Post by america on Aug 30, 2020 22:43:22 GMT -5
Then
This was what he’d fought for.
America was excited to come home and tell his folks how he’d done at the meet. Sure, a sweep wasn’t the biggest deal in the grand scheme of things. Could have warranted a call probably, rather’n driving back from out of State. Country boy got homesick though. As natural as anything. His car wasn’t thrilled with the decision, being an old beater that wasn’t exactly holding up to long hauls. Still…America missed his momma and was excited to see the look on her face when he told her about the sweep.
He wasn’t prepared for the blood. To see her skull fractured, her body limp and crumpled on the floor like discarded newspaper. To see his father still kicking at her and yelling obscenities. Calling her a traitor and a bitch and other things yet fouler. America would find out later that his mother was going to testify against his father in the murder trial for Harrison James, stating that the act was not in self defense and was in fact an act of murder to rid himself of his debt to James. America would find out that his father discovered this and attempted to beat his wife into submission, a plea he would make to America himself mere moments after this first discovery. All of that would come later. In the moment, America saw only red, heard nothing but static, he felt nothing as he dropped his father on his head and beat on him until he stopped moving. He felt nothing as he called emergency services, his voice trembling as he described the situation. He felt nothing as they loaded each of his parents into ambulances, one with armed guards.
He felt nothing.
Then he felt it all.
Life isn’t much for fairness.
America Jackson was prepared to come here and face Mr. Eli Beazley, a man of whom the measure has been taken and for whom some respect has been afforded as a former Junior Champion in this very company. He saw, Ms. LeStrange, your unexpected victory over his contender and even had the generosity to allow you the same opportunity for at his heart he is a fighting champion and one who would build his legacy competing against the best this company has to offer. Consider for a moment, a man whose only defeats have come in matches where other people could suffer a loss, placing himself into that same position because he is determined to be defined not just by being unbeaten, but by gaining the greatest of victories.
Unfortunately, Eli Beazley’s injury has proven too much and thus we find only you across the ring. An undeserving contender if ever there was one. Tell me Ms. LeStrange, what is your qualification for this shot? What feats will you boast of that make you deserving of this opportunity my client has so graciously provided you? A mixed record of wins and losses culminating in a failure to capture the Junior Heavyweight Title? A fluke win over an injured ex-champion? Under what circumstances do you think you can bring enough fight that America Jackson won’t run straight over you and into the main event?
We’re talking about a man who has yet to be pinned or forced to submit in APW. A man who walked in here and beat the then Junior and Hardcore Champions with Zaigon Carter. A man who faced a seasoned competitor and multiple time former champion in Steven Osbourne to win the American Title in only his first month in this industry. A man who has since defeated all comers including conquering former champions such as ZMAC with ease. You are going to walk out and in full confidence challenge one of the best in the world with what behind you? A close loss to Victoria Sabin, someone who America beat soundly the following week?
You have nothing.
No feats.
No victories.
No credibility.
America Jackson is going to walk into that ring and he is going to eat you alive.
You can try to be threatening, act like a creature of the night, drop that cute and sinister vibe and hope it’ll carry you onward, but the fact of it is that you are nothing but flash and flair. You’re the reason people saw America’s confidence walking in here and dismissed him only to get taken down one after another because for every great man ready to take the world, there’s ten nothings like you relying on shock and glamour to get yourselves over before falling apart when you get the limelight you so crave. You can’t hope to touch what makes America great, because he’s not about that.
He’s a fighter at the heart of it all.
A competitor.
A champion.
You’re nothing but a sideshow. Sure you’re entertaining and I can’t deny that you’re fun to look at, but when it comes down to who the best in the world is? No one’s ever going to look at you that way. They’ll see through you, down through the makeup and posturing to the scared, weak little girl inside.
Don’t worry though.
America’s a good man.
He won’t make this hurt any more than is absolutely necessary.
Then
America took it in stride.
The charges against his father.
No bail, no chance of him coming back again.
The moment his mother opened her eyes again.
The words “vegetative state” to describe her.
The knowledge that he may never hear her voice again.
He may never see her smile again.
She may never be herself again.
He took it all in stride. God never gave a man more than they could handle, so clearly he’d be able to handle this. He believed in the American dream, believed there was no amount of pain or challenge that hard work couldn’t pull him through. So he kept going to classes. He got a night job and sent the money back home, where his aunt was working with a caretaker to make sure his mom was comfortable. He kept falling asleep in classes but he’d pull the all nighters needed to keep his grades up.
