but we got there.
Jack pauses for a moment, and the small smile on his face slowly fades. He looks to the floor.
But Sam... is just a teenager. Just sixteen. I'm supposed to be the mature one. The responsible one.
His eyes widen, peering into the camera almost as if seeking forgiveness.
It wasn't just my job to promote Sam. I was supposed to look after them. They're sixteen years old! AWF found them when they were fifteen! They might have looked like they could handle themselves, like nothing could touch them, but how could anyone know for sure? How did they end up like they did? Why didn't they talk? What happened to them? Everyone was worried about them.
He composes himself.
But over time... I stopped worrying. It was obvious this wasn't just some vulnerable little kid. They might be one of the strongest people I've ever met. But still, it should have been my duty to keep watching out for them. Or at the very least... have their interests at heart. It was hard. Like I said, we didn't mix. Them: a stubborn, independent, ungracious individual. Me: a stubborn, narky, bitter old man. Middle-aged man. It's not that we butted heads. They just wouldn't listen. They as good as blanked me. They drove me up the wall until...
He breaks off, unsure how to continue.
Well. Let's just say I no longer had their interests at heart. I was selfish. I thought I could get one over on them. I really did. I thought I could make them do things my way. Not for the good of their career, but for mine. But I forgot something. Sam Sawyer's calendar goes straight from March 31st to April 2nd. You can't fool them. I don't want to make Sam sound like Chuck Norris, but... it's true. As soon as they caught a sniff, I was done. Gone. I thought that was it. I couldn't believe it when Sam took me back. You're too busy to watch this, but... Sam... thank you. And you already know this, but, I'm sorry.
The genuine emotion is obvious from the look on his face. Just before continuing, he smiles as if putting it all to one side.
But that's enough of that. What about today? Well... Sam is hard at work in the gym. And I've got a match to sell. That's about all I need to do for Sam these days. I don't think there's anymore I can do for Sam in person. I check up on them from time to time, but that's it. They don't need my advice. Even after thirty years in this business, I don't think there's anything I can pass on to Sam that would be of any use. They've barely listened to a word I've ever said, and they're not going to start now. I'm completely superfluous to what Sam's got going on over there. To be honest, I'm a little scared to even set foot in that gym. That's why we're filming this promo in my house. Believe it or not, Sam actually owns the gym. Their name might not be on the deed, but they own it. Sam runs those men and women ragged. They work fifteen hours a day, seven days a week. At first Sam treated everyone there like punching bags, but... now... I'm not sure if Sam knocked them all silly or what, but... they follow Sam blindly now. They all work just as hard as Sam does. Maybe they want to. Maybe they have no choice. I don't know. But now they're more than just training partners. That place is a fucking breeding ground for absolute killers. You're probably going to see some of them on your TV screens sooner or later. But for now, take my word for it, stay away from there. Even as a friend of Sam's, I can honestly say that that place gives me the creeps.
He stops short, looking blankly into the camera as if he forgot his next line. Eventually he regains his composure and seems happy to just let it go. He sighs and looks off to the side. After a while he speaks.
The Kindling...
He lets the thought linger for a while then turns back to face the camera.
Sam Sawyer and Rebecca Brookes, versus Edward Zepp and Apathy. Texas tornado rules. The winners move one step closer to an unknown prize. Talk about chaos.
Concerned, he speaks in a sincere tone, conveying the obvious value of the prize.
I've called Sam a machine, but chaos is a machine's kryptonite. No matter how well it's built, no matter how laser-focused it is, chaos can throw it something it didn't plan for. The word "machine" is thrown around lightly, but... well, who am I to say? The other three competitors could be machines too, and there's some good evidence for that. If so, you probably hate this match as much as I do. This is worse than a triple threat, a fourway, a fiveway, even an over-the-top-rope rumble. Like all of those, you don't have to be defeated to be defeated, but on top of that: you can be dragged down... or betrayed... and then... outnumbered.
His tone becomes more accusatory.
When it stops being every one for themselves, you have to think about other things. Teamwork, strategy, your partner's motivation. The only reason that Sam hasn't reached out to you Rebecca, as far as I know, must be that they know you're not going to be a problem. Because if you were, Sam would do whatever it took to get hold of you and get you into shape, just like they'd do whatever it takes in the middle of a match to fight their way to victory. Well... I hope Sam's right.
He pauses.
All the four of you need to do is be at your best, and be ready. In a match like this, having too much of a strategy going in will only end up being a distraction. Be smart, sure, but mainly trust your instincts. Sometimes there's so much that can go wrong, that all you can do is be ready for it. Whatever it is, you don't even know, be ready. Be ready and you'll know what to do.
He stops and takes a long deep breath as he looks slightly off camera, seemingly finished with that thought. Then he continues, determined and deliberate.
