*The video opens to show a dark room and the face of Jack Rogue. He appears to be adjusting the position of a camcorder, looking off to the right of frame. When he's satisfied, he moves himself back from the camera and grins maniacally. He looks like he may be about to start speaking, but his shoulder suddenly twitches and he begins to frantically scratch at the side of his head*
Jack: Hello... everyone. Here I am again, ready to talk to all of you. Isn't that exciting?! You always love when Uncle Jack sits down to have a lovely chat with you so... *Rogue leans in towards the lens of the camera suddenly* ...listen closely , be attentive, be quiet, sit up straight, and understand what you're about to be told.
*Jack scratches again, this time seemingly at his chest just below the bottom of the frame. His speech is fragmented, jumpy and rambling, a far cry from his usual self*
Jack: Let's talk about Saturday, shall we? Saturday was a fun day. I enjoyed it. I walked into the back from the ring after that little... "attack"? I've heard it called that. I prefer something different, personally, but we'll get to that later on, worry not. Anyway, I got backstage and a lovely young lady that seemed very busy and agitated asked me to step into a room, and then she put some paper in front of me. She asked me some questions, I said some words, doodled some things, I don't remember it too well. The whole night was more than a little bit of a whirlwind, to be honest. Afterwards, though, she told me I'd need to see a different person quite soon. Thera pyst, I think the name was? Maybe they have a dark past, since I asked about their strange name and the pretty girl didn't seem too willing to talk about it. That was odd, but I didn't like to press her for answers.
*Rogue mumbles inaudibly to himself for a moment or two, before seeming to remember where he is and continuing*
Jack: So I went to see Thera and despite the name, it turned out to be a man, which was disappointing. A boring, balding, monotonous, maggoty old man. He seemed very nearly as bored by himself as I was and he asked me some more questions and I said some more things. He didn't seem to like my answers very much, and at the end, he said I'd need to see him again. And I'd have gone, except for the fact that some of the gibberish from his soulless, soulless voice... I didn't like. The main thing that annoyed me was that he kept talking about what happened at Hell in a Cell as if it was... bad. As if this change, this transformation, this metamorphosis within my mind that he was prodding at with his questions, was somehow a problem. I don't see it that way.
*Jack sits back slightly and once again giggles to himself before continuing*
Jack: At Hell in a Cell, I broke down a barrier. I took down the red tape. I removed the greatest obstacle between me, and what I really want. Because events that night made me realise that I've been kidding myself since the first second I walked into TWF. I came in as a lost child, looking for success I'd made myself believe would somehow come to me. I wanted championship gold and I wanted victory and I made that clear... yet over time I managed to kid myself into thinking that the support of the people and inspiring all the little boys and girls was more important. It was my escape, hiding from my own failures. I came into TWF full of ambition and gusto... and then I lost my first twelve matches. TWELVE! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, TWELVE times I had my shoulders pinned to the mat for a three count before I saw a single shred of success. The first match I won, I made myself think was some worthy, notable achievement because I'd been conditioned to fail. Not just by myself but by all of YOU...
*Rogue darts forward to shout into the microphone of the camera, deafening the viewer, before continuing more quietly but with gradually rising anger in his tones*
Jack: ...who taught your children to adore me, to see me as some role model for battling adversity that was somehow seen to come from somewhere other than within me when all I was, was a loser. And I did it better than about anyone else in history, I became a symbol of this ridiculous society that teaches its children that participation is all that matters - that if you just try real hard, somehow what you want will come to you. And then that same society mercilessly casts their children out into a world where if you're willing to play by the rules, to be grateful for what you have already, if you sit and wait, you'll be crushed by people that get it.
Jack: And it seems right now in Precision is a time where people like me are starting, slowly, to get it. To understand that there is no room for compassion where dominance, victory and gold are there to be taken. Not earned - I know now that there is no such thing - but taken. Neilson. Thunder. Before them, Vega. Men that once looked at the rules, the system of earning what you want and, at first, said "yes, sir" just like me. And then they broke that barrier within themselves - because that is where morality, right and wrong, the rules live - within those who choose to be restricted by them.
*Jack leans back once again and looks around reflectively*
Jack: Yet, strangely... none of those men have had meteoric rises since their "changes". Mike Thunder, did it out of bitterness, out of jealousy for Tyson Blade, and did it just to face him at Wrestle Dynasty. And then what, Mike? And then what? What happens next? Do you crawl back to the comforting arms of your sheep-faced fans who'll accept you just so long as you act really sorry? Will you crawl back to them like the pathetic excuse of a man you always were? Will Neilson is our world champion, sure, yet chooses to surround himself with the type of ten-a-penny seven-foot tattooed meatheads he previously had the brains to hate before he decided he wanted some people to hide behind that could never take his spotlight. What's more, he won that belt with a Money In The Bank contract he won to the crowd's delight, and that neither Cali nor I had a chance at while his shittier, still naive brother from another whore mother would be willing to let him have it.