And he wrestled.
And he won.
And he won.
And he won.
He needed to. Needed the scholarship money to keep coming. Needed to make sure his ma’s medical bills could be paid, that her assistance could be paid, that the house could be paid. It didn’t matter if he burned himself out. It didn’t matter if it killed him. He had trusted his father to be a good man. To take care of his family. His father had failed him. So America would have to be the man who took care of them. He would keep her safe if it took everything he had.
The first fight wasn’t exactly legal.
He was scouted. A man came to regionals, saw America get another clean sweep, and took him aside with the promise of money. ‘You’re a star out there kid, but there’s no money in this.’ the man had said. ‘Let me make you some real money.’
America knew it wasn’t on the level.
America knew he had bills to pay.
America thought of his mother as he knocked a man’s teeth out in a dingy basement for five hundred dollars.
He thought of her as he fought through one opponent after the next waiting for the moment. Waiting for the deal that would come through and pay the money he’d need to take care of her forever. Waiting for the payoff that came from scraping and biting and fighting. Waiting for all the work he’d done to finally pay off.
He waited until the day he graduated, a world class career on the mat behind him.
He waited as nobody came calling but the same men pushing the same fights.
He waited as those fights became legit but the weight of years and working the farm again left him unable to push like he needed to.
He waited and waited and waited for the day he’d be able to take care of her the way she’d always taken care of him.
America waited…
…and Zaigon Carter arrived.
The thing about opportunity is that it’s never quite what it looks like.
You think it’s fair. A blank slate given to each and every one of us to earn our way up. It’s a lie we tell ourselves to believe the world is just. Frankly, it’s been nothing but conspiring for the failure of the Storm since they arrived here. APW put out some of the best in the world and tried to walk back their loudmouthed champion’s braggadocio. They kept their precious tag team champions sheltered and attempted at all fronts to deny America Jackson and Zaigon Carter the opportunities they rightfully deserve.
Yet still they stand before you, American and World Champions.
That’s a drive that you can’t understand, Ms. LeStrange.
That’s true greatness showing itself amid the muck and mire.
I’m sure the elites in power thought they had come through with some clever design, setting up this match in which either America Jackson would be dethroned, or he would be forced to work against his own partner in the main event. It’s a clever move. There’s just one problem.
America Jackson *is* going to be the American Champion at the end of the night.
And that means that the odds that a member of the Storm will leave with the World Title are doubled.
If you’d put together a random six-person match, the odds may have been long for my employer. But placing him as the freshest person in a match with two men he’s wanted to beat and with his friend and partner at his side? You’ve basically assured the world that Zaigon Carter’s reign will continue well past your cowardly showdown.
Finally, the Storm can show the Man Made Gods what they’ve been wanting to all this time. That they are the best team in this company and the rightful champions. When the so-called Gods have been countered, what else can they do but sign the defense that has always rightfully belonged to the uncrowned champions of this cowardly promotion? Far from a punishment, this is a chance to amend wrongs made both against the Storm as a unit and against Zaigon Carter for the previous injustice against Corey Black. It is a gift that the Storm are eager to receive.
And for the others? Whichever of the Supervillains comes forth, they’re a solved equation. The Storm worked past them on their first night in the company. They’ve beaten hardcore champions, they’ve beaten William and Travis. There’s nothing to fear from the profoundly known. And as to the Junior Champion, a nightmare clown may be the hot trend right now…hell, find me a great difference between the Juggalo thot America faces first and the clown who conquered her already. Still, the Junior Title remains one for those with small ambitions living small lives. Little kings ruling over tiny empires.
The lesser champions don’t need to be enveloped by the Storm when they’ve long lived in its shadow already.
Ah, but...
But you ask…
What if, when America Jackson has defeated Phoenix LeStrange.
What if, when the lesser champions have been shown their place.
What if, when the Man Made Gods have been made to bleed like men.
What if it comes down to America Jackson vs. Zaigon Carter?
Heh.
If it comes down to that I assure you, they will do the right thing.
The best man will win.
Now
Whatever it takes.
