*An hour before the last episode of Precision following Jack Rogue's win in his best of seven series with Jordan Bull to become Precision Championship #1 contender, a video went onto YouTube from Precision. "An Inside Look: Therapy with Jack Rogue" is its title*
*The video fades in to a warmly lit living room, with two leather armchairs on a well-worn rug, opposite each other, with a small wooden coffee table between them. An open, roaring fire burns in the hearth, and tasteful, framed art hangs on the beige papered wall. The first chair is occupied by Jack Rogue, who looks a little nervy, but generally happier than when he was seen last, his eye bags are less pronounced and his face less haggard. He's wearing grey Jordans, navy jeans and a matching grey hoodie, sitting forward in his chair and looking past the other chair, which is empty, off screen to the right*
???: Milk? Sugar?
*A happy, relaxed and generally young-sounding female voice comes from the direction Rogue is looking in*
Jack: Yes, please. And two, if you don't mind.
???: Not at all.
*A few moments pass, then the voice's owner walks into shot, holding two mugs, both a plain baby blue. She is in her early thirties, with brown hair tied back in a ponytail, glasses and a dark green cardigan over her shoulders. She hands one of the mugs to Jack, then sits down and puts the other on the table. From the table she picks up a leather-bound notebook and black Biro, then she smiles warmly as Rogue takes a grateful sip of his tea*
Jack: Ah. Thank you... Miss Jones?
???: Amanda, please.
*Jack nods again, has another drink, then rests the mug on his leg as he leans back slightly in the armchair*
Amanda: So, Jack: what brings you here?
Jack: Well... I mean, you're a specialist in bipolar and stuff, and I think I have some sort of weird dual personality or something. I need to keep it boxed in because... it's bad.
Amanda: Excellent - I'm very glad you've got such a strong idea of what you want. Labels are difficult, often these things don't quite fit in a neat box, and sometimes it's not especially helpful. But, let's see if we can get to know this problem a little better. Is this something that has always been there for you?
Jack: No, but I'm pretty sure of how it got there. It's a combination of factors... not sure where to start, to be honest.
Amanda: That's alright. How about the first time something started to go wrong?
Jack: Right, okay... it sort of started at the beginning. I'm a pro wrestler, in a place called Precision - maybe you've seen it on TV. From when I got there, even before I got there, when I was in a different place called Sony Storm - before that closed down - I lost a lot. I did little else, in fact. I went 0-12 before I won a single match in Sony Storm. I put up a front, but I could feel frustration swelling inside of me, like a poison balloon threatening to burst. I could never vent properly, price of fame, I guess. So it built and built and built, as hard as I tried to deny the fact. Things got better, slowly; I won sometimes, but not exactly quickly. Then... Andersen Vega, who had taken me under his wing in Sony Storm, came to Precision with a vicious temperament. I stood up to him, and we went back and forth for weeks, until eventually... I put my contract on the line to get another go at him. It was his suggestion, I was stupid to play into his hands. But I felt like I couldn't back down... I had to show courage for everyone who had supported me. Those kids in the crowd gave me life, I never wanted to let them down. So I took the match, then I lost it.
*The therapist looks up from her notes with a sympathetic, but slightly puzzled expression*
Amanda: You said you put your contract on the line... so did you have to leave then?