Jack: And then there's Andersen Vega. The man that still holds my contract, but who is nothing more than, by his own admission, a "prick". Bitter because he thought the world turned its back on him. I now know that it never had mine
- and that's not the only way I'm different from Vega, Neilson and Thunder. There are people who believe that by refusing to sit and wait any longer, I'm leading myself towards a dead end where I'll be left alone and irrelevant, an angrier version of the failure I had always been. But I'm different.
*Once more, Rogue leans towards the camera, the bright white camera light reminding the world of his former pallor*
Jack: You wanna hear something ironic? My first win in TWF... came against The Psycho. A fitting foreshadow of what I might one day become, though I didn't know it then. "Psychopath" was one of many words that idiot "Thera" used in my vague direction, and however fitting a description it may be I see it as something much simpler. There is only one person in my life that has EVER mattered the slightest bit, and that's me. I was one of the most dominant forces in wrestling history before I came to TWF, I went out there and continued to wrestle and work to improve every aspect of myself even as I became a laughing stock and a symbol of disappointment, and I will be the lone reason for my future success. I've never been close to my family, never had reason or means to start my own, and whatever plastic love you cretins have aimed at me over the last year, I've never meant anything more to any of you than one of a row of cuddly toys, an action figure that was never quite your favourite, or a classmate you sort of half-liked but never bothered to talk to. And as soon as I wore out my worth you'd discard me like any of those things.
Jack: Certainly, all of you were happy to see me hurled from twenty feet in the air down, down, down to the floor for your senseless blood sport. In fact, that was the moment it clicked. I crashed through that announcer's desk so hard that my ears rang for the rest of the match. My spine cried out from the impact and still is, but I knew what was on the line so I stood up, and I climbed back up that cell. I was a victim of true violence, and for a moment I was without the support of you all. And yet I stood. It hit me then that I didn't need anyone to be successful, least of all a faceless mass of noise without an ounce of influence over Precision. And when Joseph Diamond fell from the hole we created in the roof of that cell, helplessly tumbling backwards through the air, down into the ring... I have never felt more alive. The euphoria that overcame me at that moment was astounding, and strangely little of it came from my yearning for the Intercontinental Title. In his effort to escape my wrath, he fell backwards and felt the same agony I felt. That flipped a switch - I realised that when what you want most in the world is on the line, there is no such thing as "too far".
*As if mocking the idea, Jack giggles chillingly to himself again*
Jack: There was once a time when I would repeatedly cross that line because I was part of a place where no such line exists. There is a relic of that time I have always kept, and there was a time when I thought it would never see the light of day again. I thought that that part of me was gone, never to resurface, that I'd matured into someone who had respect for everyone who surrounded him, deserving or not. I was wrong. All it took was a fall from the top of Hell in a Cell... and I became someone who needed this again.
*Rogue's face suddenly moves out of the camera shot, leaving an entirely black picture. Outside of the frame, he seems to be rummaging in some kind of bag, giggling to himself like a small child, before re-emerging and returning to shot. He has a clown-like grin on his face and is holding what seems to be a piece of darkly coloured cloth*
Jack: This... is the embodiment of the spirit that died before I came to TWF, and was resurrected within me at Hell in a Cell. And now... I am ready for it to run roughshod over all it sees once more.
*Jack opens a large gap in the cloth with his hands and pulls it over his head. When he removes his hands, the cloth covers his face from the nose down to his neck. Where his mouth is beneath the half-mask is a design in bright blue, faintly resembling the fangs and jowls of a dog. It muffles Rogue slightly when he speaks, signifying yet another change in the manner of the former fan favourite*
Jack: Better. Maybe now the world will understand that they are dealing with a wholly different entity to the Jack Rogue they have seen before. A Jack Rogue that lives and breathes the testosterone-driven pursuit of human dominance, that embraces the natural hatred all people, but especially people in this wacky world of wrestling, have for others but bottle so secretly in the darkest depths of their hearts. And though that transformation began in my Hell in a Cell match with Joseph Diamond, it manifested itself after Andersen Vega's match, in what I did to Antonio Stark. That was my confirmation. Because as I finally accepted the inevitability of that chase of dominance, and pounced on my already semi-conscious prey... your boos rained down on me. And yet, through my own viciousness, skill, and ability to take advantage of an opportunity, I stood victorious in that ring.
