Jacob Figgins [vs] Damien Drake

~~~Shoot~~~

That oh so classic eight bit tune of the Super Mario Brothers theme rang throughout the room when the scene opened up. Jacob is going through a level with ease. But the jingle that came from pausing the game is suddenly heard, just as the little eight bit Mario was about to stomp on a brown goomba. Jacob rose to his feet and looked toward the camera. Once more in his usual civilian attire of a black shirt with some band no one has heard of plastered onto the front. His silver framed sunglasses resting upon his nose. His left hand came up, index finger raised to his lips in a shushing fashion.

“Shhh....Hello my fellow Figenauts. Crazy week last week, huh? Despite their delusion of dominance the Empire proved just how scared they actually are. I know, I know, you look at what happened last week and wonder if that pipe to the head scrambled my brains a bit. My brains are where they should be believe me. Their attack on Tim and myself was supposed to intimidate, but sadly it has failed. All they did was prove is that they are worthless when the playing field is level. I came into that match because I told Tim that I would make sure the odds are even in that match. And I did exactly that. But they cant stand that, they need their safety net, because they know they are going to fall. Especially now that they are some little knock off Byzantine empire wannabes. So they bring in more numbers to try and dissuade us. Not working, it only fuels me further. The Fig effect has outlasted gods, what makes them think I'll crumble for them?”

Figgins spoke in a low voice, just loud enough to enough to make his words intelligible

“But away lets get to the point of why I have shushed you. Well I implore you to be vewy vewy quiet for I am hunting wabbits.”

An Elmer fudd voice that was absolutely horrible. He really shouldn't do that again, it was bad. But Figgy won't listen, Figgy don't give a fuck.

“Not really but what I am facing is a snoozer. Damien Drake, man who had shown potential in the beginning, then joined the Empire and became docile. He's been asleep since the time he beat me in my debut match. While I refused to let myself lose momentum and went to make a showing week in and week out. While I proved myself to be the man to eat some of the most damaging moves in the roster and still will myself to get back up. While I silenced doubters and made myself stand out amongst the growing crowd of rookies.Damien took the momentum from winning his debut and went no where. He picked up a couple wins used clout from a friend to get into the Empire and went right to fucking sleep.”

“Now what I ask requires a bit of audience participation. On the count of three I wish for you all to yell at your screen for Damien to wake up. And maybe, just maybe the combined vocal power of the Figgified Nation could stir this sleeping oaf. Ready? 1...2...3... WAKE THE FUCK UP DUDE!”

Figgy cupped his hands around his mouth just so he made sure we was heard. Once done he lifted the Uprising title from his shoulder and dangled it back and forth much similar to a pendulum.

“So , Drake you awake yet? Lookit, a shiny thing! Is that drawing focus enough for you to stay awake for five minutes? I sure as hell fucking hope so. Let's hope that you are awake long enough to answer me a few questions. Number one being; what the hell happened bro?I mean seriously, at first you showed some semblance of being a challenge. You shown that you had some drive. You shown that you have at least a single modicum of intelligence. But you join the Empire and you become sloppy. Did that fact that you were a henchman once again make you complacent? Were your first few matches here just something for your resume before you got the position? Now that you're a minion you can kick back and cool your heels? What kind of chickenshit bullshit is that? I'm here for competition, fuckwit. Is there honestly no drive for competition in you? If there isn't that's cool. But you might want to consider something besides a COMPETITIVE sport. I heard little league sports don't score any more and everyone gets a trophy. And no matter how badly you suck, you still get to have a pizza party after the game. But that's why you're in the little league Empire right now, isn't it? That's why even though now two thirds of people in the empire who actually get shit done are gone you still hang around. It's because you want to be a part of something that caters to your laziness no matter what lack of effort you put into it. Well, I had enough of this chickenshit bullshit”

“And please, spare all your talk of violence. It's meaningless. When we faced off and you actually put effort into it, guess what, I got up. I went to my hotel room, went to sleep. I was a little bit sore the next morning. THAT WAS IT. I wasn't bleeding from head to toe, you didn't break anything, and you sure as hell didn't make me wish to avoid the ring. You don't care about bringing any violence, you don't care about putting people through unspeakable pain. If that was the case I wouldn't be standing here trying to motivate your lazy ass. That's the real reason I've decided to throw my hat in against the empire. You and your fucktard crew do nothing but promote laziness. You are trying to get the most reward out of the least risk. That's not how this game works. It never will work that way, hate to tell ya.”

“This, this belt right here offends you. You claim it is because it's a sign of people pandering to the fans. You claim that means that someone is letting outside opinions affect them. No, the true meaning is that it was a symbol of individual effort. It is something that you have abhorred. You see, you don't see the true meaning behind these belts because you've spent your entire career helping other people get them. So, in your world, it is not an individual effort. But in mine, in everyone else's, it is. I blasted through you and three other men to get a shot at it. I was the sole survivor in a multi-man cage match to get it. And I did it all on my own merits. I didn't sit on any laurels, I didn't align with any Empire or Order. I walked down to that ring by myself, threw elbows, knees , and lariats. I threw opponents to the mat with suplexes. I snapped their bodies back with submission holds. I put in the individual effort and got rewarded, something you have never done. Something you haven't tried to so since you came here.”

“So, why did I even put this on the line if I think you to be so undeserving? Why make this a title match if you don't even want it? Simple, I know some where deep in that pea soup fog that you call your thought process. You want to shut me up. You want to get rid of the thing that I continue to dangle over your head. You may not care about a title, but you do care about me being better than you. So I dangle this above your nose, to taunt you. Hopefully I can goad some competitive drive out of you then. But as you said at Rising Monarchy. You are not some uprising star, you have already been established. You're right. I am the champion of revolution. I am the champion of resistance. I am the champion of revolt. I am the Uprising Champion. I am the champion of change! You champion nothing but stagnation. You are not an Uprising star, that would involve effort. That would involve improvement. You HAVE already been established, you are a goomba. You are one of those dancing mushrooms on an ancient side scrolling video game. There are thousands of you, and you are all alike. All of you are expendable.”

To compound his point Figgy picked up his controller and unpaused the game, completing the stomp onto the Goomba smashing it flat. He laid the controller down letting the game run on without him playing.

“I ain't a fat italtian plumber, but I am more than capable of stomping your ass.”

“I always told people not to poke the sleeping bear. But in this case it is needed. I need to wake up the bear as well knock it off it's little unicycle. I came here for challenges, I sure as hell hope that you fit that bill. Because this is a title match, step up. I'm not going to goof around, I'm not going to place a single amount of effort into making you look good. I'm coming there with one purpose, to arrive as champion, and to leave as champion. And frankly, I believe you've lost the stones to stop me. You lack the ability to snatch it from me. You don't have the drive to outlast me. You lack every single trait that would make you stand one chance of beating me. But hey”

Something struck the little Mario causing the mario death music to hit.

“Prove me wrong. I fucking DARE YOU!”

The game over jingle plays as we glance into the blackness.