Ever notice that when life throws you a curve, when you really don't know what to do you'll usually turn to a friend to help you sort things out. For some people that friend is a person, for others the friend is a book or game and for some the friend is alcohol. To many people in the world the addage of "a party with Jacky, the good Captain and his buddy Jim" is too much of a reality. When your life comes crashing down around your ankles you'll find solice at the bottom of a bottle.

An undisclosed bar somewhere in Ancorage Alaska.

Shane Jackson is perched on a bar stool. On the bar, in front of him, sits an untouched rum and coke. He ordered it over an hour ago, when he entered, but has yet to even sip at it. His hands lay still on either side of the glass, Shane's head is bent over top of the drink, he stares down at his reflection in the liquid. Around him a group of bikers and Grizzly Addams type mountain men are playing pool and punching up songs on the old jukebox.

Shane: You want a fire Sterling? You want our fight to be the biggest burn at Epic? It will be. You want bright lights and glamour, you'll get it. You want an opponent that's going to fight you with every thing he's got, you'll face him. You've yet to see all my gifts, all my abilities. What am I offering at Epic? I'm offering you a fight that will make you a bigger name that you can imagine, wether you win or lose.

You made a point, Sterling, about me lacking confidence. At one point I didn't think I should be holding the PRO Title simply because I wasn't the one who won it, it was Rudiger. Drew and Sonic were the ones that set me straight. I have all the tools to hold the PRO Title, I have everything I need to hold it and keep it. I know on some level you're trying to intimidate me Sterling. You want to see me fail, you want to put me on the mat for good. It would propell your star skyward if you were able to raise the PRO Title over your head. You and the Cash Money Mafia would be the golden boys of the CWF. You'd be the definitive stable, the be all and end all of the wrestling world. Children would aspire to be you, women would fight to have you, men would work to be around you. You'd be the harvesters of gold and the bringers of fear. The Cash Money Mafia would set the standards and decide who gets to ascend to the top. Anyone that poses a threat to you you'll just assimilate and make them the newest addition to the group. I could sit back and let this happen, I can drop the title to you, Sterling, and then step out of the way and watch you take control of everything. I could do that, or I can fight. I may be fighting a losing battle, in the end, but it won't be for nothing. I won't make your road to the top easy. You may get past me but you'll never get rid of me. I'll always be around trying to balance the odds, trying to give the single wrestler a shot at bringing down your faction.

Before Shane can go any further with what he's saying a biker from the other end of the bar begins yelling.

Biker: FUCK! Where's something I can hit? You fuckers is lucky cause I've got my eye on poundin' that shit sitting at the bar.

In seconds the biker has moved from his position across the bar to within a few feet of where Shane sits.

Biker: You look like you can take a couple of good shots before I knock you out.

Shane looks up at the biker.

Shane: I've got no reason to fight you. My quarrel's with Paul Sterling. I don't have a desire to end up in a bar fight and be thrown in jail. Sterling would love nothing more than for me to miss Epic and allow him to prove what he's been saying about me. I deserve to be in this business, I fought an up hill battle to make it as far as I did. The world I know and the world Sterling knows are two very different places and I refuse to let Paul make his world become reality. He may be part of the future but he's not the whole future.

The takes a deep breath, gathers a wad of spit in his mouth, leans over Shane's rum and coke and drops a ball of saliva into the drink. Shane looks down at his drink, then pushes it away.

Shane: Thanks, but no thanks. I'm done.

Shane slides off his stool and turns his back to the biker as he heads to the door. A flash of anger crosses the biker's face. He reaches around the back of his waist and pulls out a 6 inch buck knife. He steps up behind Shane, puts his free hand on Shane's shoulder and draws the knife back, looking to bury it deep into Shane's side. It takes only a split second for the knife to drive it's self towards Shane's exposed side.

To be continued.......