AS 66: Derek Jacobs vs. David Whitman

[Kermit]

WZCW is pleased to welcome new superstar David Whitman to the roster as he competes in his debut match against Derek Jacobs, a man who has been heavily involved with destroying the Sacrificial Altar and recently chased down a hooded individual who is currently unknown to the WZCW populace despite revealing his face and receiving help from Altar member D.C. Strangely enough, David Whitman has yet to be seen and has been unavailable for a few WZCW promotions due to "unforeseen circumstances."

Deadline is Wednesday, June 26th 2013, at 11:59 P.M. (Central Time Zone) Soft Extensions Only.​

 

[Beastmode 24]

Don't fall off the track yet
With so many races to go.

Hold on....

Avenged Sevenfold
Unbound (The Wild Ride)
----------------------
On a stormy night in Chicago, Derek Jacobs sits alone in the dark at a desk, writing in a new journal. It doesn't look like he's slept in days. his hair is longer than normal, and his beard grows more unkempt every day.

Mostly though, he just looks tired.

After the events of Ascension and Aftershock, WZCW medical personnel have decided that Derek is unfit to compete until Ascension 66 on June 30 in Denver, Colorado. As the lightning flashes in the apartment and it is lit up we see pictures of his obsession.

The gaze of the Grand Mystique and Mason Westhoff is all around him, as his walls are covered in pictures, posters and other merchandise with their image.

Derek's pen is furiously writing down his thoughts, his brow furrowed in concentration

The cold of the apartment chills me to my bones. 2 days removed from the last round of shows, and I hadn't slept since Aftershock.

Doc, I'm tired

Ever since Doctor Scott mentioned PTSD to me, I've been doing research to discover more symptoms, maybe to determine if this is all really real or not. I've found a counseling group here in Chicago, and tomorrow I'm gonna sit in on a session just to get a feel for how things go. I don't know if I'll find answers, more questions, or what.

I just hope I find peace.

The next day, Derek arrives at the building where the counseling session is held. As he shakes the hands of the men and women he will be working with, he is almost comforted by the fact that such a diverse group can be affected by this disorder.

An older man, wearing a pair of black pinstripe slacks, a white shirt and a black tie steps to the front of the room behind the podium. As he begins to speak, everyone takes their seats. Derek sits in the back corner of the room.

Man: Hello, everyone. I'm glad everyone could make it to "breaking chains" today.
Before we go any further, I would like for our special guest to stand so we can acknowledge him. He is a wrestling superstar currently wrestling with WZCW, Derek Jacobs.

Derek stands up and acknowledges the man as the participants in the class break out into a small round of applause. The man waits for the applause to die down before he continues speaking

On today's agenda we have group share time, which as you know means one of you will come up and share your story with the rest of the group. Today we have a special treat as SGT Baker has decided to share his journey with us today. Now be warned that his story may be graphic, but it is absolutely vital to share with one another. It is better to get your feelings out than to hold them in. So, without further adieu, SGT Tim Baker.

As the group watches, a well built man stands up and limps towards the podium. Dressed in Army ACU's, the man looks like a proud Soldier.

He looks like a war machine.

The man reaches the front of the room and turns around, and it's at that moment that Derek sees the scars.

Deep, angry gashes blotch a young face, and his blue eyes burn with anger. After taking a minute to calm himself, SGT Baker begins to speak.

SGT Baker: Thanks for the introduction Mr Green. I guess I should start from the beginning of my story. I grew up in Puyallup, Washington; which is a small city about 30 minutes from Seattle. All my life I wanted to be a Soldier, and as soon as I turned 18 my ass was at a recruiter's office.

Tim's chest swells with pride as he remembers the moment. His eyes soften a bit.

SGT Baker: I knew when I joined there was the possibility that I would go to war, and as soon as I was finished with AIT, that's what happened. I was assigned to the 4th Battalion, 1st Calvary Regiment out of Fort Bliss, Texas; and we deployed for 12 months, but ended up being extended to 15.

SGT Baker's eyes darken. His hands grip the podium so hard they turn white. Derek notices that he is sweating a little. His breathing has quickened just a fraction as he begins to speak again.

