Forest Park
Queens
New York
9:19pm

The fist connects with Jack's face. Hard. He feels his knees buckle underneath him and he lands on the cold, wet ground. He sees the compacted earth staring up at him through his one good eye. The other is already swollen shut thanks to repeated blows to the face. He tries to get to his feet, but his legs feel like they're weighed down with lead.

A boot catches him in the gut. He feels a rib pop, the pain like someone twisting a club into his stomach. More fists rain down on his head. His ears start to ring as his face is planted into the mud. He feels more blows, onto his back and his sides.

He didn't used to be this slow.

It didn't used to hurt this much.

He catches one fist that's about to strike again, and deflects the oncoming blow.

Twisting, he hears a crackle from the appendage, knowing he's snapped bone. It gives him renewed vigor, and he makes it up to one knee. Another fist, this time to the cheek. He feels teeth come loose, and his mouth fill with blood. He spits out the liquid and three teeth, leaving a copper-like taste in his mouth.

He takes a swing. He misses. The younger man is quicker, and maybe stronger.

Jack thinks if he gets a lucky shot in, he can fight back.

But he knows it didn't used to be like this.

The other man is back up now, cradling his broken wrist but still angry, and at all worried.

They let Jack get back to his feet. He barely makes it.

One leaps into the air and gives him and almighty kick to the chest. He staggers as the other one charges, and clubs him across the jaw with his forearm. He falls backwards and feels his head make a divot in the wet soil beneath him.



More fists.

More boots.

His good eye closes and he thinks back to how he got here.

---

Fifteen minutes earlier

Happier times.

Planning for the future.

Thinking what might have been.

Hoping that it could have been different.

Knowing that it won't be.

Could have been different.

Should have been different.

It won't be.

Ever.

**Jack's phone rings. The caller ID is blocked**

Mr. Cain. Not been going well has it?

Bout time you called. Thought you were supposed to be helpin' me.

I'm not your Guardian Angel Jack. You seem to have been making quite a mess of things. D'Ville, Duke, Sinclair. They've all owned you. They've all beaten you - and beaten you at your own game.

Fuck you.

Truth hurts doesn't it? And it is the truth. Each one of those matches, you lost. You got your ass kicked in the process too. D'Ville took you to school. Duke took everything you could throw at him and he caught you out, and Sinclair did the same. You've gone into each match in the same way: Power. Force. Strength. It's gotten you nowhere.

What the Hell do you want me to do, use harsh language?

Your brain. You do have one, don't you?

Get fucked.

**Sighs down the phone**

Y'know Jack, I'm beginning to think this was a bad deal. You don't have the intellect to be the person I want you to be. I thought investing in you was going to be a good use of my time - but all I'm getting is a blunt instrument. A Jarhead. I thought you were Marine Corps Special Forces. I thought you had some initiative. I've not seen any of that in the past few weeks.

Well maybe I ain't worth your time. Maybe you should just give up and fuck off?

I'm considering it. After all, Saturday is going to show me what you're really about. James Raven is supposed to be a colleague isn't he. You're all in this team, what do they call them now...? Oh yes, The Motherfuckers. Really inventive whoever thought of that. And weren't you kind, picking up Raven from the airport and taking him to last week's show? How lovely. Aren't you the gentleman?

Just doin' him a favour.

And in the process being his bitch. "Yes Mr. Raven, No Mr. Raven, Thank you Mr. Raven." Did Brock Lesnar pull your balls off and is keeping them in a jar on Thomas Nixon's mantlepiece?

What the fuck you tryna' say?

That you've become soft Jack. You've let a doctor, an 18 year old kid and a limp dicked snob who's friends with BX3 beat you. BX3 for Christ's Sake! I don't know how much clearer I can put it. I mean, Jack, you can tell me I'm wrong, but this is a losing streak. A big one - so what are you going to do about it?

Whaddya mean? I got two matches next week - I plan on winnin' them both.

Really? You "plan" on winning them? You haven't been doing much planning so far, and ironically, that's what's been missing from your game. And I want you back on your game if you're going to work for me.

I thought this was a deal, not a job?

Well you thought wrong Jack. I can destroy you if I wanted to - I can rain down so much pain and destruction on you that you'll be crying every day that you didn't bow down on your knees and worship at my altar.

I ain't afraid of you.

Well you should be. But in truth, I want people to be afraid of you. And to do that, you need to make a statement.

Whaddya mean?

James Raven.

What about him?

Your new best friend? Show him, and show me, just what you're capable of Jack. Plan it out, devise a strategy, prove just how intelligent you are instead of what a brainless brute you are.