America looked at his mother close as those words went through his head. He thought about every choice he’d made to get this far. The years of scraping that went into keeping this life together. He thought about how long he could do this for. How much life could remain in the Storm when Zaigon Carter slipped further and further into a stream of paranoia and fear. How precarious this peace truly was.
The nurse said it was a good day today.
The nurse said it was a good day a lot when America visited. He had stopped trusting the nurse on this. He couldn’t see anything behind his mother’s eyes. Couldn’t see any of the love or care that had preceded the act of violence which had taken her away. America could only imagine what she would think of him. Of what he did to his father in his rage. Of what he’d done to others for money. Of the lies he’d told himself to keep believing in his cause.
He caught a look in her eye. Maybe it was a glimpse of happiness at the sunset. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe his mother died years ago and her body just never accepted it. America never accepted it. He couldn’t let her go. He couldn’t. He was just as much a momma’s boy now as he was all those years ago. No matter how much it hurt him to see her like this, he would do everything in his power to keep her safe. He knew there was nothing, no line he wouldn’t cross to do so.
And so in this moment, America Jackson made himself a promise.
He was a prizefighter.
He knew what the title meant to Zaigon.
He knew what he should do.
He knew that in a sea of uncertainty, the only safe tide for a prizefighter?
Would be to hold the greatest prize of all.
What are you fighting for?
That was the first question my coach asked me when I first started wrestling. Not what do you want to be or how much can you lift or what makes you think you can be here. What are you fighting for? When the best, toughest opponents square up against you, what is gonna drive you to push back and find a way through?
I’ve had my times where I knew it down to my heart.
I’ve fought for glory.
I’ve fought for titles.
I’ve fought for money.
I’ve fought for myself.
People keep looking at me and wondering how I keep pulling it off. I’ve only got a couple months in the biz. Sure, I come from the mat, sure I got that cage time, but lots’ve other folks got that too. How do I keep coming out of these matches against seasoned wrestlers who’ve faced down dozens like me with my hand raised?
You tell yourselves it’s luck.
Tell yourselves I’m just a dumb redneck got a horseshoe up his ass ‘til now.
Tell yourselves that you’re gonna be the one to show me.
You’re different.
You’re special.
You’re the chosen one.
You make up narratives for why you’re gonna win and then make up excuses for why you lost.
Phoenix coming up here thinking that you deserve to be here. And on some level, I think you do or I wouldn’t have extended the shot. You got all kinds’ve talent but you’re gonna make that same mistake that lost you to Sabin and Giggles. Would’ve lost you to Breezy too if he wasn’t busted to hell.
You treat the moment like a fait accompli.
You got here so you’ve gotta be good enough to get the win.
You act like I’m just gonna lay down and give you what’s inevitable.
You don’t even think that what I’m fighting for will drive me to push twice as hard as you’d EVER dream of.
I’m looking past you to the real fight. I’m looking to the Ultimate Showdown match. I’m looking at nothing but champions, each one coming out here fighting for something they believe in the bottom of their hearts. I’m looking into myself and thinking real hard about what it’s going to take to come through this night on top.
I’ve fought for myself my whole life.
I’ve fought for that ego.
I’ve fought to be the best.
I’ve fought to be acknowledged.
Just like you.
Just like all of you.
Fighting to show the world you’re different.
Fighting to subjugate with fear.
Fighting to prove your strength.
Fighting to put yourself beyond the touch of mortal men.
Fighting to quiet your ghosts.
I understand it. I do.
I’m going to beat you.
I’m going to beat all of you.
Not because I want to show the world who I am.
Not because I have something to prove.
Not because I need acknowledgement.
I’m going to beat you because I know.
In my heart.
What I’m fighting for.
Zaigon.
I owe you everything.
I will fight for you.
I will die for you, comes to it.
…after.
I don’t want hurt feelings. I don’t want you to think I’m stabbing you in the back or taking a shot anywhere but direct. I’ll fight with all I got to make sure the title stays home in the Storm. But when they’re all beat…
When the laughter’s quiet...
The giants have fallen...
When the gods have become men…
When it’s down to just you and me?
May the best man win.
I know what I’m fighting for.
I know what I have to lose.
So I know why I’m going to win.
Show me what you have.
Show me your heart.
Show me your soul.
SHOW ME WHY YOU FIGHT!
Whoever has their hand raised at the end of this will be the best in the world.
I need it to be me.
I need it more than anything you can imagine.
