OOC: I tried to make this image bigger here but could only succeed in making it a clickable link rather than embedding it - all the image hosts I tried didn't work as a preview here.


**Jack Cain sits in a poorly lit bar, face in a permanent scowl with both fists clenched. Largely deserted, in one corner two elderly men are in a booth, nursing frosted glasses of flat beer, the froth long since dispersed. In another, a single man sits with a hoodie, furtively stabbing at the screen on his smart phone with a shaking finger. An empty shot glass is to his right, drained only a few minutes ago as it waits to be refilled from the nearby vodka bottle. The only other occupant is a woman in a red dress, sitting in the far corner. She is naturally beautiful, but her makeup makes her look artificially so. She looks bored, and is hugely out of place in such decrepit surroundings. Her artificially enhanced breasts bulge out from the dress she wears, designed to draw attention to herself - only none of the men in the bar is noticing her. She stares at her phone expectantly, waiting for a text message that so far, hasn't arrived.

Cain, staring at the tall glass in front him, is taken by surprise as his own phone buzzes in his pocket. He removes it and reads the message**




**Cain grimaces to himself and places the phone back in his pocket. The woman, bored of waiting, walks over to him**

Buy you a drink?

I'm good, thanks.

What's that? Vodka?

Club Soda.

What?

Club soda.

Why the Hell would you come to a bar like this and order club soda?

Why the Hell would you come to a bar like this without a client?

Client?

The tits ain't for me, Statler and Waldorf or the junkie, so you either been stood up, or you got shitty taste in men darlin'.

**The woman frowns and walks away towards the two men in the corner. Cain takes a swig of the soda and places the glass back down on the counter. He stares into the camera**

Was probably a nice girl once. And with a bit of help, probably could be again. Just needs a bit of guidance.

That's what you do ain't it Doc - guidance? Try and help people on the right path, turn 'em away from the mistakes they made and could still make? Try and get them to understand the choices they make and steer them in the right direction?

Only, what's the right direction Doc? I'm curious to know. Everyone I talk to, tells me you're a genius. You're a smart guy, studies opponents inside and out, gets into their heads, makes people into fuckin' gibverin' wrecks without ever havin' to lay a finger on 'em.

I kinda admire that - the intellectual approach.

And if that's what you're sellin' Doc? Then, Hell, I'm buyin' wholesale.

I love the idea that you can get some poor prick like Blingsteen to shit his pants just with a couple a' words. And he is shittin' his pants, trust me - I've seen the CCTV.

Makin' scum like that into nervous little pussies is somethin' I'm on board with 100%, but I'm a little concerned that you might try that on me.

And I know there are some people here, like Nixon, Gilmour, Neville, and that bunch, who are thinkin' "You can't try that shit on Jack Cain - know why, cos he's too damned stupid".

Well I ain't stupid Doc. All of those jokers should know that - after all, I've beaten all of em, and the only one I didn't I chose to fuck up instead. Neville Sinclair is still pickin' pieces of glass outta his eye after last week.

And he'd say that I was stupid because I cost myself the chance of winnin' back the TV Title, but in truth Doc - and I feel like I'm pourin' my heart out to ya here, I hope you don't treat this as a chargeable session - I did what I felt like. I felt like smashin' his skull in. I felt like stickin' a whiskey glass in his eye. Is that wrong?

I also felt like beatin' the shit outta Nixon's Brock Lesnar Sex Doll. He'll be lucky if he ain't pissin' blood for the rest of his miserable existence. But when he's lyin' on the floor, screamin' his balls off, I felt really good, y'know? Is that wrong Doc?

That's the kinda therapy I need. Not some "were you abused as a child" mumbo jumbo. Just let me go out and kick the shit outta someone. That way I can get "better" - whatever the Hell that's supposed to mean.

Is that the type of therapy you can help with?

**The woman has now gone to sit next to the man with the hoodie. She flashes a smile almost as artificial as her bosom. The man continues to be preoccupied with his phone**

I mean Doc, will you let me kick you in the balls so hard you'll have to blow your nose to have an orgasm? Will you let me rip your small intestine outta your mouth, your large intestine outta your ass, and use it for a jump rope?

Will you let me punch you so hard your eyes pop outta your skull so I can stuff em down your throat so you can choke on em?

Will you let me set fire to ya so I can roast a marshmallow and then watch you scream while I eat it and not offer to roast one for ya?

I feel like those things would really help.

**The man with the hoodie is now having an animated conversation with the woman in red. Their voices are getting louder. Cain notices the man has grabbed the woman's left arm and is refusing to let go**

But then again Doc, I suppose the subtle methods are always the best. Take this broad for example. Nice tits, nice face, bit too much slap on her kisser, but still worth it if you have a few dollars.

She comes struttin' in here, all innocent like. But there's a truth she ain't tellin'.

But she could do with some of your help Doc. Cos she's on the wrong path. You could tell her the truth, a lot like I'm gonna.

**Cain walks over and slides into the booth next to the woman. He reaches into his jacket and grabs hold of something, then points the object, still inside his coat, at the woman's chest. Only now can the camera see that the woman's holding a gun to the man's stomach, and his arm is desperately trying to point it away from him**

Darlin' if you don't put that gun away, I'm gonna take the M1911 I've got in my pocket, stuff it in between those big inflatable titties of your and pull the trigger till it goes click.

**The woman looks at him with venom**

Joe here is a low level junkie, he probably ain't got more than ten dollars on him. Small fry for the likes a' you. I'm guessing Sam and Charlie told you to get fucked as well, course that's cos I told em all about you when you walked in the door.

Nice little confidence trick you got goin' on. Flash the bazookas then flash the piece? Might work in more upmarket places than this, but here? Here you're just another intellectual in a world'a base instincts.

Just like you Doc, this bitch here can try all the tricks in the world, to lull me into a false sense'a security, to make me think that there's nothin' to fear.

But deep down, you know, and I know, that there's plenty to fear from you. You're a dangerous man.

But so am I. I just don't have as big a rep as you do. but when it comes to messin; with people's heads, you'll find I can do just as much as you can.

Difference bein' you do it with your mind, I do it with my fists. Maybe Titjob here could benefit from an hour or two in the Doc's office?

Do you do reconstructive surgery?

**Cain grins as the woman puts the gun down on the table, then the audible sound of a hammer is heard clicking as the screen fades out**