Brad Franklin [vs.] JHalc

"Naivete...."

Just like last week the screen comes to life zoomed all the way in on the man that is only one week into his IWF Underground contract. If this goes anything like last week, he might not be able to fulfill his contract at all.

"I guess you could say that it is a lot like a plague. One person gets some fancy idea that everyone can be anything that they want to be, and then all of a sudden, the mindless masses bust their asses, just to become mediocre. Not everyone can be rich and famous. Most of you are destined to fall short, and be forgotten once your time on this plane of existence has reached its end. At least you can go knowing that you kept hoping for something more."

He kicks back from the table that the camera sits on, and we can really get a look at the former world champion level superstar. He is even more haggard and filthy looking than he was a week ago. The apartment that comes into focus as he slides back looks just as wrecked as he does.

"It is a sick lie that [ I ] you people tell yourselves. I am easily more talented than at least five billion of the people on this planet, and look how I have ended up. You wake up and promise yourselves that today is going to be better than yesterday. You go through the motions hoping that something different smacks you in the face. I, on the other hand, spend all day trying to picture different ways that I could have ended up. What if this reality is no more than a though in some crazy person's head. What if nothing is real? You spend a day thinking about something like that and you will find yourself a little nuttier as the hours and minutes tick off the clock."

He reaches down under the table and pulls up a box. From the look on his face, it is obvious that the tiny rectangle that stands no more than three inches tall is deceptively heavy. He opens the lid, and then looks back at the camera with a smile.

"It isn't what I have done in the past that should scare you. The last thing that I need is a bunch of strangers to be concerned about my well being. I [CAN'T] won't be forced to stomach your pity."

He pulls something from the box, but the dim light in the room hides what it is from the viewers. The object was small. Concealed by his finger tips. However, the ominous feelings the audience has only continues to grow. Almost right on cue with the heightened tension, the man breaks into a rant, raising his voice with every statement until the vein in his neck starts to pop out.

"It isn't what I am I doing now that you should be weary of. It isn't what I am going to go on and do after the dust has settled. It isn't even what I can do, that should have you running away like a scared puppy. It isn't what I am willing to do. It is simply, what I will allow myself to do. It is how many lines I will allow myself to cross, before I [DIE] learn my lesson.

He takes a deep breath, composes himself, and a twisted smirk comes across his face.

"It is how many blanks I fill the chambers with before it comes time for the live round that should have you worried."

He dumps the box over, spilling round after round of ammunition on the table when finally the same revolver from last week falls to the table last. The sound is horrible. From each individual bullet smacking the table, to half of them rolling off and smacking against the hardwood floor, all the way to the dull thud of the firearm hitting the table. If the video had any viewers at all, this is likely where they start to filter out. Nobody has the stomach for a good, old fashioned, suicide monologue anymore.

"Do I have your attention now?"

He snaps the gun open and starts to pick and choose rounds off the table, filling each of the six slots randomly, before spinning it and snapping it shut.

"Let's play a game. Let's call it, 'How many of those were blanks?' See, half of that box were duds, the other half were live. Now we have six chambers full of surprises to hand out. Remember when I said that I wouldn't be able to pull the trigger until after I figured out my dilemma last week? Guess what I spent a week solving? I'll give you one guess."

He cocks the weapon and holds it up in the air.

"One for every happy thought."

*click*

He pulls the trigger and nothing happens. He turns his face to the weapon, disappointed. With a frown on his face he pulls the hammer back again, spinning to the next chamber.

"And one for you."

He points it at the camera and pulls the trigger a second time.

*click*

The frown turns into a scowl. He turns the weapon to the side and stares at it in disappointment. Jay looks around the room.

" [THOUGH] I suppose nobody in the studio audience wants to give it a go?

He grabs a hold of the table top and spins it. The camera whirls around the room showing piles of clothing and trash lying about, but nobody else is in the room. The table comes to a slow stop as the camera comes back around to Jay. He shrugs it off, and then puts the weapon to his temple.

"One for not deserving to see another sunrise."

*click*

This time he doesn't move it from his head before slamming the hammer back and giving it another go immediately.

