*Following a commercial break on Precision, the feed fades in to a dark shot of a backstage area, with production crates along the walls of a concrete corridor. Ten metres away is a curtain which casts a little, softly changing white light, illuminating the sides of some nearby boxes. The noise of a relaxed but chatting crowd also filters through. Suddenly, a figure which appears to have been sat on a crate in a shadow shuffles into view, where his pallor, reddish hair and dark mask over his mouth mark him out as Jack Rogue, who giggles, maniacally and unsettlingly, under his breath before speaking*
Jack: Last week on Precision... the bloodbath filled further. I added Jordan Bull to a list also including CRASH and Alexander Diamond of people I have devestated since I lost my Intercontinental Championship at TLC. CRASH was dispatched, both to a concussed hell and the abyss of mediocrity - my old stomping grounds - two weeks ago and, after that, I made Alexander Diamond nothing more than the vehicle of my statement when I crushed his windpipe under cold, hard steel. And then last week, after I wrote off his shoulder prior to TLC, he called me out, declared his intentions to enter a best of seven with me... and then I made him submit to me in the centre of the ring like the weak has-been he is, then did all the damage I felt like to that arm afterwards. Jordan, if you're the kind of masochist I suspect you are - or perhaps a "brave warrior", however you prefer to put it - you'll finish this series. And I'm intent on doing what I said I would, and ensuring that Jordan Bull, the relic of a place where the old Jack lived, is laid in his grave, without a legacy or a memory to outlive him.
*Rogue sighs contentedly, and grinds the knuckles of one hand into the palm of the other*
Jack: You'd think that after all this obliteration in just three weeks, noone in Precision would sign a contract to face me tonight. Yet from what I hear, one man was chomping at the bit, could hardly wait to do just that. He must be mad. *Jack throws back his head and cackles, before stopping abruptly and leaning towards the camera* Although, I can't claim to be surprised. Joseph Diamond. The man I won my title from, and the brother that ran away to leave an ill equipped, out of practice brother to wrestle for him. He got his ass beat, and then I damn near executed him on national TV. Or... did I? Is he dead? I can't claim to have checked but... "murderer" sounds a nice CV addition to me. Oh, poor little Joseph. Drowning in his inadequacy and family woes he caused, and it took his brother being hospitalised to scare him out of his hidey hole. But he's a disoriented, raging child, cornered by a cold blooded killer. You'll have your emotional storm if you're lucky, but you've gotta be mentally in it to win it... and that you're not. Joseph Diamond, you - just like Jordan Bull when he crawls back to me after injury - are about to face Annihilation.
*Jack signals insistently with his arm to someone off screen, and the light from the curtain darkens. Rogues theme music hits, boos fill the arena and the shadowy frame of Jack Rogue walks towards the curtain as the camera cuts to ringside*
Jack: Last week on Precision... the bloodbath filled further. I added Jordan Bull to a list also including CRASH and Alexander Diamond of people I have devestated since I lost my Intercontinental Championship at TLC. CRASH was dispatched, both to a concussed hell and the abyss of mediocrity - my old stomping grounds - two weeks ago and, after that, I made Alexander Diamond nothing more than the vehicle of my statement when I crushed his windpipe under cold, hard steel. And then last week, after I wrote off his shoulder prior to TLC, he called me out, declared his intentions to enter a best of seven with me... and then I made him submit to me in the centre of the ring like the weak has-been he is, then did all the damage I felt like to that arm afterwards. Jordan, if you're the kind of masochist I suspect you are - or perhaps a "brave warrior", however you prefer to put it - you'll finish this series. And I'm intent on doing what I said I would, and ensuring that Jordan Bull, the relic of a place where the old Jack lived, is laid in his grave, without a legacy or a memory to outlive him.
*Rogue sighs contentedly, and grinds the knuckles of one hand into the palm of the other*
Jack: You'd think that after all this obliteration in just three weeks, noone in Precision would sign a contract to face me tonight. Yet from what I hear, one man was chomping at the bit, could hardly wait to do just that. He must be mad. *Jack throws back his head and cackles, before stopping abruptly and leaning towards the camera* Although, I can't claim to be surprised. Joseph Diamond. The man I won my title from, and the brother that ran away to leave an ill equipped, out of practice brother to wrestle for him. He got his ass beat, and then I damn near executed him on national TV. Or... did I? Is he dead? I can't claim to have checked but... "murderer" sounds a nice CV addition to me. Oh, poor little Joseph. Drowning in his inadequacy and family woes he caused, and it took his brother being hospitalised to scare him out of his hidey hole. But he's a disoriented, raging child, cornered by a cold blooded killer. You'll have your emotional storm if you're lucky, but you've gotta be mentally in it to win it... and that you're not. Joseph Diamond, you - just like Jordan Bull when he crawls back to me after injury - are about to face Annihilation.
*Jack signals insistently with his arm to someone off screen, and the light from the curtain darkens. Rogues theme music hits, boos fill the arena and the shadowy frame of Jack Rogue walks towards the curtain as the camera cuts to ringside*
-End of segment-