Jacob Figgins [vs.] Flex Johnson

Time to get Figgy with it this week on Battle Grounds as Jacob Figgins steps into the ring with a man that we have all come to expect great things out of, Flex Johnson!

To some, the tender age of fourteen can be quite memorable. A time when horemones and newly sparked independent thoughts take hold of the mind and body, and rebellion against long standing personal authorities soon invades. For Jacob Figgins that long standing authority figure was his father, three time world champion in company strong in the eightys, Joe “KC Crippler” Figgins. If the company didn't fall into bankruptcy in the mid nineties, a hall of fame spot would have been without question. Despite his accolades, he was deep into the sleazy side of the bussiness, able to pad himself a small fortune selling his co-workers cocaine and steroids, while enjoying the pleasures of the oldest profession. Jacob was quick to find his admiration of the man soon turn into loathing. Escpecially now when he invaded every facet of his life. Like this very moment.

The teenage Jacob is sitting upon a stool, inside a small garage, the car in the parking lot was too big for the garage, but big enough for four overgrown teenagers to put their music equipment. Seeing the intruments left in dissary,except for the five string Dean metalman on Jacob's lap, it seemed that the rest of the garage band left in a hurry. The newly found object of hatred stood over him. A mountain of a man, thinning dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, jeans and leather, a man still stuck in his xenith in the eighties.

“So, you skip out on your training to play rockstar with your friends? Reality check kid, the band will die as soon as college comes around, and that's stretching it. I am offering you a bright future in the best damn business out there. But I'm starting to doubt if you truly want it”

Jacob rolled his eyes, he's heard this lecture before, he's heard it everyday. At first it instilled insecurity, rage at himself for not doing better. But the rage soon turned to apathy his lectures just droned on like the intercom from the Charly Brown cartoons. Eventually the apathy turned to pity, somewhere he knew this man felt like he fell short somewhere and was desperatly trying to have his son make up for it. Make up for it so one day his former co-workers could point at his loins and say good job.

“Oh. I want it, that's why I try to pick up hobbies. So ya, know I won't get burnt out. You won't let me take up sports...cause an injury would put me months behind in training. So I decided, hey let me save up my allowance and buy a bass guitar. I mean that's a low risk hobby. I shouldn't effect my debut match years down the road. I figured you'd accept that, I mean a lot of your matches were uninspired crap, I'm avoiding losing the motivation. Uncle kenny was better anyway.”

Outrage was quick to fill across the features of Joe, the nerve of that little shit. He took the time to train him and get him ready for his future and this is how he is repaid? His own son belittling his accomplishments right to his face, without the batting of an eyelash? Bringing up his deceased brother just to down play his skill? Was he watching himself become the least favorite wrestler in his own son's eyes? But with age, came patience, he was going to make this one crack.

“You better get that game of rockstar out of your system before dinner, kid. Be up bright and early at five thirty tomorrow for some early training.”

Jacob glanced up to the man, eyes narrowing in an inquisitive manner. It was that very look that unnerved Joe, the kid was too smart for his own good. Asked too many questions, and came up with his own thoughts. He would embarras the family if he kept that up. Jacob was wondering what the man was up to, just what he had planned.

“I don't have school tomorrow”

Jacob said cooly before relaxing his gaze. He already figured it out, it was his fathers solution to everything whenever Jacob acted up

“You'll be training from sunrise to sunset, maybe even longer. However long it takes you to start thinkin' in the right place. However long it takes you to realize that I control the entire fate of your career. I can make oppertunities, companies, either open or shut their doors to you. As long as you carry my last name I. AM. GOD.”

Joe stormed out of the garage, while Jacob returned to practicing on his bass. That speech would have been intimidating, if he hadn't heard it so many times before. He heard it in the early ninties when ever he argued with co workers. And this certainly wasn't the first time he pissed his father off, this happens once a week at the least. And he know it certainly wasn't going to be the last

((On camera))

Winter has taken it's grasp onto Kansas City, snow laid on the ground while it hid it's dangerous ice beneath. Our hero stands infront of his house, clad in a hoodie and his trademark pair of silver framed shades. He was leaning against a car, a beat up brown stationwagon. One of those blasts from the past with the faux wood siding, like seriously, how often do you see those any more? Lacey stood off to the side, bundled up a whole lot more than her friend, she seemed to make it her duty to monitor each and every promotional segment. Figgy didn't care, that was her business.

“ At Rising Monarchy I left no doubt in anyone's mind about the results. A fresh Damien Drake armed with a steel chair couldn't stop it. The natural talent of Desmond Young couldn't stop it. The tenacity of John Tolly couldn't stop it. Each strike placed upon me, only made me grin and want more. I'm a competition junkie, the more of a challenge you are, the more my adrenaline pumps, my sight becomes clearer, hearing more precise. All senses brought to their peak when that first bell sounds. You all met me with your best and I weathered the storm. The moment the storm slowed I looted the opportunity and took the win. You can expect that each and every time”

Figgy produced a small flask from the front pouch of his hoodie, unscrewed the top and took a swig from it's contents.

