Mirthless laughter rolls out like crackles of lightning.

 

“I explained it as clearly as I could, just like he was a man of reason, but he didn’t get it.”

 

Another rough peal of laughter, and an arm slaps the armrest of a familiar brown leather chair.

 

“He just DOESN’T. FUCKING. GET IT!”

 

*SIGH*

 

Jeff Andrews leans forward. The top of his head has just enough stubble left on it that it doesn’t reflect the light well. His arms are on his knees, his head down. The important green and yellow mesh John Deere trucker’s cap sits in front of him, on a coffee table.

 

“I was... y’know, I was hoping for more. Because, honestly, how complicated is it when I say ‘the fact that I’m here is all the proof you need that I care’? It’s - not - hard. It’s really not.”

 

“But he just keeps saying that I think showing up is enough, and I can yell til I’m blue in the face but I don’t think he’s gonna get it. I’ll have to beat it into his fool head and maybe even then, who knows if he’ll get it.”

 

He runs his hands over his head, smoothing back the hair he doesn’t have any more, then sits up, looks directly at the camera.

 

“So, sup Vossman.”

 

“I was just sittin’ here, in my comfortable armchair, making my frustrations known to those who care.”

 

“But, who am I kiddin’. This is about you, man, you and me. But mostly you. And just like I was tellin everyone for a minute there, you just don’t get it. And so I’monna explain a few things all calm and careful like, disregarding the fact that if you were lookin to piss me off, you did a fair job of succeedin.”

 

“Now you keep making cracks about me being Eric Dane’s lapdog or something, and I’m not up for spending a whole lot of time on that subject, cos god willing it’ll be me and Dane face to face in the finals and then we can discuss the intricate ramifications of the Eric Dane/Jeff Andrews relationship. Until then, lemme just say this - my position is not to beg for Christmas bonuses. I hand them out to people who beg me for them.”

 

“But enough of that now.”

 

And, as per the usual, Andrews reclines back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head.

 

“Let’s start with this, get started properly and all. Summer Games 2007 - see, I just told you what the thing was called, you yet again accuse me of stupid bullshit that I never even said - if Summer Games 2007 was a high point in my career, it was a very, very ironic one. The thing about that, it wasn’t a tournament anyway either it was a survivor series, get it right, the thing about that was the chain of events took me to the destination I wanted anyway.”

 

“And the point of all that, was to try and explain the failed logistics of your little spiel about redemption. You don’t know how to go about it, man, and I’m tryin’ to tell you.”

 

“Me, I’ve tried to be the hero, and I’ve tried to be the villain, and after a while, I came to a conclusion.”

 

“I don’t need to force myself into a white hat or a black hat. My green and yellow trucker’s cap is all the hat I need. All I have to do, is go out there and be Jeff Andrews, let the chips fall where they will, and just concentrate on that. On being me.”

 

With a smile, Andrews leans forward, seizes the hat and dons it, tipping the brim back.

 

“No matter what you think, no matter how many false points you glean from my words and throw back at me, the one thing I’ve never suffered from is a lack of love for wrestling. Frustration, and burnout, they both happen, but there’s a difference between stepping aside to work on something else for a while, and just not having the heart to show up. And there’s a difference between not having the heart, and knowing when to pick your battles.”

 

“So you can scoff at me all you want when I say I don’t work if I don’t want to, but maybe if you’d been a little more like me, and picked your battles instead of being a deliberately indiscriminate raging maniacal asshole, your family wouldn’t be receiving death threats, and you wouldn’t be in the position to need a desperate scramble to the top at the ripe old age of 30.”

 

“Seriously, I looked it up. So many kids in the business and I’m used to being able to throw out the Get Offa My Lawn routine when I need to, but in this tournament, I’m middle aged at best, and you’re downright young.”

 

Andrews pauses here, as though he lost his train of thought. He looks up, rubs at the stubblefield that is his chin.

 

“I’m, honestly, still used to only thinking of interfed belts as World Titles. But you wanna be technical, Defiance promotes its belts as World Titles, and I was one half of the most successful Defiance World Tag Team Champions, just a year or so ago. Three defenses. Me and my girl, Heidi Christenson. Cancer Jiles knows all about how that happened, cos I squished him with the Ultraglide.”

 

“HE REMEMBERS THAT.”

 

As though he has to raise his voice to get Cancer Jiles’ attention, or as though Jiles doesn’t remember it, and loathe the moment, every day.

 

“But I’ll have many a chance to deal with Cancer Jiles, won’t I? I’ve only got this one shot to straighten your shit out, Justin Voss. And you?”

 

“You want me to be the bad guy.”

 

And with that, Jeff Andrews stands up.

 

“You want me to back you straight up to that ledge and give you that fateful push that sends you spinning down, down, down, ever so far down, to a dark oblivion, or to shining glory if you can will yourself to reject the darkness in your last hour.”

 

“And I’ll do that for you.”

 

His eyes wide, Jeff pounds his chest with one finger.

 

“I’m pretty good at pushing people over the ledge, y’know. I’ve made a career, Voss, out of infuriating the stoic, and bringing wrath to the placid. If that’s what you want, man, I can do that for you. I’ll be your angel and your jinn, brother. But there’s just one thing that it seems you didn’t plan for, my main man.”

 

And now he smiles, his eyes wide, a little too wide.

 

“If I push your ass off a wall, you’re the one who gets to climb back up. And if Oblivion claims you, and it’s J. Leslie Voss I see coming back up that proverbial wall, staring up at me, that just means the gloves are off. There is nothing, man, NOTHING he could do to surprise me. And there is nothing that I could do to him that I’d feel bad for. I curbstomped my own girlfriend’s face into a turnbuckle bolt, I helped Kai Scott destroy the CAL and Eric Dane destroy the WfWA. I’ve smashed bottles over people’s heads, spat in the face of promoters, dived headfirst into a pack of fans just because I love the feeling of my body flying through the air, wiping out some poor shit who got matched up against me.”

 

“They called me the King of the Bittermen, cos I was the surliest, angriest, toughest man in the ring. They called me the Cross-Wired Time Bomb, because I wasn’t just primed to go off, but I could go off over absolutely anything, or even nothing. I got no fear of J Leslie Voss, he couldn’t show me a damn thing.”

 

Andrews’ breath hisses between his teeth in a long, drawn out sigh.

 

“But that’s not what you want, is it? You wanna go the holyman route with me. Try to take my worst, suffer through it, and come out with your win in hand and your redemption still in sight. Well shit man, you still just had me push you off a wall, and that means I’ll still be standing atop that wall, grinding my boot into your fingers...”

 

And he stomps his boot-clad foot down on the floor in front of him, twisting it, his teeth bared in a smile that’s not a smile at all.

 

“...and laughing in your dumb fucking face! You self righteous, sanctimonious, phony cocksucker!”

 

Looking down at his clenched fists, Andrews slowly relaxes, but the fire doesn’t fade from his eyes.

 

“Redemption is not easy. Redemption is not something you’re going to get by asking me to do the stuff I’d... scaled back. Redemption isn’t something you’ll know you’ve found until later, Voss, maybe years later. And the funny thing? From personal experience I speak...”

 

“If it’s redemption you want, you’re better off losing.”

 

“Redemption is not generally found in wrath.”

 

“Redemption is not generally found in self righteousness.”

 

“And redemption is certainly not found in provoking the King of the Bittermen into beating the absolute fucking hell out of you.”

 

“I repeat.”

 

“Redemption is not found provoking me into beating the hell out of you, you stupid son of a bitch.”

 

“You getting bounced out of the Ultratitle Tournament in Round 2 is the only thing that’s found in that.”