I've planned more operations than you've had hot dinners.

Prove it then - and as a warm up, there's a little project you can help me with.

Yeah?

And it's right here in this park. Two guys, bout 200 yards from the carousel. They like to pull women into the bushes and have what they think is fun with them. They need someone with a plan to stop them. Should be right up your alley.

**Cain disconnects the call. He sees he has a new voicemail. He'll listen to it later**

---

Forest Park
Queens
New York
9:42pm

He moves at the last minute before the boot connects with his good eye socket. He jams an elbow into the side of the calf that's now planted by the side of his head. The other man kneels over him and tries to bring his fist down, but Cain blocks the blow and drives an elbow across his face. With both staggered, he levers himself back up to his feet.

The plan hadn't worked out so well. He'd wanted to come at them from the top of the carousel, but the pigeons had given him away, and one of them had spotted him. He'd jumped down and nailed one, but the other blasted him from behind. They were both stronger than they looked. He'd tried to fight off both of them, but their strength in numbers had made the difference. He'd fought, punched and kicked back, but they were younger, quicker. They were hitting hard.

He thought it'd be easy and hadn't brought a gun, or a knife, or anything that could help him. He was on his own.

This was stupid. He hadn't really planned this well had he? He'd not listened to the man on the phone.

Raven was going to have an easy night.

Unless.

The man with the damaged calf was still down, Cain made his way over to him and stomped on his Achilles Tendon. He howled in pain. The other man was back in the fight, but Cain was ready. Two gut punches put him on his knees.

Come on you fuckin' pussies! Old man too much for ya?

Cain starts to run as fast as he can. The grass becomes a green blur underneath his feet as he hurtles across the park. The two men follow, at a slower pace than if they were fully fit, but still gaining on Jack. Then, he spots his objective:

Spraks Pond.

He makes it to the water's edge as the two advance. One is in front of the other. Cain spins, and faces the oncoming attacker. He rolls onto his back while grabbing the man's jacket, flipping him over and into the pond. Getting to his feet - the other man charges, tacking Jack himself into the water. He drives his elbow into the back of the man's neck, stunning him, and wrenches him away. He grabs a large rock from the edge of the pool, and whirls around, bludgeoning the first one across the face and sending him face down into the murky black liquid. Jack wastes no time and holds him under while he thrashes about, until he slowly stops moving.

The other man is back up, but Cain is ready, despite the pain coursing through his body. He slams his fist as hard as he can into his jaw - with an audible cracking ringing out through the peaceful night. The man splashes back into the water, unconscious. Cain flips him over and watches him float into the centre of the pond.

Making sure he doesn't move, and watching with relish as bubbles start to rise from his mouth, he hauls himself to the shoreline, scrabbling to get out of the water.

Exhausted, Cain falls down on his ass, spent. All of a sudden a strange thought occurs to him - he never listened to that voicemail. As the two bodies gently float in the water in front of him. He unlocks his phone, and presses the call button.

Yo, Jack.

Bourbon here. Look, I'll keep this short. I got in on doing commentary on you and Raven's match this Saturday. I'll be keeping a look out for any assholes who want to disrupt your contest and all, but try to do us all a favor and don't kill each other out there.

Call me back when you can.

Cain laughs, but his ribs hurt. His knees throb and it feels like a thousand needles sticking in his stomach when he breathes in. He redials another number.


Jim? It's Jack here. Listen, I know this match on Saturday ain't exactly ideal for either of us, and I can't help thinkin' this is just an idea from someone upstairs to fuck us over, but a match is a match, and if we gotta do it, we gotta do it.

So I just wanted ya to know, anythin' that happens then? Strictly business. Nothin' personal. I just wanted to get that outta the way before we end up kickin' the shit outta each other.

But the point is Jim, is that beatin' you might do me some good. I ain't talkin' about puttin' my name in light, or gettin' more money or any a'that shit. I'm talkin' about validatin' me. Makin' me the man I was.

Y'see if you get beat a few times - ya start to doubt yourself. Ya start to think, "maybe it's my time, maybe I should punch out."

But ya need something to get ya back on an even keel. Ya need something that tell yourself you ain't through, no matter what people say.

So you're my lion Jim. You're my dragon. I gotta slay ya to prove that I'm still capable of doin' what I can do. I can deal with trash - I've been dealin' with some a few minutes ago, as it happens - but you're big leagues. You're top o'the line. State of the art.

The big fish.

Cain lets out a pensive laugh as he looks at the fish in the pond, swimming around the bodies of the two men.

But every fish gets caught Jim. And reelin' you in? It'll be a pleasure.