First RWK Euro Champion
*After the intro to Precision ends and the program begins, the music of former Precision Champion and perennial fan favourite Jack Rogue sends cheers ringing through the arena*

*Rogue emerges from behind the LED board, dressed in his usual gear and tee, but without the Precision Championship that it has become customary to see him with. The former champion’s manner, as a result, doesn’t reflect his previous jovial attitude. He walks out rather than sprinting and looks aggrieved as the cameraman walks up to him. He smiles slightly into the lens and then sets to walking down the ramp. He looks around him at the crowd when he reaches the bottom, before rolling under the bottom rope and collecting a microphone from the timekeeper. He gets to the centre of the ring with a mixture of frustration and sadness on his face*

Jack: Ladies and gentlemen of Chicago, Illinois…

*The cheap pop is almost as uncertain as Rogue himself, who is devoid of theatrics and is acting like he is in the ring speaking because he has to, not because he wants to. He seems a little perked up by the response, but still doesn’t sound like himself*

Jack: So… this is the first time I’ve spoken to all of you, in this ring, since Duality. For those who are blissfully ignorant of events as I wish I could be, that night I lost to Will Neilson in the main event, losing my Precision Championship and the chance to be the figurehead to lead Precision out of the dark that has recently shrouded it, and into the light of the future. Will Neilson is the first ever Precision World Heavyweight Champion. Nothing can ever reverse that, it can never change, I can never do that. It could’ve been me but it wasn’t and I will regret it until I die. You’ve all, as ever, been wonderful and heart-warming with your messages of consolation. You praised my resilience in taking - what was it, three Kingdom Clashes and three Perfect Bullets? – before being pinned. I’m proud that it took everything Neilson had and more to keep me down, and by refusing to stay down for as long as I was lucid and even a bit longer I did one of the things I’m here to do. I was a role model, I set an example and, according to some of your messages, I inspired. I’m very proud of that, but being an inspiration isn’t all I work as a pro wrestler to do.

*Gazing all around him at glad recipients of that inspiration, Jack continues with slowly escalating fervour and bitterness*

Jack: I’m here to win, and at Duality I lost. That wasn’t because that fourth knee to the chin knocked me out, I’m a human being and the human brain can only take a certain force through the skull before it shuts off for a while. Me going down eventually was inevitable. No, it was because I didn’t do enough. Neilson kicked out of two superkicks, which was impressive, but he didn’t take anything like what I did and that was because he was a better wrestler on that night. I came to win, and I lost. In so doing, I failed in one of my greatest reasons for being here. One of the other large ones is one I’ve held ever since I overcame my inner demons and the influences of Hale and Vega. Since then, I’ve been out to prove that I can be best professional wrestler alive, out to make the 0-12 start to my career more of a footnote and less of a defining achievement. While I was Precision Champion I was doing that, at Duality I lost that title and so began to fail on that aim too.

*Jack sighs to himself, the arena has quietened in sadness so that his breath can almost be heard echoing*

Jack: Last week on this very program I tried to make my actions speak louder than my words in what could’ve been my comeback match, against Chris Young. Then the “Amazing Classic” came to play in a way that he hasn’t for months, and after similar repeated head trauma to what I took at Duality, I lost again. By virtue of that win, Young is in the Money In The Bank match that Trent Kingsley put me in last week, a match he has beaten me in before. Once again, it was my own inability to hit the shots I needed to that left me wondering about what should’ve been, could’ve been, and wasn’t. Exactly how I spent the first 18 months of my career in the big leagues. And at the end of all that, I nearly killed a man, spat on everything I’d worked for and believed in all that time, and descended into a madness that almost destroyed the real me. I can’t let that doubt return any more than I can let that feral destroyer inside my head back out of its cage. I feel secure that I can prevent that for now, but my doubts only grow the more I lose. I have to get back on the winning track this week or I risk that changing.

*The possible threat of Rogue’s ugly side returning causes boos throughout the arena, which Jack covers up by continuing hastily*

Jack: But this is where I ran into a problem. A bizarre set of coincidences around this week’s card meant there was no one in the locker room without a match, and no match suitable for me to be inserted to make a triple threat. The inevitable fact that not having me on the card wasn’t a major priority is a preview of the various prices of failure and proves that this business has no guarantees. And speaking of no guarantees… my solution to this problem is to offer an open challenge!

*The crowd pop suddenly and loudly, both out of relief that the former champion would be in action and out of excitement for the arrival of a surprise opponent. Rogue now smiles properly, pumped up by the people’s joy*

Jack: Yeah! Anyone in the back that can legally sign the match contract that’s back there, can walk out here and wrestle me right now. Are you ready, Chicago? Let’s go!

*Jack throws his mic underarm to the timekeeper, sits cross-legged in the centre of the ring, and beckons with both hands*
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Helo, dwi'n Gymry!
With the crowd on their feet and looking towards the stage in anticipation of the reveal of Jack Rogue's mystery opponent and with Jack Rogue's ass firmly planted on the ring canvas, looking on with curiosity, an unfamiliar and unusually gentle theme begins to play as the lights dim.

A good twenty seconds have passed and nobody has yet walked out onto the stage, leaving many - including the former Precision Champion - wondering whether or not there even is an opponent ready. At the thirty-third second mark of "Brothers In Arms" by Dire Straits however, a man clad in a sand coloured sleeveless cargo jacket that looks a size or two too big for him, dark grey and sand yellow camouflage trousers, a pair of black leather boots and a set of dog tags hanging from a thin chain around his neck. The man's eyes seem near vacant and almost tired looking, as if he's just woken up. He makes his way down to the ringside area in a pace that fits that of the music, keeping his head looking down at the ramp.

Ring Announcer: "And his opponent, making his Precision debut... Standing at six-foot, three inches tall and weighting in tonight at two-hundred and forty-one pounds. Fighting out of Cobb County, Georgia!... KYLE RAYNER!"

A mild applause can be heard from some polite members of the Precision Universe, however many remain silent, not knowing who this Kyle Rayner is. Kyle reaches the ringside area and slowly walks the steps onto the ring apron and enters the ring through the second rope. Jack gets to his feet and walks over to his corner, keeping his eyes on Rayner as he is unsure of whether to trust him or not. Rayner removes his jacket and drops it on the ringside floor with an employee from the timekeeper's area collecting it and taking it back with him to his seat. Kyle walks over to the corner opposite Jack as referee John Cone enters the ring to start the match.

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