Jack: I don't need you. When I had your support it never got me anywhere, I was a failure penned in by my own scruples, and now I've discarded it like the irrelevant crumb it is, I'm free at last to be a winner. So when you cry "why, jack, why?!", at the top of your prepubescent voices, "why did you turn your back on us?" the answer is simple, because having you on side got me nowhere, and I've come to realise that in reality, I'm indifferent to your happiness, and that pandering to you and limiting myself to keep you cheering me is pointless. And the pitiful little rush at the sound of thousands of people calling your name doesn't compare to the euphoric high of mangling just one with bear hands.
*Rogue relaxes off slightly and the intensity in his eyes seems to fade a little, but with his new mask, it's impossible to tell his expression for sure*
Jack: Even after all that Cell match did for me internally, though, I still lost it. At the end of it, after we had both fallen from that great height, Diamond hit his stupid Facebreaker and pinned me for three. But looking back on that, and looking ahead at what awaits me, I see it as being for the best. To my mind... the seed of the fury that was born in the confines of twisted metal... must return there again. And at Wrestle Dynasty, at the very top of the grandest stage of all, sits the Elimination Chamber, and a match inside it for the Undisputed Championship. It is my calling, my destiny and, most dangerously of all, it is now my sole objective.
Jack: This week on Precision I face Noah Styles for the opportunity to qualify for that match. Noah Styles, a man I defeated the week before Hell in a Cell... and I must now face again as a man twice as menacing. Noah - you're an insignificant runt, an irrelevant has-been that isn't worthy to lace up my boots. And this coming Precision I will advance on my objective when I defeat you in the centre of the ring. But I won't kick your head off your shoulders... because I have shown often enough that one kick is rarely enough. No... Annihilation is the only way.
*Jack chuckles childishly to himself once again, then the camera, as if pushed or thrown from where it sat, flies through the air before cutting quickly to black*
-End of segment-
Jack: Hello... everyone. Here I am again, ready to talk to all of you. Isn't that exciting?! You always love when Uncle Jack sits down to have a lovely chat with you so... *Rogue leans in towards the lens of the camera suddenly* ...listen closely , be attentive, be quiet, sit up straight, and understand what you're about to be told.
*Jack scratches again, this time seemingly at his chest just below the bottom of the frame. His speech is fragmented, jumpy and rambling, a far cry from his usual self*
Jack: Let's talk about Saturday, shall we? Saturday was a fun day. I enjoyed it. I walked into the back from the ring after that little... "attack"? I've heard it called that. I prefer something different, personally, but we'll get to that later on, worry not. Anyway, I got backstage and a lovely young lady that seemed very busy and agitated asked me to step into a room, and then she put some paper in front of me. She asked me some questions, I said some words, doodled some things, I don't remember it too well. The whole night was more than a little bit of a whirlwind, to be honest. Afterwards, though, she told me I'd need to see a different person quite soon. Thera pyst, I think the name was? Maybe they have a dark past, since I asked about their strange name and the pretty girl didn't seem too willing to talk about it. That was odd, but I didn't like to press her for answers.
*Rogue mumbles inaudibly to himself for a moment or two, before seeming to remember where he is and continuing*
Jack: So I went to see Thera and despite the name, it turned out to be a man, which was disappointing. A boring, balding, monotonous, maggoty old man. He seemed very nearly as bored by himself as I was and he asked me some more questions and I said some more things. He didn't seem to like my answers very much, and at the end, he said I'd need to see him again. And I'd have gone, except for the fact that some of the gibberish from his soulless, soulless voice... I didn't like. The main thing that annoyed me was that he kept talking about what happened at Hell in a Cell as if it was... bad. As if this change, this transformation, this metamorphosis within my mind that he was prodding at with his questions, was somehow a problem. I don't see it that way.
*Jack sits back slightly and once again giggles to himself before continuing*
Jack: At Hell in a Cell, I broke down a barrier. I took down the red tape. I removed the greatest obstacle between me, and what I really want. Because events that night made me realise that I've been kidding myself since the first second I walked into TWF. I came in as a lost child, looking for success I'd made myself believe would somehow come to me. I wanted championship gold and I wanted victory and I made that clear... yet over time I managed to kid myself into thinking that the support of the people and inspiring all the little boys and girls was more important. It was my escape, hiding from my own failures. I came into TWF full of ambition and gusto... and then I lost my first twelve matches. TWELVE! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, TWELVE times I had my shoulders pinned to the mat for a three count before I saw a single shred of success. The first match I won, I made myself think was some worthy, notable achievement because I'd been conditioned to fail. Not just by myself but by all of YOU...