Jack: In a way, it was worse than that. I was still employed, but Vega owned my contract, and could terminate it on a whim. Of course, I could've chosen to leave, pissed him off so he'd terminate the contract. I love wrestling, but I could've done it anywhere. Nearly anywhere would've taken me for popularity. But it comes back to the people. I knew if I stuck with it long enough, his ego would mean I'd get a chance to escape. I wanted to show the power of perseverance and resilience. So I stayed, and I had to do everything he said to stay employed. It was atrocious. Vega is a sadistically creative man, and he damn near broke me emotionally. I felt worthless. I couldn't sleep at night; I started to get these massive bags under my eyes. I could vent in my matches, so I won more than usual. I ended up in a match for the Intercontinental Championship, inside Hell in a Cell. Massive cage, twenty feet high, surrounding the ring. I was against a guy called Joseph Diamond. He threw me through the wall, then climbed up the side. Baited me to go up with him, put it all on the line. To be that role model again, I did. I climbed, we fought… then he threw me off the side. I crashed through the commentary desk… I’ve never felt pain like it in my life. It was like being stabbed from within with a thousand serrated knives, cutting through every fibre of me. The pain still haunts me. It’s physically gone, I landed well and didn’t throw anything out in my back. But then it happened.
*Jack pauses, takes a deep breath, and drinks some more tea*
Amanda: Take your time. If you don’t want to talk about it-
Jack: It’s OK, I’m alright. I lay there for a minute, then came the adrenaline – in spades, and faster than you’d have thought. It felt like some dark, evil power, and with all my frustration, and my pain in that moment, I let it consume me. I had vicious, awful thoughts… and that’s the end of my proper memory. I sort of vaguely know that after that, I climbed back up the cell, I kicked a hole in the roof and kicked Diamond through it, down to the ring. Then I got back down, into the ring… but he still beat me. I know that the next night, I delivered this heinous assault to a guy called Antonio Stark, of my own volition. Then I put back on this mask I used to wear, in a place where there were no lines. I swore I’d never wear it again when I left. And over the next few weeks and months, I built this list of victims. See, you waive some rights when you join a wrestling promotion… culture of the sport. Survival of the fittest, any means necessary, that sort of thing. So I went on this unchecked rampage. Fought like an animal every week instead of being the wrestler I’d always been. I won that championship at the biggest show, Wrestle Dynasty, but not by beating Joseph. There was another guy in the match, I pinned him. I took the title as validation that I was better with the new aggression. I attacked Alexander Diamond, brother of Joseph, and I crushed his windpipe. I nearly became a murderer that night. I lost the belt at TLC in a match with two other guys, the same way I won it. There was meant to be a fourth man, called Jordan Bull. I nearly broke his arm backstage, before the match, to improve my odds.
Jack: See, in some strange, stilted way I remember these things but… they weren’t me. Jordan was courageous, his arm never properly healed, but he still challenged me to a best of seven series, each match with a different set of rules. It was announced later that the winner would get a Precision Championship match at the next big show, Bad Blood. Every match, I kept attacking that arm. I went up 2-0, then at Backlash he beat me, even with the bad arm. But instead of fury, I was hit with a wave of despair and it opened my eyes. I thought about myself that night… and there was this awful realisation that I’d betrayed myself. I came here once, but mostly I thought I was sorted by myself. I was, I was my usual self for a week, I explained myself to the world but then… Ivy Hale. She’s madwoman, evidently with some awful, awful past. She sought to manipulate me, she took me away and… indoctrinated me. There my memory distorts again. I had the mask back on, back to assaulting people, mercilessly ripping Bull’s arm to shreds. A week ago, I won the seventh match, a ladder match. I was holding this briefcase, a title contract inside, atop a ladder. And I had another of these thoughtful moments. About me, about facing Vega, the champion, once again. About what he did to me. Suddenly, I was able to walk away from Ivy, and I rang you that night.
Amanda: Evidently, you’ve had an awful experience. Thank you for being so courageous in telling your story, despite everything you’re still the brave role model you wanted to be.
Jack: Thank you… that means a lot to me. Still, I need to get to a stable point, so I can try and fix some of the damage I’ve done. I want to try and pay some of my debt to the world, to Precision.
Amanda: I’m going to help you do that. Allow me to try and learn more about the root cause of all this. This… state that you’ve entered for weeks at a time – how does it make you feel?
