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JackCain · (06-10-2017)

**It's a cold morning in Central Park. Snow has drifted deep into every nook and cranny of the park's corners, covering it in a blanket of white. Icicles hang from tree branches, moisture crystallised by the morning freeze. Puddles of murky water grimly reflect the dulled sunlight of the 5am sky with their frozen surfaces. Two joggers idly chat beneath layers of warm clothing, plodding their way through the park's hidden pathways, leaving behind a pair of tracks that stretch all the way back to an unseen entrance in the distance. A dog leaves a similar trail, padding alongside its owner to keep pace with the human holding its lead. Other than one more set of tracks, the park is motionless. Still. Even traffic seems to be drowned out by the shroud of snow that envelops the area.

That set of tracks do not follow a path. They seem to diverge in places, occasionally looking as if two people were walking, then separate, then reform. Halfway along the trail, and well out of sight of dog walkers or joggers, flecks of red stain the snow. They eventually grow into crimson streaks, before enlarging into huge pools of red liquid, creeping into the flakes of resting snow on the ground, creating a bizarre kaleidoscope of red and white as it leaves it's mark on virgin territory.

Jack Cain is sitting next to the source of the blood: A heavyset main around as half again the size of Cain. He lies face down in a deep depression in the snow, blood oozing out from underneath him to create a reservoir of red. He barely breathes, a faint wheezing sound exhaling from hi damaged lungs. Cain himself is spattered with blood. He looks into the camera, exhausted, but exhilarated**

Life is about choices.

Do you get up on this side of the bed, or that one? Do you pick that shirt to wear today, or that one? Do you have cornflakes, or eggs for breakfast?

Do you take the shortcut to work today, or do you take the scenic route? Do you talk to that girl in the bar, or do you go home alone again? Do you think about following that girl home, or do you stay where you are? Do you think about touching her, or walking on by? Do you end up grabbing her and forcing her onto the floor, or do you leave her alone?

Then, you have to pick whether you want your fingers or cock cut off first. Then you gotta decide whether you want to be on your knees or look someone in the eyes when your time comes.

He made his choice.

Choice is all about considering what will happen if you don't do something. My dad used to tell me about a poem that talked all about choice. When I was old enough, he said he wanted to make me learn it by heart, so I would always remember.

When I read it, I told him he didn't need to make me learn it - I'd do it anyway.

It's especially appropriate given what I gotta to do at High Stakes. I gotta make a choice about how much I put into that match. About who I take out first. About how much respect I give to people like Thomas Nixon, Dredzin, Obsidian Air, Danny Sex and Phantom Panzer.

It talks about what you gotta do to make your way in the world, and about why other people shouldn't influence that choice.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son

It's called "If", by a guy called Rudyard Kipling.

Smart man.

There's lotsa things in there that apply to all you in this six pack match. There's lots that applies to me.

Panzer? I see people doubting you - but you ain't taken any of their shit. They crow on to you about being some guy called "Ghost Tank", and they doubt your sincerity, they doubt your real identity. They don't think you have the tools to do the job, but that ain't really true is it? Maybe the doubt rests in the wrong place. Maybe they should be doubting how dangerous you can be? I don't doubt you. Not one bit. There's a reason why people doubt, and that's because they're unconvinced. But I'm not. I see beneath the paint. I see beneath your grin. I know what you are. You're frightened, you're scared, and you want to win because you wanna prove your the best, but that then leads down another path, another gamble, and that applies to someone else here.

Danny, would you risk everything you've got on one game, lose, and then never complain? I doubt it. I've been listenin' to you talk a lot. You don't like me do you? Maybe I got under your skin a little? Maybe that voice of Robby Bourbon is screamin' a little loud in your head? Maybe he's tellin' you to stake it all on this game ahead of you, co's he knows you're gonna lose. Personally, I don't care where you go stickin' your scabby dick of an evenin', but Robby? I bet he does. And he might just be tellin' you to go that extra fuckin' mile so he gets full control of your groin and the rest of ya too when ya crash on burn? Ever think that's what he wants ya to do? As for me? Discount Punisher? You fuckin' wish boy. He is a pussy compared to me. He'd just do ya, plain and simple. I'm gonna savour it, relish it, see you lose absolutely everythin' tryna put me away, and find out that no matter how much you put on the line, no matter how many o' those winnin's you put forward, none of it will matter, because you'll lose. That's when we see your true colours. You lose, and you whine, you moan, you complain you can't get your fuckin' end away at night, because a voice in your head tells you to keep zipped up.