SGT Baker: I was riding TC in the middle truck the day our convoy got hit. We were doing a patrol of this village about 30 minutes south of Baghdad , called Balad. Our gunner Box was scanning the rooftops for insurgents when the first shot rang out.

SGT Baker closes his eyes. His skin is turning pale. He raises a shaking hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

We were hit with a complex ambush. They saw us coming a mile away and they were ready. That bullet took the top of Box's head. I had to climb over his body to get into the turret to return fire. Then all of a sudden, everything got quiet.

That's when the bastards shot the RPG.

The next thing I remember, I'm in a hospital in Germany. Both legs amputated.

SGT Baker lifts up the leg of his uniform pants to reveal a titanium prosthetic


SGT Baker: The doctors called me lucky. Said I should be grateful I was alive. Grateful? They expected me to be grateful?! For what, being alive when everyone else that was in that truck died?! I was the only one, the only person in my truck that survived. But I was supposed to be grateful that my friends were dead.

Derek sits in the back of the room, tears running down his face. How could one man go through so much and still be standing?

When I got home, I was diagnosed with "depression", but it was worse than that. I had survivor's guilt. All my friends were dead, and I wasn't. And on top of that, I was a scarred freak. So I did what I thought I had to do.

I attempted suicide.

My fiancee found me in the tub. I slit both my wrists. She called 911, and saved my life.

After a stay in mental health, it was determined that I had PTSD. That was 2 years ago, and even though I'm still scarred physically by what happened, mentally I am learning to cope. Nothing can change the past but...

I can determine my future.

With that statement, SGT Baker leaves the podium to a great round of applause.

Later that night, Derek sits in front of a camera that he has set up in his apartment. Only one light is on, and it's shining on him like a spotlight. In his hand he has an old pocket watch. The ticking of the watch is the only thing that can be heard.

Tick....tock....

Derek begins to speak as he is looking at the watch swinging back and forth.


Time is a funny thing. It can go by fast, like a water vapor. Here one second, gone the next. Or, it can be drawn out like a sharp blade. What I have learned lately, is that time is something you can never ever get back.

Derek looks into the camera and his eyes are on fire. He begins to shout.


Grand Mystique! Mason Westhoff! DC! Your time is running out! Just when you think you've gotten to me...just when you think Derek Jacobs is dead and gone, I come back stronger! I have let you rule my life long enough! This obsession that I have with you is over! I will destroy The Sacrificial Altar brick by brick, piece by piece!

Derek's voice once again returns to normal. He becomes calm and collected once again

But let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? This week, I have the task of taking on a newcomer to WZCW, David Whitman.

I don't know much about this guy, but he has a lot of hype coming into this match. Unfortunately for him, he's going one on one with a very motivated and angry Dr. Pain. I will defeat David Whitman, I will stand tall and I will prove once again without a shadow of a damn doubt that I am the final judgement for the Sacrificial Altar.

Derek pulls out a poster of the Sacrificial Altar, and sets it on fire. He throws it on the ground. The camera zooms in to the burning poster.


Bank on that.





OUT OF CHARACTER:
Brad, this one's for you bud. RIP.

 

[Slice]

A singular man in the middle of spacious, decrepit surroundings.

The lack of cameras, humans and any noise; a perfect analogy of the shift in his life when he stopped wrestling years ago. The dust that has quietly gathered in each and every crevice; a reminder of the coating of indifference that separates him from those he once loved, liked, cared about.

Light shines and diffuses through thick panes; some broken, others merely dusty. It is well-lit, but somehow feels dark.

The unshaven man coughs; a deep, unsettling discord. It reverberates, echoes and fills the impressive area, stifling the silence for a moment. His eyes are fixated on the edges of a stained-glass window as something resembling an impossible memory blurredly taps at, scratches, flicks his subconscious, but continuously fades away.