Jack: That’s the whole thing… I don’t feel much at all. I’m not there. The me that is there loves it. It’s animalistic, this physical urge to dominate, destroy, kill. I can remember afterwards if I try, but it’s like watching a film, a horror film. I can hear these awful thoughts that I had… but it’s like they somehow aren’t mine. Then as soon as I have a moment where I think about myself, I can break out of it.
Amanda: OK… I should be able to find some ways to help you, but I’ll need to go away. Do some research, think about what you’ve told me, maybe get hold of some medication, work out some thought processes for you to use. I hope venting today has been useful to you, but I should have some even better help for you next time.
Jack: It definitely has been helpful, I feel like I understand everything better. Until then, though… what can I do? To stop it all overflowing again.
Amanda: For now, the most important thing is to keep yourself at the forefront of your mind. Who is Jack? Think about and constantly remind yourself of it. Never forget your strong moral code, your honour in the ring, your resilience, your positivity, your selflessness. Be conscious of everything you’re doing, and never allow yourself to do anything that isn’t in line with that.
Jack: But… what about in matches? When I wrestle, I rely on my instincts and my training. I’m not mulling everything over in my brain…
Amanda: Then by wrestling as normal, you take a risk. You risk letting yourself slip without noticing, until you’re so far gone that you can’t stop yourself anymore. Remember those moments when you woke up to see the pain you’d caused… don’t let it happen again. Even if it has to be at the cost of victory, you’ll win over the real enemy.
Jack: Yeah. I have the title match against Vega at Bad Blood guaranteed… that’s when I have to win. Until then, this is the battle I really need to fight.
Amanda: Let me know the earliest time you can come here again. And…
*Jones reaches into a drawer in the coffee table, pulls out a business card and hands it to Jack*
Amanda: Call me if you have any doubts, worries or questions. I sleep little, so call me whenever you need it.
Jack: Um… thank you.
*Rogue awkwardly takes the card from Amanda, and slips it into his jean pocket. He pauses for a moment, then gets up abruptly*
Jack: So, uh… I’ll see you soon, I guess.
Amanda: Absolutely. Goodbye, Jack.
*He smiles tensely, then nods, turns and walks off screen as the camera fades to black*
*The video fades in to a warmly lit living room, with two leather armchairs on a well-worn rug, opposite each other, with a small wooden coffee table between them. An open, roaring fire burns in the hearth, and tasteful, framed art hangs on the beige papered wall. The first chair is occupied by Jack Rogue, who looks a little nervy, but generally happier than when he was seen last, his eye bags are less pronounced and his face less haggard. He's wearing grey Jordans, navy jeans and a matching grey hoodie, sitting forward in his chair and looking past the other chair, which is empty, off screen to the right*
???: Milk? Sugar?
*A happy, relaxed and generally young-sounding female voice comes from the direction Rogue is looking in*
Jack: Yes, please. And two, if you don't mind.
???: Not at all.
*A few moments pass, then the voice's owner walks into shot, holding two mugs, both a plain baby blue. She is in her early thirties, with brown hair tied back in a ponytail, glasses and a dark green cardigan over her shoulders. She hands one of the mugs to Jack, then sits down and puts the other on the table. From the table she picks up a leather-bound notebook and black Biro, then she smiles warmly as Rogue takes a grateful sip of his tea*
Jack: Ah. Thank you... Miss Jones?
???: Amanda, please.
*Jack nods again, has another drink, then rests the mug on his leg as he leans back slightly in the armchair*
Amanda: So, Jack: what brings you here?
Jack: Well... I mean, you're a specialist in bipolar and stuff, and I think I have some sort of weird dual personality or something. I need to keep it boxed in because... it's bad.
Amanda: Excellent - I'm very glad you've got such a strong idea of what you want. Labels are difficult, often these things don't quite fit in a neat box, and sometimes it's not especially helpful. But, let's see if we can get to know this problem a little better. Is this something that has always been there for you?
Jack: No, but I'm pretty sure of how it got there. It's a combination of factors... not sure where to start, to be honest.