“But that is old news, that is no longer relevent. I now set my gaze onto the next maelstrom brewing over the horizon. One Flex Johnson. Just looking at accolades alone tells me that in the wrestling world, his eyes have seen a thousand sunsets. I am faceing a mountain of experience, that I dream to obtain. To some, I may some scrappy little pup on a streak of good luck. But my eyes have been open for a long time, and I have seen many of the realms that this world has to offer. I've suffered loss, I've been on the giving and reciveing end of betreyal, I've seen just how corrupt this world could be, I've seen just how far people will go to crush others beneath their foot.”

Another swig of the liquid before he slips it back into his pockets. A slight chill rocking through his body as the whisky's bite settles in. Man that's good shit.

“At the age of sixteen I entered the local scene. Forging the name of my father whose house I have left
months before, just so I could step in-between the ropes.All my life I have been offered a silver spoon, and I spat it onto the floor. I gave up access to the top tier wrestling schools, and developmental territories so I could start from the bottom and forge my own path. I looked at many generations of wrestling Figgins, as far back as when it was a mere carnival attraction and turned my back on them to do things my way. So I had to wrestle to pay for wrestling school, between the school fees, gym fees, and paying for the necessities, I lived in a beat up station wagon for a year. Do I regret a single part of that? No.”

At the mention of the car, Figgins gives a light tap to the side of it,but that cause the side mirror to suddenly fall off. Jacob tips his glasses down, loosing a sigh from his lips. The car has been through a lot and that was before he got a hold of it, he may just have to scrap her one day. Give her a proper burial. Or at least as proper of a burial you can give a car

“The only part of my career that I regret is when in the peak of my inexperience, a miscalculation of timing crippled my best friend. A person I went to school with, entered the local scene with on the same day. A person whom I shared dreams of being a legendary tag team with, is now relearning how to use his legs. It weighed heavily on me,even after he forgiven me. I tried to use every bit of money I earned from the professional circuit to pay for his surgeries, and his rehab. There are many times I wish I could undo that day, but then I realize, that was the push I needed. The event that snapped me out of the world of day dreaming and into the harsh grasp of reality. At first the passion was there to help my friend, but then I realized that was the passion I needed all the time to make it.”

Jacob quickly ducks down to grab the mirror and tries to place it back on the car. After four or five tries, it finally stays on. A little fiber glass could fix that right? Not hearing an answer so I take that as a yes.

“I can't let the past slow me down, no matter how bleak it was, I can't let the future stray me from my path, no matter how foreboding it may be. Physics claims that perpetual motion is an impossibility, the person who theorized that has yet to meet me. Momentum is in my hands and I am going to gather more and more, I won't stop until util I grasp the top, and the top for me? Far beyond the cosmic ripple. But what can I say to a man who has seen it all to convince him that I am not an opponent to be trifled with? The simple answer is that I cannot say anything. I have to show how him in the ring come battle grounds. Challenge accepted. I am from the state that coined the phrase 'Show Me'. I do not have a single qualm about doing so.”

A sneeze rips through the nostrils of our hero, the force once more causing the mirror to leave it's perch. He mouths “Fucking seriously!?”. In an act of frustration he kicks the mirror down the street, and it skitters off camera.

“Frankly, I am glad this match is happening. When I saw that this seven man match had been knocked down to a fourway, I was a bit dissappointed. I wanted the challenge to to be as big as it could get. But I understand the decision, a lot of the people involved didn't have a match yet. They wanted them to prove themselves a little before giving them a shot. They wanted to see if you still got it. From the looks of things, ya still do. And now I get to face you, one on one. Possibly the biggest catch out of the new arrivals to IWF. So we can face eachother without any distractions, without any excuses. Man to man, we get to see just who is the better opponent of the night.”

A shrug rolls across the shoulders of our hero as he lowers his glasses and lets them hang onto his collar.

“I've always, always will make my career based upon my own merits. Do I have the best overall career record, no. I've paid my dues with blood, sweat, and chunks of flesh. I didn't cry, crying is a sign of remorse, I know exactly what came with the job, and I rolled my sleeves up and jumped into the fray. I'm young, I get it. But don't underestimate me for a single second. If I have obtained any status , if I am propped upon any pedestal it is because I fucking earned it. I don't kiss ass, I sure as hell aint a role model. People just choose to like me for some reason. Maybe I'm just that charming. This match isn't about who the fans like more, it isn't about any of that superficial shit. It's skill versus skill. Your experience vs my instinct. And just a little forewarning, I ain't your average good guy. I can fight as dirty as the rest of them if the need is required. What's the Next Conspiracy? There isn't one, no scheme, no elaborate plot. I'm just planning to kick an ass, and that plan will go into action. FULL FRONT ON!”

Glance into the blackness