I know what I’m fighting for.
Do you?
This was what he’d fought for.
America was excited to come home and tell his folks how he’d done at the meet. Sure, a sweep wasn’t the biggest deal in the grand scheme of things. Could have warranted a call probably, rather’n driving back from out of State. Country boy got homesick though. As natural as anything. His car wasn’t thrilled with the decision, being an old beater that wasn’t exactly holding up to long hauls. Still…America missed his momma and was excited to see the look on her face when he told her about the sweep.
He wasn’t prepared for the blood. To see her skull fractured, her body limp and crumpled on the floor like discarded newspaper. To see his father still kicking at her and yelling obscenities. Calling her a traitor and a bitch and other things yet fouler. America would find out later that his mother was going to testify against his father in the murder trial for Harrison James, stating that the act was not in self defense and was in fact an act of murder to rid himself of his debt to James. America would find out that his father discovered this and attempted to beat his wife into submission, a plea he would make to America himself mere moments after this first discovery. All of that would come later. In the moment, America saw only red, heard nothing but static, he felt nothing as he dropped his father on his head and beat on him until he stopped moving. He felt nothing as he called emergency services, his voice trembling as he described the situation. He felt nothing as they loaded each of his parents into ambulances, one with armed guards.
He felt nothing.
Then he felt it all.
Life isn’t much for fairness.
America Jackson was prepared to come here and face Mr. Eli Beazley, a man of whom the measure has been taken and for whom some respect has been afforded as a former Junior Champion in this very company. He saw, Ms. LeStrange, your unexpected victory over his contender and even had the generosity to allow you the same opportunity for at his heart he is a fighting champion and one who would build his legacy competing against the best this company has to offer. Consider for a moment, a man whose only defeats have come in matches where other people could suffer a loss, placing himself into that same position because he is determined to be defined not just by being unbeaten, but by gaining the greatest of victories.
Unfortunately, Eli Beazley’s injury has proven too much and thus we find only you across the ring. An undeserving contender if ever there was one. Tell me Ms. LeStrange, what is your qualification for this shot? What feats will you boast of that make you deserving of this opportunity my client has so graciously provided you? A mixed record of wins and losses culminating in a failure to capture the Junior Heavyweight Title? A fluke win over an injured ex-champion? Under what circumstances do you think you can bring enough fight that America Jackson won’t run straight over you and into the main event?
We’re talking about a man who has yet to be pinned or forced to submit in APW. A man who walked in here and beat the then Junior and Hardcore Champions with Zaigon Carter. A man who faced a seasoned competitor and multiple time former champion in Steven Osbourne to win the American Title in only his first month in this industry. A man who has since defeated all comers including conquering former champions such as ZMAC with ease. You are going to walk out and in full confidence challenge one of the best in the world with what behind you? A close loss to Victoria Sabin, someone who America beat soundly the following week?
You have nothing.
No feats.
No victories.
No credibility.
America Jackson is going to walk into that ring and he is going to eat you alive.
You can try to be threatening, act like a creature of the night, drop that cute and sinister vibe and hope it’ll carry you onward, but the fact of it is that you are nothing but flash and flair. You’re the reason people saw America’s confidence walking in here and dismissed him only to get taken down one after another because for every great man ready to take the world, there’s ten nothings like you relying on shock and glamour to get yourselves over before falling apart when you get the limelight you so crave. You can’t hope to touch what makes America great, because he’s not about that.
He’s a fighter at the heart of it all.
A competitor.
A champion.
You’re nothing but a sideshow. Sure you’re entertaining and I can’t deny that you’re fun to look at, but when it comes down to who the best in the world is? No one’s ever going to look at you that way. They’ll see through you, down through the makeup and posturing to the scared, weak little girl inside.
Don’t worry though.
America’s a good man.
He won’t make this hurt any more than is absolutely necessary.
Then
America took it in stride.
The charges against his father.
No bail, no chance of him coming back again.
The moment his mother opened her eyes again.
The words “vegetative state” to describe her.
The knowledge that he may never hear her voice again.
He may never see her smile again.
She may never be herself again.
He took it all in stride. God never gave a man more than they could handle, so clearly he’d be able to handle this. He believed in the American dream, believed there was no amount of pain or challenge that hard work couldn’t pull him through. So he kept going to classes. He got a night job and sent the money back home, where his aunt was working with a caretaker to make sure his mom was comfortable. He kept falling asleep in classes but he’d pull the all nighters needed to keep his grades up.