Amanda: That's alright. How about the first time something started to go wrong?
Jack: Right, okay... it sort of started at the beginning. I'm a pro wrestler, in a place called Precision - maybe you've seen it on TV. From when I got there, even before I got there, when I was in a different place called Sony Storm - before that closed down - I lost a lot. I did little else, in fact. I went 0-12 before I won a single match in Sony Storm. I put up a front, but I could feel frustration swelling inside of me, like a poison balloon threatening to burst. I could never vent properly, price of fame, I guess. So it built and built and built, as hard as I tried to deny the fact. Things got better, slowly; I won sometimes, but not exactly quickly. Then... Andersen Vega, who had taken me under his wing in Sony Storm, came to Precision with a vicious temperament. I stood up to him, and we went back and forth for weeks, until eventually... I put my contract on the line to get another go at him. It was his suggestion, I was stupid to play into his hands. But I felt like I couldn't back down... I had to show courage for everyone who had supported me. Those kids in the crowd gave me life, I never wanted to let them down. So I took the match, then I lost it.
*The therapist looks up from her notes with a sympathetic, but slightly puzzled expression*
Amanda: You said you put your contract on the line... so did you have to leave then?
Jack: In a way, it was worse than that. I was still employed, but Vega owned my contract, and could terminate it on a whim. Of course, I could've chosen to leave, pissed him off so he'd terminate the contract. I love wrestling, but I could've done it anywhere. Nearly anywhere would've taken me for popularity. But it comes back to the people. I knew if I stuck with it long enough, his ego would mean I'd get a chance to escape. I wanted to show the power of perseverance and resilience. So I stayed, and I had to do everything he said to stay employed. It was atrocious. Vega is a sadistically creative man, and he damn near broke me emotionally. I felt worthless. I couldn't sleep at night; I started to get these massive bags under my eyes. I could vent in my matches, so I won more than usual. I ended up in a match for the Intercontinental Championship, inside Hell in a Cell. Massive cage, twenty feet high, surrounding the ring. I was against a guy called Joseph Diamond. He threw me through the wall, then climbed up the side. Baited me to go up with him, put it all on the line. To be that role model again, I did. I climbed, we fought… then he threw me off the side. I crashed through the commentary desk… I’ve never felt pain like it in my life. It was like being stabbed from within with a thousand serrated knives, cutting through every fibre of me. The pain still haunts me. It’s physically gone, I landed well and didn’t throw anything out in my back. But then it happened.
*Jack pauses, takes a deep breath, and drinks some more tea*
Amanda: Take your time. If you don’t want to talk about it-
Jack: It’s OK, I’m alright. I lay there for a minute, then came the adrenaline – in spades, and faster than you’d have thought. It felt like some dark, evil power, and with all my frustration, and my pain in that moment, I let it consume me. I had vicious, awful thoughts… and that’s the end of my proper memory. I sort of vaguely know that after that, I climbed back up the cell, I kicked a hole in the roof and kicked Diamond through it, down to the ring. Then I got back down, into the ring… but he still beat me. I know that the next night, I delivered this heinous assault to a guy called Antonio Stark, of my own volition. Then I put back on this mask I used to wear, in a place where there were no lines. I swore I’d never wear it again when I left. And over the next few weeks and months, I built this list of victims. See, you waive some rights when you join a wrestling promotion… culture of the sport. Survival of the fittest, any means necessary, that sort of thing. So I went on this unchecked rampage. Fought like an animal every week instead of being the wrestler I’d always been. I won that championship at the biggest show, Wrestle Dynasty, but not by beating Joseph. There was another guy in the match, I pinned him. I took the title as validation that I was better with the new aggression. I attacked Alexander Diamond, brother of Joseph, and I crushed his windpipe. I nearly became a murderer that night. I lost the belt at TLC in a match with two other guys, the same way I won it. There was meant to be a fourth man, called Jordan Bull. I nearly broke his arm backstage, before the match, to improve my odds.
