*The bell rings and Jordan Bull's iconic theme hits, announcing his pinfall victory to tie the series 1-1 at Backlash. Jack Rogue slowly begins to stir on the canvas after being caught by a finisher from a near one-armed Bull, his own momentum driving him neck first into the canvas. Baseball bats and steel chairs are littered around ringside, showing the lengths Jordan had to go to for victory. The victor sees Rogue beginning to wake on the mat and rolls out of the ring, high-fiving fans with his non-padded arm on his way up the ramp to the backstage area. Jack finally sits up, realises what happened and screams in frustration as he gets to his feet*
*Rogue storms towards the referee who nearly falls out of the ring in his haste to escape, but Jack walks straight past him and picks up a microphone from the timekeeper’s area. He limps slowly around the ring, holding the back of his neck with his other hand, before sitting on the steel ramp, cross-legged, mic in hand. His quick, exhausted breathing rattles through the microphone and around the arena through the speakers. Rogue thumps the ramp and cries out in anger once more, then speaks with quiet intensity but without his usual fury*
Jack: Some things... never change. Everything always seems to go wrong for me on the big stage. To losing a US title shot at SummerSlam two years ago, to losing to Nathan Carraway on my first Precision pay-per-view, Fully Loaded, to Andersen Vega. Yeah, I got a moment at Wrestle Dynasty, I picked my moment and I won the Intercontinental Championship, but glory has been the exception, not the rule. I've proved I am a destroyer and a force to be reckoned with but when the lights are brightest, I've never been able to get it done. Maybe I invented problems with the system, with my humanity, to miss the point. Maybe even down the darkest alley, on the lowest road, at the end of a path built of bones and soaked in blood... there's still no hope for me.
*Jack looks up in cautious surprise, as patches of the previously silent crowd following the jubilation of Jordan Bull’s triumph begin to boo this idea of a destiny of failure for him. Rogue lifts his hand, places it inside of his mask, and gently pulls it off over his head. He unveils a face weathered and covered in small scratches and scars, with a large scab on his nose where he broke it against a wall*
Jack: I don’t know if this is right. I still don't feel anything I felt before... I just know that I refuse to be at the bottom on the big nights anymore. However it has to happen... I have to fix this.
*Rogue’s microphone drops to the ramp from his weary hand, as he slowly climbs to his feet and staggers to the back, leaving the Backlash arena in confused silence*
*Rogue storms towards the referee who nearly falls out of the ring in his haste to escape, but Jack walks straight past him and picks up a microphone from the timekeeper’s area. He limps slowly around the ring, holding the back of his neck with his other hand, before sitting on the steel ramp, cross-legged, mic in hand. His quick, exhausted breathing rattles through the microphone and around the arena through the speakers. Rogue thumps the ramp and cries out in anger once more, then speaks with quiet intensity but without his usual fury*
Jack: Some things... never change. Everything always seems to go wrong for me on the big stage. To losing a US title shot at SummerSlam two years ago, to losing to Nathan Carraway on my first Precision pay-per-view, Fully Loaded, to Andersen Vega. Yeah, I got a moment at Wrestle Dynasty, I picked my moment and I won the Intercontinental Championship, but glory has been the exception, not the rule. I've proved I am a destroyer and a force to be reckoned with but when the lights are brightest, I've never been able to get it done. Maybe I invented problems with the system, with my humanity, to miss the point. Maybe even down the darkest alley, on the lowest road, at the end of a path built of bones and soaked in blood... there's still no hope for me.
*Jack looks up in cautious surprise, as patches of the previously silent crowd following the jubilation of Jordan Bull’s triumph begin to boo this idea of a destiny of failure for him. Rogue lifts his hand, places it inside of his mask, and gently pulls it off over his head. He unveils a face weathered and covered in small scratches and scars, with a large scab on his nose where he broke it against a wall*
Jack: I don’t know if this is right. I still don't feel anything I felt before... I just know that I refuse to be at the bottom on the big nights anymore. However it has to happen... I have to fix this.
*Rogue’s microphone drops to the ramp from his weary hand, as he slowly climbs to his feet and staggers to the back, leaving the Backlash arena in confused silence*
-End of segment-