There is a unique, unflinching and rough-edged truth about abandoned buildings; from psychiatric hospitals to houses that were once homes, to bankrupt storefronts to post-majesty, forsaken churches like this one. The puzzling and distinctive sense of uneasy calm it brings about; a teetering form of complacency that balances itself on apprehensive insecurity. Slightly similar to a reaction one would feel, say, debuting in a federation one has never been in. Slightly similar, but strikingly different in the details. New surroundings, for example, often bring with them the security of comparable convictions and concerns from like-minded individuals. New surroundings also tend to bring with them a vibrancy; a sort of living energy separated from humans, and present only in intense situations and strong intentions.

The man sitting alone in this deserted architecture feels not one of those things.

His mind is vaguely aware of what he believes he should feel even as he grasps at that foreign memory, clumsily fumbling about in a haze of vividly factual past moments and viciously stubborn flashbulb memories.

He closes his eyes. A rolling blackness with traces of persistent white flashes engulf his vision. He coughs again, and whispers in a low voice, slowly, as it comes to him...

"Incredibly Incredulous... Insidiously Hideous.
This stagnant situation... sits inside a deep mysteriousness..."

His train of non-thought is interrupted by a loud and sharp creak.

"I never pegged you for a Jesus freak. A flipped-out, balls-to-the-wall nut job freak, sure, but not a Jesus freak."

The ever-expensively-outfitted Eli Silver, agent extraordinaire, folds his newly acquired Louis Vuitton sunglasses as he closes the giant metal-rimmed wooden door behind him and saunters a straight line towards the man sitting in the front-most pew.

Eli stops and stands a few feet away from him, waiting for the obviously inferior person to acknowledge the presence of greatness.

"Whether or not I consider myself to be spiritual is none of your concern, and should not be governed by any location you find me in."

Eli shakes his head, uncomfortably bows before the slightly crumbled statue in the middle of the aisle, then takes a seat next to the man he once knew.

Eli Silver: "Is that a metaphor for you wrestling again? Because I swear, Whitman, if you don't start making sense and speaking like something resembling a normal human being within the next few minutes, I WILL slap the holy holiness out of you."

David Whitman lets out an audibly forced chuckle that ends in more of a scoff. His sleeveless, plain black shirt and black pants are somewhat faded, worn out by age and rough times.

Without turning to Eli, his voice both addresses and questions the issue at hand at the same time.
David: "W... Z... C... W."

He lets the last letter linger. Eli stares at David for a few seconds before letting out a sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Eli: "We... are... in... Colorado," he says slowly, accentuating each word, infusing then with irritation and disdain. "I have neither time nor patience, and I don't need this slow-reveal, Mister Mystery garbage from you."

David turns to Eli in a slow manner. Silence hangs in the air as the tension builds.

David: "Are you not swearing because we're in a church? "

Eli's eyes widen for a second before his expression turns to one of intense annoyance.

Eli: "Whether or not I consider myself to be spiritual is none of your concern, you fruitbasket."

David almost smiles.

David: "Well played."

Eli takes a deep breath, and mouths a slow 10-count. His demeanor fluidly shifts into business-mode.

Eli: "Alright, let's get down to brass tacks. The reason you're here- well, the reason we're meeting, anyway- is strictly professional courtesy."

David shrugs, glancing at a dusty portrait of a saintly woman counseling some children.

David: "Isn't it always?"

Eli: "I need to know your headspace, Whitman. Your intentions, your plans. I have to figure out how you fit into all this. Everything's up in the air right now, and you going back to wre-"

David: "It's complicated."

Eli pauses as he waits for more, but David waits.

Eli: ".. What? That's it? I ask you a serious question and you spew some facebook status sh-"

David: "It's complicated in that I can't really explain it to you right now. Everything's up in the air with me as well. It seems WZCW is going to be a lot of people's landing spot."

Eli: "So it seems."

David shrugs and finally turns to face Eli.

David: "Let's talk again once we have both feet on the ground."

Eli: " ..You really go all out with the analogies, don't you?"

David: "Old habits."

Eli stands up, takes a quick glance around him, and cracks his neck.

Eli: "I'll contact you in a day or so."

He takes a few steps, turning to face David again as he enters the aisle.

Eli: "Whitman, one thing- why did you want to meet in this place?"