"Two for all the mistakes and lies."

*click*

Another dud. The statistics are being thrown out the window. A half of the rounds should have been live. We are past the halfway point and there still hasn't been one to fire. This only drives him into more of a rage. He cocks the hammer back again, spinning it for the fourth time. His luck has to be running out.

"Three for all the times [ I ] we watched someone fall with a smile on our faces."

*click*

Five shots. Five duds. The fans breathe a sigh of relief as he finally removes the gun from the side of his head. He goes to place it on the table in front of him, but then pauses. He cocks the hammer back one more time, remembering that there are six chambers. He almost laughs, but instead shakes it off.

"Well there is one left and I am out of ideas. How about one for my homies....?

He points the gun at the floor, mimicking the motion of dumping out a drink for fallen friends, and then pulls the trigger.

*bang*

The shot startles him and the gun goes flying. Jay clearly didn't expect it to fire, and the recoil throws it from his hand without much resistance. He looks at the hole in front of him in the floor, and then back up to the camera with a smile on his face.

"Whoops. I hope dear old Mrs. Who-Gives-A-Shit wasn't up for a midnight snack. Then again, maybe the bang was enough to give that tired old bitch a heart attack. It would have counted as public service for me to have ushered her into the afterlife.

He looks over his shoulder to try and locate his firearm, but quickly turns back to the camera, deciding to fight that battle after his little vignette is over.

"Nobody can say I didn't give it my best [TRY] effort. I guess I will just have to live to fight another day. The most tragic thing about that, is that Brad Franklin is actually going to have someone standing across the ring from him when it comes time for IWF Underground. Despite my best intentions, I am going to have to show up for work. Consider this whole message as a warning. There is no line that I won't cross when it comes to my own life. What does that mean about yours Brad? If I can't find any fucks to give about living to see another day in this world, what makes you think that I can find a fuck for you to survive the day? You step in the ring with me, you step into madness incarnate. Still want to go through with it? Let's give you a minute to contemplate....

Jay kicks back and puts his feet on the table in front of the camera. As his chair pulls back off the front legs, he adjusts himself so that one of the back legs also comes off the ground. Using only his feet on the table, he balances on one chair leg, so that his face can still be seen on camera.

"This is me. I am the guy teetering on the edge of self-destruction every minute, of every hour, of everyday. For some reason, you get to be thrown between the ropes with me and..."

*whoop*

Jay throws his arms out. In the middle of his sentence he feels the chair start to slide out of balance. What follows looks like a fish flailing out of water, but the moment passes and Jay gains control with a smile on his face. He recrosses his arms and lets the smile fade, an indication that the show is over.

"... with me and I won't hesitate to grab a hold of you and take you down over the waterfall with me. Those kinds of rides are always more fun with a not so willing participant sitting next to you... or in this case falling next to you.... or rather... me..... wait."

He seems to have confused himself, and he is actually puzzled about where he was going with that.

"I am supposed to say something here. Some kind of callback to the beginning of the video that wraps it all together, right? I mean that is how these things are done. There is a formula that must be followed! The predicament that I know find myself in is... I can't remember what we were talking about."

He thinks back to the beginning of his recording. With all of the excitement the opening is just lost in the fog, which is really more like a cloud of gunshot residue.

"You know, you spend all day picking a word to describe the person that you are inevitably going to trash, and then by the time you get to trashing them, it has already slipped your mind. I suppose we could try and run it back a little bit. It can't be so hard. Brad Franklin, right? I must have started with a word that describes him personally."

He considers...

"Talentless?"

He shakes that one off.

"Waste? As in a waste of television time? Maybe a synonym..."

That wasn't it either.

"Complete garbage...? No that isn't it at all.

The smile comes back to his face, having a day job was starting to be fun again.

"Naive.

As in you are naive, Brad Franklin, if you think that this is all some sort of act.
As in you people are naive if you think I am not actually spiraling out of control.
As in all of you are naive if you think this guy has a chance against me.

Naivete is no joke.

...but Brad Franklin is both if he thinks he stands a chance."