Sitting at a less-than-homely bar was Jake Roman, his back towards the camera man as he was seen downing his odd mix of cranberry juice and Jack Daniels Faintly heard in the background playing across the cheap sound system of the bar was "Whole Lotta Love" by Led Zeppelin. The man with the camera walked slowly towards Jake, a collection of freaks and harlots walking across the camera multiple times. They gave the very formal camera man odd looks, but clearly the man behind the lens didn't mind. He took a seat right next to the Kid, filming Jake as he looked down at his empty glass. With a slight chuckle, Roman shook his head. He looked up to the bar and gave an ever slight upward-nod to signal that he wanted another.
"It's funny, man... they're sending cameras out here to try to document me. What's Jake Roman up to? What's on his mind? He's got a lot on his plate, maybe he bit off just a little more than he could chew." A full glass of the dark mix was placed in front of the barely legal drinker. Without a moment of hesitation, Jake took a couple chugs of his drink and let out the oh-so familiar sigh that came after every one of his drinks.
"They put Dion Necurat in front of me this week after he coincidentally gets jumped, like it's some sort of punishment. What Dion Necurat doesn't know is that no matter how many times he's been kicked to the curb and gotten back up, he doesn't know what lengths I will go to put him down. Not a lot of people know exactly who I am, but they keep sending crew guys like you my way so they can find out more and more about me. The cameras are on me, I can't even go to Lucky's without them sending someone to get my opinion on things. I'm here to give you facts: Dion. Necurat. Will. Fall. You think I should be intimidated by everyone's favorite in-ring general, but I'm not out here to be anyone's favorite or make some friends. I'm here to set the bar so high, that all your make-believe super heroes can't even reach it. Then maybe you and those fans will see how good I really am. But Dion was put as some sort of obstacle on my path -- my path towards shoving my boot so far down Salem Croft's throat, he's gonna mistake my toes for feces." Jake devoured what was left of his drink, and as soon as his eyes opened after the repeated sigh, it was obvious he was a little intoxicated. Not incredibly drunk per se, but he was feeling even more chatty and open about what was going on inside his mind.
"You wanna know why I went after Salem Croft?..."
"You needed the money?" asked the camera man. Jake erupted into a belly laugh.
"Almost! Almost... Freak, yknow he's a business man, he came up to me and said he had a problem and he needed it to be solved. He said that his whole back was itching, and he had reached every inch except for one little spot. Once I realized that itch was Salem Croft, you're damn right I decided to scratch it. Because Salem is a guy who counts his wins and losses, he's probably got it in a little diary at home that he tucks under his pillow. He's got a thick sense of pride that comes from very miniscule accomplishments, and with all these ignorant faces talking about how tough he is, he's let it go to his head... I bet every time he sees my face, hears my voice, he has that thought creeping in the back of his mind that he's better than me. I'm sure you, I'm sure the bartender, I'm sure everybody thinks that, right?... and once you see Salem have to be carted down the ramp and take five or ten minutes just for his caretaker to roll him into a ring, you're gonna realize I don't count pinfalls and submissions. I count on my ability to make impressions. To leave a lot more than physical scars on people's bodies, I thrive on people having to credit lifelong injuries to the day they thought they were better than me. That day is coming real soon for Salem if he lets his pride interfere with whatever intellect he has. Cause no matter how many wins he has, nobody is gonna remember them the day he loses everything to me."