You say these people - like this stinkin' fuck next to me - are your people? You really wanna be the guy representin' these fuckin' scumbags? Be my guest. Just makes my life fuckin' easier when it comes to cuttin' the head off the snake, and that's what I'll do to you. Danny Sex, Robby Bourbon, whoever the fuck is drivin' the cock at High Stakes, you got the same problem. All the risks you take are gonna come to nought, and it won't matter if you're the leader of everyone on this Goddamned planet, cos that dark I talked about? It's comin' for you, and that's when I will hear the complaints. The cries, the fear. And it'll all be comin' from you.

Which leads me to Obsidian Air. Fear. That's all he knows. Fear of where he's gonna be sleepin' tonight, fear of someone slippin' the knife in while he sleeps. You've watched everythin' you tried to build be torn down haven't ya? I can tell. From the sob stories, from the pathetic way you talk, from the ass kissin' you do to The Kings, you're just one more sad fuck who can't drag himself outta the gutter. But just like the poem, you gotta choice, you could stoop, pick up your tools, even if they're worn, and build a better life. You could command respect. You choose not to, because it's easier to sit where you are and expect others to help you. You actively decide to make the choice that means others have to put their own choices aside to help you. You're a predator, preying on sympathy of those too gullible and stupid to think you're anythin' other than a guy who can't make the tough choices. And don't come screamin' that I know nothin' about you. I know enough. I know you're quick to beg for people to feel sorry for ya, but when you got an opportunity to stand on your own two feet and compete for a title, ya go quieter than a church mouse.

Bein' that quiet makes it easy to sleep - and that makes it easier to dream don't it Dredzin? But do you dream and make dreams your master? I think ya do. All I've seen from ya is talk about how we should all bow down and accept ya as the new TV Champion. Kinda like a dream for you ain't it? But in doin' that, you've made dreams that master. You've made thoughts your aim. You're already thinkin' about what it'd be like to be the TV Champion. You've not thought about the work it's gonna take to get there, just the endgame. You've made them the master of your desires. You can dream all you like. You can trash talk all you like, but in the end, you're just a dreamer. I deal in reality. I have to. And when it comes down to it, in the end, we all gotta wake up, and when the dream ends, you're fucked.

Finally, Thomas Nixon. It's no secret I respect ya, because I've seen what ya can do. You've walked with Kings, you've fought them, you've not lost the common touch for your "people" - which at this point are a more appealin' set of people that Bobby Bourbon's bunch of shitstains - so you gotta be admired in that regard. You coulda deserted 'em and shacked up with the cock measurin' contest that's goin' on at the top of the show, but ya didn't. You talked to those crowds earlier this week, you didn't lose your virtue. But while your lovin' friends might not hurt you, your foes definitely can. I realise that's what I gotta do Thomas - I have to make a choice to hurt ya, if I'm gonna win, because that's the only way I can put you down. You've met with triumph and disaster before, and you've treated 'em the same, but disaster awaits ya again. Disaster waits for ya around the next corner.

Ya know why?

Because I gotta fill that unforgivin' minute. I gotta run that sixty seconds. As one of six men doin' everythin' to become the best. Ten seconds for each man. Mine can be the world, and everythin' that's in it.

But it won't make me anymore of a man.

Bein' a man, is about choices, like I said before.

Choosin' what type of man you wanna be - if you have the strength.
Choosin' how far you wanna go - if you have the endurance.
Choosin' whether or not you wanna stand by and let things happen, or make them happen your way - if you got the bravery.

In the end, it all comes down to one word:

If.

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