Leon Cashmere versus Black Jack Colter

2:53 A.M.

Jack Colter stared at the water-damaged ceiling above his bed in his apartment. The wind was howling so loudly he began to think it might blow straight through the thin walls of his apartment. Thunder clapped loudly But that wasn't what was keeping him up at this hour. It was an old rival that had his mind running circles.

The sudden re-emergence of Sybyl had him mulling over the last year of his career and all the wrong turns he made. That wasn't something he particularly wanted to think about at...

2:53 A.M.

Jack glared at the alarm clock resting on the nightstand beside his bed and its blinking colon. It was mocking him now, he was sure of it. He turned over in the bed and stared at the ceiling once more, trying to keep his mind distracted.

Alas, counting the titles on the ceiling was a redundant brain exercise. He already knew the exact number from a previous night of unrest. 144.

And so his mind wandered back to Charlie Abernathy, that man who'd done everything in his power to undermine Sybyl during Jack's time in BFW. The man who'd stolen the documents that Jack needed to clear his name with Jack being none the wiser.

When Jack finally earned a victory over Sybyl to gain the truth that the masked man advertised, he found out that Charlie had been the man who'd sabotaged him. And when he finally had the opportunity to confront his saboteur, the owner of BFW Zacharias Adler left him with a tough decision to make - a choice between revenge and a championship. Jack had gotten so close to the truth and then he turned his back on it in a vain attempt at gold.

Ego. Fucking ego.

Jack turned his head to see the clock still reading 2:53 and pushed it off the nightstand. He flicked the lamp on and then stumbled out of bed, leering at over at the dresser with a look of a disgust at the old man staring back at him in the mirror.

'You proud old fool.'

But was it ego or fear of the unknown that led him on this path? Was he scared to find out why Charlie had sabotaged him? Was he scared of what he might do if he knew the truth?

The pursuit of a championship seemed like the safe bet at the time. Jack thought the lawyers would handle all the minutiae in his legal battle. But as BFW went, so did the lawyers at his disposal.

And when presented with a choice between finally getting the truth and chasing a title, Jack made a short-term call. The easy call. The choice of a man who was afraid to become irrelevant.

'Played right into Charlie's hands.' After all, it was Charlie Abernathy who had pushed Jack to continue his quest for the BFW Championship as a means to distract him from the word of Sybyl.

A familiar voice rings in his ear. 'Why did you run? Why did you run?'

Jack smashed the mirror with a right hand. Blood dripped from his hand as he pulled open the top dresser drawer and removed a camera. He flipped it on.

The clock blinked 2:54.

Jack pulled out the chair at the dresser and plopped down in it before running his hand through his disheveled hair, leaving a streak of red running down his forehead.

"Addiction #2. This is a big one for me, folks. I suppose that's a cliche for a man of my age. After all, how many do I really have left? Every fight is built up with a question of whether I have what it takes to win or whether I have anything left in me at all."

Jack notices the blood trickling off his knuckles and pulls a sock out of the drawer to wrap around it.

"Leon Cashmere recently failed in his attempt to claim the Crank Championship, so I know he will come into this fight with a chip on his shoulder. But see, there's a big difference between Cashmere and me. He still has his youth. He still has time. Me?"

Jack turned toward the shattered mirror to take a look at his graying hair.

"Not so much. Guys my age don't get second chances; we get walking papers. Unless you're a legend of the business, you have the shelf life of a leading lady in the movies. Even if you do manage to stick around, you're just staving off the inevitable. Doesn't change the fact that that clock's ticking."

Jack took a peak to his left to see the clock dangling from the nightstand now reads 2:55. He almost looked relieved as he returned his attention back to the camera.

"You may see PAW as one of your final stops, Cashmere, but for me, I know this is it. This is the line in the sand. I look at this stage of my career as the death march. And there's a significant difference between that and a retirement tour. I have no legacy to protect. Will anyone even miss me when I'm gone? I don't know or fucking care.

It's funny, I used to think I loved this sport but now I realize I'm just using it as a form of therapy for some unresolved anger issues. I used to care about creating some sort of 'legacy'. Hoped that I'd represent the business well. Hoped that it'd help me get my name out there.."

He chuckled.

"It's all a waste of time. This business will chew you up and spit you out regardless. It'll milk you for every dime it can draw out of you and then toss you to the wayside whenever you hit a slide. Predictable. So I've decided to flip the script. From here on out, I look at this merely as an opportunity to do right by a family that's been done wrong. It's an opportunity to milk this business for every dime I can get and honor the legacy of tag team partner."

Colter sopped up some more blood from his knuckles.

"You seem like a great guy, Leon. You really do. The charity photo ops? Helping flood victims? It's a great fluff piece. Kudos for being a concerned citizen. Unfortunately all that goodwill you've earned is not going to stop me from caving in your skull if that's what necessary for me to win this match.

I want to ask you one question, Cashmere. Have you ever stepped into the ring with a man who has nothing left to lose?"

With that question lingering in the air, Jack smiled and turned off the camera.