David: "Oh, I dunno. It was the first thing that sprung to mind. That, and it just seemed fitting. I thought the symbolism- or perhaps irony, would stir up some sort of feeling, emotion."

Eli shakes his head.

Eli: "Fruitcake."

He takes another step but stops, the slap of his sole resounding loudly and impersonating a comma.

Eli: "... Did it?"

David shrugs.

David: "Well, yes and no. I think I might be feeling something, but even if I am, I'm sure it's something I'm very unfamiliar with."

"Eli: Glad to see you're still a freakshow."

David: Yes, it's all quite unsettling.

Eli Silver walks away and out of the church.

David Whitman does not; not for a few hours.



========================================================================================================================



In a particular Presidential Suite at the Four Seasons Hotel in Denver, Colorado, the busy buzzing of social activity disorients anyone who dares enter.

It has been a mere two days since David's encounter with Eli Silver, yet this current encounter is a total 180 degrees from the former in both feel and scope.

Though he is not here to meet with Silver, the flashy agent's presence is unmistakable as he skips from person to person, expertly mingling and laughing loudly at unfunny jokes.

From a small group gathered in front of the large screen playing SNES video games, to the six or so people lounging about on the sofas, to the others raiding the kitchen; the event of sorts seems to have something for everyone.

Even David Whitman, who is sitting on a giant bed in the side room observing the festivities, has a somewhat decent amount of serenity, interrupted only by the traces of music and 8-bit blips coming from the main room, and the words of his cousin, James Whitman, who is standing across from him drinking a whiskey and admiring the mountains from the over-sized window.

James: "I swear to God, you are the WORST guest of honor in the history of anything ever."

David: "That is a particularly bold statement."

James takes a sip. Dressed in white board-shorts and a band-shirt, the 41-year-old hardly seems like the type who could afford a stay at this kind of establishment.

James: "These mountains are dope as hell though."

He turns around and shoots his cousin an inquiring look.

James: "You know, it scares me how well I know you sometimes."

David looks up at James, raising an eyebrow.

James: "When you came back, I instantly realized what had happened. I arranged this get-together anyway, and invited you, knowing that you'd come, even in this... state of yours. And long after your debut match, I know both of us will know that this meeting, this conversation right here, will have been pivotal in some way or another."

David, who has started staring at a couple making fun of each other in the main room, answers without missing a beat.

David: "You've gained quite an amount of clairvoyance in the time I've been away."

James: "Running a company as crazy and mixed up as mine does require a few unusual tricks up the sleeve."
He takes another triumphant sip, then walks over to the door.

Donkey Kong Country 2's theme song faintly peppers the background as some Top 40 hit or the other blasts from out-of-view speakers. James shuts the door, and all that's left is muffled bass thumps and random beeps at a very low volume. James grabs the chair from a nearby desk, swings it toward himself and takes a seat.

James: "So I assume what you're feeling must be close to culture shock."

He hands the whiskey to David.

David: "You're thinking of Transition Shock." He downs the rest of the whiskey. "And no."

James: "Listen man, I know you better than should be humanly possible." He reaches for the bottle of Wild Turkey on the desk. "To be honest; I was surprised it took you as long as it did to become... whatever it is you became. All that stuff happening and you not reacting at all... It was only a matter of time. But I know it's going to pass."

David: "You're kind of sounding like Mystique." He holds out the glass.

James chuckles and starts filling the glass.

James: "I don't want to sit here and be Mister Sunshine and Rainbows, but facts iz facts, Jack; you're gonna be fine. I've seen you go from living a normal life to dealing with the... with... you know, to losing your mind for a bit and stabilizing yourself. You've gone from hell to heaven and back again, so I'm sure whatever it is, you can handle it. Although I must admit... Grand Mystique being the catalyst was somewhat of a left-field situation."

David takes a sip as James flicks the top across the room.

David: "You want to know the real reason I wanted to give it another shot?"

James nods as he takes a swig from the bottle.

