Jakob Davis was not pleased. At all. He was was woken up from his peaceful slumber and was forced to pick up his father, who (somehow) got stuck in Puerto fucking Rico, and now he was on a plane with Gavin (Gavin was already awake and offered to come with Jakob to find his father), flying to Puerto Rico and on short notice, burning most- if not all- of Jakob's sum of money that he had collected from wrestling for the XWF. Joy.

Jakob had been trying to get some much needed rest, however being sandwiched between a seventy-year old grandma and Gavin wasn't making things easier. Not to mention, an airplane ride wasn't the best sort of bed for Jakob, who continually tossed and turned on the plane and threatened to either get walloped by the grandma's purse, or have Gavin try and cuddle him like a teddy bear, neither option seeming preferable for the young up-and-comer.

Speaking of Gavin, despite him somehow being awake when Jakob received those texts from his father, he was now snoring extremely loud, so much to the point where Jakob and other passengers that were still awake simply looked at him in amazement. It seemed to be a long night for Jakob, who decided he wasn't going to be getting any sleep. Pulling out his phone and earbuds, he slipped them in before hopping onto the XWF site. Surely old promos and matches could help him through the night...

---

---

---

Jakob Davis was awestruck and horrified at the same time. Awestruck, in that believing in his abilities had got him a victory against Ginger Snaps- his new crush- and had got him a Hart title shot. What's his reason for being horrified?, some viewers may ask. Not only was Jakob thrust into the limelight again, which was a feeling he perpetually hated, as well as being forced to face a 6'8 monster in Ghost Tank, but a killing machine who had underworld ties in Michael McBride. Jakob was fearing both opponents and dreading stepping into the squared circle with them come Day 1 of Leap of Faith.

Of course, that didn't mean his current situation was much better.

"COME ON, YOU FUCKING PASTY ASS <img src="https://i.imgur.com/pUgtAVa.gif">! I WANT TO SEE BULLETS OF SWEAT DRIP DOWN YOUR FACE!" Tim Davis blew hard on the whistle he possessed, commanding Jakob to continue doing push-ups.

Jakob groaned as a response; he REALLY doubted he was going to be able to out-muscle Ghost Tank, or out-wrestle Michael McBride. However, that didn't stop Tim from having his son having his limits pushed and then some. If his son was going to be facing two of the meanest mother fuckers in the XWF, then by God, he would have his son outperform them in every single category.

"COME ON! PUSH! IT!" Tim Davis screamed, so much so to the point where his voice threatened to crack. Jakob looked up to his father, every sweat gland his skin possessed working overtime, and shook his head, about to say something. However, he didn't bother and went back to doing his push-ups. "Yeah, that's what I fucking thought. YOU THINK GHOST TANK WON'T EAT YOU UP LIKE BREAKFAST? HUH?! OR YOU WON'T THINK THAT YOU'RE 'JUST ANOTHER TARGET' TO MICHAEL MCBRIDE?! YOU'RE GONNA OUTPERFORM THEM! YOU'RE MY MONEYMAKER, DAMMIT!"

Jakob was getting really annoyed to him being referred to as his father's "moneymaker," but he couldn't speak up against him, lest he risk another beating. Instead, he sucked in a deep breath and did another push-up, his arms screaming in agony.

"Use that pain, use it to make Ghost Tank cry like a bitch in the ring! Use that pain to make McBride tap out in agony! YOU'RE THE FUTURE HART CHAMP! Not McBride, and I'll be DAMNED if Ghost Tank walks away with a title defense. PUSH IT!" Tim continued to bellow.

If it meant getting his father to shut up, Jakob began using his father's words as encouragement. He began speeding up his push-ups, trying to ignore his muscles begging for him to stop this madness.

"There you fucking go! That's my boy!" Tim said, a smile finally painting his face rather than his signature scowl.

Trying for one last big push-up, Jakob wheezed, he tried and tried, his muscles only barely complying. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard his father call, "TIME!"

Jakob sucked in the air, that sweet, sweet air. He gasped it in as if it was his lifeline- scratch that, it is his lifeline. He was exhausted, physically and mentally. He knew his father was trying to repay him for finding him in that hellhole in Puerto Rico- however he got there- by getting him ready for his big Hart title match, but he wished that there was simply another way about this. Regardless, he planned on winning. Even though Jakob detested the limelight, he decided to bring some glory to his family and get a smile on his father's face.

He only hoped Lady Luck would be on his side.

---

---

---

"You fucking morons." Tim Davis shook his head in disgust as the camera for Jakob's promo began rolling. "How fucking dare you. The fact that both of you barely acknowledge my son, the next Hart Champion, proves both of you are farces. Jokes. You're blind to the real threat in front of you. I mean, my son defeated Ginger Snaps, a feat that neither of you two bozos can proclaim."

"Seriously, Tank. You're the joke of this federation now. You can't even beat Scully in a fair 2-on-1 handicap match, You even had your GOOD stablemate in Abaddon out there with you, and like a fucking moron you kept playing with your food instead of eating it, and Scully ended up getting the win. Seriously? And you have the gall, the GALL to say that you're a god among men. A god. No, if you were a god, you'd be undefeated. If you were a god, you'd be the king of this company. But no. If I were to go on the XWF website and look up "Ghost Tank," I'd find clips of a giant autistic <img src="https://i.imgur.com/pUgtAVa.gif"> making a fool of himself everyday, trying desperately to put himself on a pedestal so he can convince himself at night he actually mattered, only to fail and fall flat on his face most, if not every time."

"And I must question these "leadership skills" you boasted about. If you had half a brain, you wouldn't pick a bottom of the barrel jobberr in Shade, the guy who can't even win right without looking like a <img src="https://i.imgur.com/pUgtAVa.gif"> , such as his tie with LeStrange. If you had half a brain, you would have cut ties with him immediately as soon as he made your stable look like a joke, not that he needed to do much for that. Ghost Tank, eat a dick, you're terrible."

"Michael McBITCH, as a certain Leap of Faith participant would say. Who the hell haven't you lost to at this rate? I mean, your existence is pretty much a lower midcarder who can get wins over <img src="https://i.imgur.com/pUgtAVa.gif"> over Shade who don't even realize they're at the company to wrestler, but always fails when a match worth something comes his way. Jesus man, you can't get a win over Beltshitter Maverick, who might as well be a living torso at the rate his body parts are getting dismembered. McBride, I don't know what makes you seem relevant these days. You're nothing. A bonafide career scrub, and that's a compliment compared to Ghostie."

"The both of you are losing to my son, and that's that."