And he wrestled.
And he won.
And he won.
And he won.
He needed to. Needed the scholarship money to keep coming. Needed to make sure his ma’s medical bills could be paid, that her assistance could be paid, that the house could be paid. It didn’t matter if he burned himself out. It didn’t matter if it killed him. He had trusted his father to be a good man. To take care of his family. His father had failed him. So America would have to be the man who took care of them. He would keep her safe if it took everything he had.
The first fight wasn’t exactly legal.
He was scouted. A man came to regionals, saw America get another clean sweep, and took him aside with the promise of money. ‘You’re a star out there kid, but there’s no money in this.’ the man had said. ‘Let me make you some real money.’
America knew it wasn’t on the level.
America knew he had bills to pay.
America thought of his mother as he knocked a man’s teeth out in a dingy basement for five hundred dollars.
He thought of her as he fought through one opponent after the next waiting for the moment. Waiting for the deal that would come through and pay the money he’d need to take care of her forever. Waiting for the payoff that came from scraping and biting and fighting. Waiting for all the work he’d done to finally pay off.
He waited until the day he graduated, a world class career on the mat behind him.
He waited as nobody came calling but the same men pushing the same fights.
He waited as those fights became legit but the weight of years and working the farm again left him unable to push like he needed to.
He waited and waited and waited for the day he’d be able to take care of her the way she’d always taken care of him.
America waited…
…and Zaigon Carter arrived.
The thing about opportunity is that it’s never quite what it looks like.
You think it’s fair. A blank slate given to each and every one of us to earn our way up. It’s a lie we tell ourselves to believe the world is just. Frankly, it’s been nothing but conspiring for the failure of the Storm since they arrived here. APW put out some of the best in the world and tried to walk back their loudmouthed champion’s braggadocio. They kept their precious tag team champions sheltered and attempted at all fronts to deny America Jackson and Zaigon Carter the opportunities they rightfully deserve.
Yet still they stand before you, American and World Champions.
That’s a drive that you can’t understand, Ms. LeStrange.
That’s true greatness showing itself amid the muck and mire.
I’m sure the elites in power thought they had come through with some clever design, setting up this match in which either America Jackson would be dethroned, or he would be forced to work against his own partner in the main event. It’s a clever move. There’s just one problem.
America Jackson *is* going to be the American Champion at the end of the night.
And that means that the odds that a member of the Storm will leave with the World Title are doubled.
If you’d put together a random six-person match, the odds may have been long for my employer. But placing him as the freshest person in a match with two men he’s wanted to beat and with his friend and partner at his side? You’ve basically assured the world that Zaigon Carter’s reign will continue well past your cowardly showdown.
Finally, the Storm can show the Man Made Gods what they’ve been wanting to all this time. That they are the best team in this company and the rightful champions. When the so-called Gods have been countered, what else can they do but sign the defense that has always rightfully belonged to the uncrowned champions of this cowardly promotion? Far from a punishment, this is a chance to amend wrongs made both against the Storm as a unit and against Zaigon Carter for the previous injustice against Corey Black. It is a gift that the Storm are eager to receive.
And for the others? Whichever of the Supervillains comes forth, they’re a solved equation. The Storm worked past them on their first night in the company. They’ve beaten hardcore champions, they’ve beaten William and Travis. There’s nothing to fear from the profoundly known. And as to the Junior Champion, a nightmare clown may be the hot trend right now…hell, find me a great difference between the Juggalo thot America faces first and the clown who conquered her already. Still, the Junior Title remains one for those with small ambitions living small lives. Little kings ruling over tiny empires.
The lesser champions don’t need to be enveloped by the Storm when they’ve long lived in its shadow already.
Ah, but...
But you ask…
What if, when America Jackson has defeated Phoenix LeStrange.
What if, when the lesser champions have been shown their place.
What if, when the Man Made Gods have been made to bleed like men.
What if it comes down to America Jackson vs. Zaigon Carter?
Heh.
If it comes down to that I assure you, they will do the right thing.
The best man will win.
Now
Whatever it takes.
America looked at his mother close as those words went through his head. He thought about every choice he’d made to get this far. The years of scraping that went into keeping this life together. He thought about how long he could do this for. How much life could remain in the Storm when Zaigon Carter slipped further and further into a stream of paranoia and fear. How precarious this peace truly was.