*Rogue darts forward to shout into the microphone of the camera, deafening the viewer, before continuing more quietly but with gradually rising anger in his tones*
Jack: ...who taught your children to adore me, to see me as some role model for battling adversity that was somehow seen to come from somewhere other than within me when all I was, was a loser. And I did it better than about anyone else in history, I became a symbol of this ridiculous society that teaches its children that participation is all that matters - that if you just try real hard, somehow what you want will come to you. And then that same society mercilessly casts their children out into a world where if you're willing to play by the rules, to be grateful for what you have already, if you sit and wait, you'll be crushed by people that get it.
Jack: And it seems right now in Precision is a time where people like me are starting, slowly, to get it. To understand that there is no room for compassion where dominance, victory and gold are there to be taken. Not earned - I know now that there is no such thing - but taken. Neilson. Thunder. Before them, Vega. Men that once looked at the rules, the system of earning what you want and, at first, said "yes, sir" just like me. And then they broke that barrier within themselves - because that is where morality, right and wrong, the rules live - within those who choose to be restricted by them.
*Jack leans back once again and looks around reflectively*
Jack: Yet, strangely... none of those men have had meteoric rises since their "changes". Mike Thunder, did it out of bitterness, out of jealousy for Tyson Blade, and did it just to face him at Wrestle Dynasty. And then what, Mike? And then what? What happens next? Do you crawl back to the comforting arms of your sheep-faced fans who'll accept you just so long as you act really sorry? Will you crawl back to them like the pathetic excuse of a man you always were? Will Neilson is our world champion, sure, yet chooses to surround himself with the type of ten-a-penny seven-foot tattooed meatheads he previously had the brains to hate before he decided he wanted some people to hide behind that could never take his spotlight. What's more, he won that belt with a Money In The Bank contract he won to the crowd's delight, and that neither Cali nor I had a chance at while his shittier, still naive brother from another whore mother would be willing to let him have it.
Jack: And then there's Andersen Vega. The man that still holds my contract, but who is nothing more than, by his own admission, a "prick". Bitter because he thought the world turned its back on him. I now know that it never had mine
- and that's not the only way I'm different from Vega, Neilson and Thunder. There are people who believe that by refusing to sit and wait any longer, I'm leading myself towards a dead end where I'll be left alone and irrelevant, an angrier version of the failure I had always been. But I'm different.
*Once more, Rogue leans towards the camera, the bright white camera light reminding the world of his former pallor*
Jack: You wanna hear something ironic? My first win in TWF... came against The Psycho. A fitting foreshadow of what I might one day become, though I didn't know it then. "Psychopath" was one of many words that idiot "Thera" used in my vague direction, and however fitting a description it may be I see it as something much simpler. There is only one person in my life that has EVER mattered the slightest bit, and that's me. I was one of the most dominant forces in wrestling history before I came to TWF, I went out there and continued to wrestle and work to improve every aspect of myself even as I became a laughing stock and a symbol of disappointment, and I will be the lone reason for my future success. I've never been close to my family, never had reason or means to start my own, and whatever plastic love you cretins have aimed at me over the last year, I've never meant anything more to any of you than one of a row of cuddly toys, an action figure that was never quite your favourite, or a classmate you sort of half-liked but never bothered to talk to. And as soon as I wore out my worth you'd discard me like any of those things.
Jack: Certainly, all of you were happy to see me hurled from twenty feet in the air down, down, down to the floor for your senseless blood sport. In fact, that was the moment it clicked. I crashed through that announcer's desk so hard that my ears rang for the rest of the match. My spine cried out from the impact and still is, but I knew what was on the line so I stood up, and I climbed back up that cell. I was a victim of true violence, and for a moment I was without the support of you all. And yet I stood. It hit me then that I didn't need anyone to be successful, least of all a faceless mass of noise without an ounce of influence over Precision. And when Joseph Diamond fell from the hole we created in the roof of that cell, helplessly tumbling backwards through the air, down into the ring... I have never felt more alive. The euphoria that overcame me at that moment was astounding, and strangely little of it came from my yearning for the Intercontinental Title. In his effort to escape my wrath, he fell backwards and felt the same agony I felt. That flipped a switch - I realised that when what you want most in the world is on the line, there is no such thing as "too far".