David: "I thought Mystique's... offer, was intriguing. Sure. But honestly, at first it felt like it carried no weight. After all I'd been through, I was just trying to live my life one day at a time. Return to the world. Or maybe find that... space... we all seek. Or whatever. But then..." He stares into the liquid. "Then two days later, he told me who my debut match would be."

James looks puzzled.

James: "Derek Jacobs? HE'S the reason you're returning?"

David: "No, no. But... when I knew the match was against HIM, something kind of... struck a chord."

James: "You know this guy?"

David: "No. I WAS this guy. I might BECOME this guy.

James' expression turns to one of frustration and puzzlement. He puts the bottle down. Literally, not figuratively.

David: "Mystique told me more about him. And I know he might be biased, but the things he said about Jacobs... His pain, his suffering, his loss... I've been there. I've been, eerily, almost EXACTLY there. The connections are staggering, and undeniable."

James: "Alright, there ARE some parallels. That stuff that happened to him at Ascension... I almost felt like you should sit him down and tell him it's all going to be okay. Like you were a version of him from the future."

The two cousins sit in silence as they both anticipate a Back to the Future reference, but nothing emerges.

David: "Go ahead."

James: "I couldn't think of one."

David nods slowly in acknowledgment as James chuckles.

David: "After meeting with Eli the other day, I thought about what he said... Everything's up in the air right now. He was right. I watched some clips, did my research, and... as I sat there and looked at Derek Jacobs, broken but determined, having gone through hell, fighting with every last breath he had and cursing The Sacrificial Altar, I couldn't help but feel like I was staring at a possible future version of myself. "

James' eyes widen, almost as if he's seen a ghost.

James: "WAIT YOU SPOKE TO ELI SILVER? THAT PUNK OWES ME EIGHTY-THREE DOLLARS!"

He looks legitimately distraught but quickly pulls himself together and takes another big swig of whiskey. He stands up.

James: "But yeah, it's one thing to look at someone and see a situation that reminds you of your past; it's a completely different thing to sit there and tell me you've seen your future. Especially if you think it's going to be bad and you're still walking straight into it."

David: "POSSIBLE future. Look, this whole Altar thing, I have no idea what it's about. Mystique wasn't exactly forthcoming, nor was he very convincing. But maybe that's just it." He looks up from the liquid to his cousin. "Maybe he didn't have to be. Maybe this road that's presented itself is... IT. My last hope, or whatever. Maybe I just have to accept that... this is how I make it back."

James scoffs.

James: "That's a whole lot of maybe for very few answers."

David shrugs and takes a big drink. His cousin does the same. They both take a few seconds to let the burn settle.

David: "This can't be a coincidence. The timing, the weird connections to Jacobs..." He turns around and looks towards the mountains, "and WZCW's going to L.A. in less than five weeks."

The silence that suddenly fills the room seems to overpower the outside noises, and reminds David of the abandoned church. He does not turn to his cousin, who is now very serious, nor does his cousin look at him.

James: "You know I've got your back. I'll be at the show. Whatever your role will be at the pay-per-view, I'll be there. But I am not going to see Tiff."

David now turns towards James and takes a sip, calmly.

David: "I never said you have to. But I do. Not just her, either. But she's a step. And L.A.? What are the chances."

The elder Whitman throws his hands up in mock celebration.

James: "Hooray for coincidences!"

A bit of whiskey escapes the bottle at the end of his motion, but nobody calls attention to this.

James sighs deeply, then looks at David, now almost desperate for answers. He leans on the desk.

James: "So... defeating Derek Jacobs is... the first step on your... road to... recovery, or whatever?"

They share a blank stare.

David: "I don't know what this whole thing is about. But in my experience, when life hands you a puzzle piece-"

James: "You make Puzzle-ade?"

David: "You take it. You examine it."

James: "And this is your plan? To examine Mystique's offer? To examine Derek Jacobs?"

David takes a few moments, and thinks deeply. Not about his answer, which will come naturally, but about his next move.

David: "To examine how The Sacrificial Alter, and, more importantly, WZCW, fits into all this."

David puts the glass down. He lies back on the bed and stares up at the empty ceiling as his cousin takes another sip from the whiskey and admires the far-away mountains.