Jack: See, in some strange, stilted way I remember these things but… they weren’t me. Jordan was courageous, his arm never properly healed, but he still challenged me to a best of seven series, each match with a different set of rules. It was announced later that the winner would get a Precision Championship match at the next big show, Bad Blood. Every match, I kept attacking that arm. I went up 2-0, then at Backlash he beat me, even with the bad arm. But instead of fury, I was hit with a wave of despair and it opened my eyes. I thought about myself that night… and there was this awful realisation that I’d betrayed myself. I came here once, but mostly I thought I was sorted by myself. I was, I was my usual self for a week, I explained myself to the world but then… Ivy Hale. She’s madwoman, evidently with some awful, awful past. She sought to manipulate me, she took me away and… indoctrinated me. There my memory distorts again. I had the mask back on, back to assaulting people, mercilessly ripping Bull’s arm to shreds. A week ago, I won the seventh match, a ladder match. I was holding this briefcase, a title contract inside, atop a ladder. And I had another of these thoughtful moments. About me, about facing Vega, the champion, once again. About what he did to me. Suddenly, I was able to walk away from Ivy, and I rang you that night.
Amanda: Evidently, you’ve had an awful experience. Thank you for being so courageous in telling your story, despite everything you’re still the brave role model you wanted to be.
Jack: Thank you… that means a lot to me. Still, I need to get to a stable point, so I can try and fix some of the damage I’ve done. I want to try and pay some of my debt to the world, to Precision.
Amanda: I’m going to help you do that. Allow me to try and learn more about the root cause of all this. This… state that you’ve entered for weeks at a time – how does it make you feel?
Jack: That’s the whole thing… I don’t feel much at all. I’m not there. The me that is there loves it. It’s animalistic, this physical urge to dominate, destroy, kill. I can remember afterwards if I try, but it’s like watching a film, a horror film. I can hear these awful thoughts that I had… but it’s like they somehow aren’t mine. Then as soon as I have a moment where I think about myself, I can break out of it.
Amanda: OK… I should be able to find some ways to help you, but I’ll need to go away. Do some research, think about what you’ve told me, maybe get hold of some medication, work out some thought processes for you to use. I hope venting today has been useful to you, but I should have some even better help for you next time.
Jack: It definitely has been helpful, I feel like I understand everything better. Until then, though… what can I do? To stop it all overflowing again.
Amanda: For now, the most important thing is to keep yourself at the forefront of your mind. Who is Jack? Think about and constantly remind yourself of it. Never forget your strong moral code, your honour in the ring, your resilience, your positivity, your selflessness. Be conscious of everything you’re doing, and never allow yourself to do anything that isn’t in line with that.
Jack: But… what about in matches? When I wrestle, I rely on my instincts and my training. I’m not mulling everything over in my brain…
Amanda: Then by wrestling as normal, you take a risk. You risk letting yourself slip without noticing, until you’re so far gone that you can’t stop yourself anymore. Remember those moments when you woke up to see the pain you’d caused… don’t let it happen again. Even if it has to be at the cost of victory, you’ll win over the real enemy.
Jack: Yeah. I have the title match against Vega at Bad Blood guaranteed… that’s when I have to win. Until then, this is the battle I really need to fight.
Amanda: Let me know the earliest time you can come here again. And…
*Jones reaches into a drawer in the coffee table, pulls out a business card and hands it to Jack*
Amanda: Call me if you have any doubts, worries or questions. I sleep little, so call me whenever you need it.
Jack: Um… thank you.
*Rogue awkwardly takes the card from Amanda, and slips it into his jean pocket. He pauses for a moment, then gets up abruptly*
Jack: So, uh… I’ll see you soon, I guess.
Amanda: Absolutely. Goodbye, Jack.
*He smiles tensely, then nods, turns and walks off screen as the camera fades to black*
-End of segment-