The nurse said it was a good day today.
The nurse said it was a good day a lot when America visited. He had stopped trusting the nurse on this. He couldn’t see anything behind his mother’s eyes. Couldn’t see any of the love or care that had preceded the act of violence which had taken her away. America could only imagine what she would think of him. Of what he did to his father in his rage. Of what he’d done to others for money. Of the lies he’d told himself to keep believing in his cause.
He caught a look in her eye. Maybe it was a glimpse of happiness at the sunset. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe his mother died years ago and her body just never accepted it. America never accepted it. He couldn’t let her go. He couldn’t. He was just as much a momma’s boy now as he was all those years ago. No matter how much it hurt him to see her like this, he would do everything in his power to keep her safe. He knew there was nothing, no line he wouldn’t cross to do so.
And so in this moment, America Jackson made himself a promise.
He was a prizefighter.
He knew what the title meant to Zaigon.
He knew what he should do.
He knew that in a sea of uncertainty, the only safe tide for a prizefighter?
Would be to hold the greatest prize of all.
What are you fighting for?
That was the first question my coach asked me when I first started wrestling. Not what do you want to be or how much can you lift or what makes you think you can be here. What are you fighting for? When the best, toughest opponents square up against you, what is gonna drive you to push back and find a way through?
I’ve had my times where I knew it down to my heart.
I’ve fought for glory.
I’ve fought for titles.
I’ve fought for money.
I’ve fought for myself.
People keep looking at me and wondering how I keep pulling it off. I’ve only got a couple months in the biz. Sure, I come from the mat, sure I got that cage time, but lots’ve other folks got that too. How do I keep coming out of these matches against seasoned wrestlers who’ve faced down dozens like me with my hand raised?
You tell yourselves it’s luck.
Tell yourselves I’m just a dumb redneck got a horseshoe up his ass ‘til now.
Tell yourselves that you’re gonna be the one to show me.
You’re different.
You’re special.
You’re the chosen one.
You make up narratives for why you’re gonna win and then make up excuses for why you lost.
Phoenix coming up here thinking that you deserve to be here. And on some level, I think you do or I wouldn’t have extended the shot. You got all kinds’ve talent but you’re gonna make that same mistake that lost you to Sabin and Giggles. Would’ve lost you to Breezy too if he wasn’t busted to hell.
You treat the moment like a fait accompli.
You got here so you’ve gotta be good enough to get the win.
You act like I’m just gonna lay down and give you what’s inevitable.
You don’t even think that what I’m fighting for will drive me to push twice as hard as you’d EVER dream of.
I’m looking past you to the real fight. I’m looking to the Ultimate Showdown match. I’m looking at nothing but champions, each one coming out here fighting for something they believe in the bottom of their hearts. I’m looking into myself and thinking real hard about what it’s going to take to come through this night on top.
I’ve fought for myself my whole life.
I’ve fought for that ego.
I’ve fought to be the best.
I’ve fought to be acknowledged.
Just like you.
Just like all of you.
Fighting to show the world you’re different.
Fighting to subjugate with fear.
Fighting to prove your strength.
Fighting to put yourself beyond the touch of mortal men.
Fighting to quiet your ghosts.
I understand it. I do.
I’m going to beat you.
I’m going to beat all of you.
Not because I want to show the world who I am.
Not because I have something to prove.
Not because I need acknowledgement.
I’m going to beat you because I know.
In my heart.
What I’m fighting for.
Zaigon.
I owe you everything.
I will fight for you.
I will die for you, comes to it.
…after.
I don’t want hurt feelings. I don’t want you to think I’m stabbing you in the back or taking a shot anywhere but direct. I’ll fight with all I got to make sure the title stays home in the Storm. But when they’re all beat…
When the laughter’s quiet...
The giants have fallen...
When the gods have become men…
When it’s down to just you and me?
May the best man win.
I know what I’m fighting for.
I know what I have to lose.
So I know why I’m going to win.
Show me what you have.
Show me your heart.
Show me your soul.
SHOW ME WHY YOU FIGHT!
Whoever has their hand raised at the end of this will be the best in the world.
I need it to be me.
I need it more than anything you can imagine.
I know what I’m fighting for.
Do you?