Edward... you and Sam have crossed paths before. You were the one who eliminated Sam from the battle royale at Burn It Down. But it's not just that performance that worries me. I've been impressed by everything I've seen from you. You're the biggest person in this match, and by coincidence, maybe the biggest threat. Big guys are a dime a dozen, but you're more than that. You're one of the most awesome forces FIRESIDE has ever seen. You actually remind me a lot of Sam. You don't talk much, sure, but it's not just that. You make everyone around you look... so weak in comparison. So normal. Like dumb animals almost. You seem to have an unstoppable desire inside of you, and the intelligence, the ability, and the muscle to make it happen. In the first round, you took on three amazing talents - one of them a former X*Crown Champion - and made it look easy. Sam did the same thing, pinning both of their opponents at once in almost no time at all: one of them a former SPARK Champion.
He says this matter-of-factly, showing neither pride nor surprise.
But Ed... you're human. So, so human. I mean... that's a good thing, really. I'm not calling you weak. But... I don't know. Maybe I'm the only one that sees it, but it seems to be written all over everything you do. Maybe I've just spent too much time with Sam. Whatever it is that's in Sam's eyes, you've not got it. Or maybe it's Sam that doesn't have what's in your eyes. Where I would see life in others' eyes, in Sam's I see emptiness. Emptiness... but at the same time, something so powerful, so inhuman, that I feel like I'm not capable of understanding it. So powerful, that it feels like Sam must have thrown whatever humanity was inside of them into the trash long ago. So powerful, it's like looking into the sun. But like I said, I don't understand it. I'm not even saying it can't be stopped. I've felt the power that humanity is capable of myself, however briefly, and I've seen it in others. I'd be a fool to doubt its power... and who can tell whether you have the potential for something inside of you that Sam isn't capable of.
He pauses.
Apathy, you have one hell of a tag team partner. But you bring something important to this match too. Something Ed, Rebecca and Sam don't have a lot of: experience. Your resume is terrifying. You've had more championships than Sam's had matches. And you don't want to stop, do you? You're nearing the end of your career, but you seem like you're going to take it as far as it can possibly go. And even then they'll have to tear it out of your hands. I don't envy whoever's the one to tell you to stop. I see something similar in Sam's future, even if it's hard to picture them at that point in their career. Whatever it is I see in their eyes, I can't imagine it dying. I guess their body will break down just like the rest of us, but not without a hell of a fight. From what I've seen of you this year: you're winning that battle... so that could spell trouble for Sam.
Despite his obvious respect for her, he doesn't sound worried.
But experience is just a small piece of the puzzle. When you're in the moment, the past means nothing if your body isn't ready. Sometimes it's better to just throw your experience out the window. Especially in chaotic matches like this. And especially when you run into something new. All the knowledge in the world won't help you then. It's not knowledge that's your strength, though, it's your passion. But you're not alone. Passion can blow up to the sky even if it was born yesterday. Forget experience. You've never had to face someone like Sam before, and maybe not Rebecca either.
With a brief pause, he continues on.
Rebecca, you don't need me to tell you how much is riding on this. I won't insult you by trying to give you advice. You've been tearing the house down this year. Sam experienced that first-hand in France. But this could be the biggest match of your life. I'm not sure how great you feel about putting your future in the hands of a sixteen-year-old, to be honest. Though I guess it doesn't really matter. This is what's been put in front of you both, so what else can you do but deal with it, show up, and bring it. You're only a few years older than Sam. Even if you have a history in MMA, you've shown everyone what's possible for a rookie with a two-year career to achieve in wrestling. You've shed your underdog skin, and Sam is on exactly the same path.
His tone suggests he's confident of victory.
You've actually got double duty. That could be a problem, but again: you'll deal with it. If anyone in this match has a gripe... it's probably you.
He grimaces, almost in disgust, his eyes still full of confidence.
I mean... I've been talking a whole lot. But what does that count for? What does that matter when Sam hasn't, exactly, had the best track record? Sure, it could be considered a success for someone their age, but I've been hyping Sam as someone unstoppable. Not just today, but for months. Why should you take my word for it that things will be any different now? Well, I'll shoot. When Sam loses a match, where others might start to doubt themselves, Sam just goes back to work. Where others might take a blow to their confidence, they just go back to work. Where others might give up, they just go back to work. They don't try harder, they just keep doing what they're doing. Moving forward, getting stronger by the day, not changing, not budging.
He pauses, staring intently into the camera.
'Cause they know exactly what they're doing. They've known it right from the start. A few bumps in the road isn't gonna stop them. Not a damn thing in this world is gonna stop them... except maybe the FBI. I can't promise you anything, Rebecca, but I like your odds. You're going to be teaming with a machine, functioning at 100%. Doubt isn't in their dictionary. I hope for the sake of the three of you that you can say the same. You've all been thrown into chaos. But as far as I care, if FIRESIDE wants chaos: bring it. Sam's got the weapons to beat it. They don't let chaos change them. They don't fight chaos with chaos. They fight it with intelligence. By being stronger. By staying true. Not faltering. Not slowing down.
He continues to stare, as if daring someone to question him, before the scene fades to black.