*As if mocking the idea, Jack giggles chillingly to himself again*
Jack: There was once a time when I would repeatedly cross that line because I was part of a place where no such line exists. There is a relic of that time I have always kept, and there was a time when I thought it would never see the light of day again. I thought that that part of me was gone, never to resurface, that I'd matured into someone who had respect for everyone who surrounded him, deserving or not. I was wrong. All it took was a fall from the top of Hell in a Cell... and I became someone who needed this again.
*Rogue's face suddenly moves out of the camera shot, leaving an entirely black picture. Outside of the frame, he seems to be rummaging in some kind of bag, giggling to himself like a small child, before re-emerging and returning to shot. He has a clown-like grin on his face and is holding what seems to be a piece of darkly coloured cloth*
Jack: This... is the embodiment of the spirit that died before I came to TWF, and was resurrected within me at Hell in a Cell. And now... I am ready for it to run roughshod over all it sees once more.
*Jack opens a large gap in the cloth with his hands and pulls it over his head. When he removes his hands, the cloth covers his face from the nose down to his neck. Where his mouth is beneath the half-mask is a design in bright blue, faintly resembling the fangs and jowls of a dog. It muffles Rogue slightly when he speaks, signifying yet another change in the manner of the former fan favourite*
Jack: Better. Maybe now the world will understand that they are dealing with a wholly different entity to the Jack Rogue they have seen before. A Jack Rogue that lives and breathes the testosterone-driven pursuit of human dominance, that embraces the natural hatred all people, but especially people in this wacky world of wrestling, have for others but bottle so secretly in the darkest depths of their hearts. And though that transformation began in my Hell in a Cell match with Joseph Diamond, it manifested itself after Andersen Vega's match, in what I did to Antonio Stark. That was my confirmation. Because as I finally accepted the inevitability of that chase of dominance, and pounced on my already semi-conscious prey... your boos rained down on me. And yet, through my own viciousness, skill, and ability to take advantage of an opportunity, I stood victorious in that ring.
Jack: I don't need you. When I had your support it never got me anywhere, I was a failure penned in by my own scruples, and now I've discarded it like the irrelevant crumb it is, I'm free at last to be a winner. So when you cry "why, jack, why?!", at the top of your prepubescent voices, "why did you turn your back on us?" the answer is simple, because having you on side got me nowhere, and I've come to realise that in reality, I'm indifferent to your happiness, and that pandering to you and limiting myself to keep you cheering me is pointless. And the pitiful little rush at the sound of thousands of people calling your name doesn't compare to the euphoric high of mangling just one with bear hands.
*Rogue relaxes off slightly and the intensity in his eyes seems to fade a little, but with his new mask, it's impossible to tell his expression for sure*
Jack: Even after all that Cell match did for me internally, though, I still lost it. At the end of it, after we had both fallen from that great height, Diamond hit his stupid Facebreaker and pinned me for three. But looking back on that, and looking ahead at what awaits me, I see it as being for the best. To my mind... the seed of the fury that was born in the confines of twisted metal... must return there again. And at Wrestle Dynasty, at the very top of the grandest stage of all, sits the Elimination Chamber, and a match inside it for the Undisputed Championship. It is my calling, my destiny and, most dangerously of all, it is now my sole objective.
Jack: This week on Precision I face Noah Styles for the opportunity to qualify for that match. Noah Styles, a man I defeated the week before Hell in a Cell... and I must now face again as a man twice as menacing. Noah - you're an insignificant runt, an irrelevant has-been that isn't worthy to lace up my boots. And this coming Precision I will advance on my objective when I defeat you in the centre of the ring. But I won't kick your head off your shoulders... because I have shown often enough that one kick is rarely enough. No... Annihilation is the only way.
*Jack chuckles childishly to himself once again, then the camera, as if pushed or thrown from where it sat, flies through the air before cutting quickly to black*
-End of segment-
@TheKingSonic
@Mike Thunder
@Welsh-Wizard-97
@Electro
@The Anarchist
@ChrisPBacon69
@AfricanScatMahn
@Solarxpixel
@CiV
@Awesomenrh
I talked about lots of things in this promo so many of you are only mentioned in passing. But, while you're here... why not have a read?
@Mike Thunder
@Welsh-Wizard-97
@Electro
@The Anarchist
@ChrisPBacon69
@AfricanScatMahn
@Solarxpixel
@CiV
@Awesomenrh
I talked about lots of things in this promo so many of you are only mentioned in passing. But, while you're here... why not have a read?
I wrote this to be one of the best things I've ever read and I sincerely hope it is. Good, bad or indifferent, let me know what you thought in the OOC thread. This heel character is new so I'm very much looking for ways to improve it, so I'd appreciate you letting me know if you have any. Thank you!