Jackson woke with a start, blinking the sleep from his weary eyes. The mid-morning light pierced menacingly through the drawn blinds, blinding the "Charismatic Magnet."

Jackson huffed as he sat up, his head pounded and his body ached. His hip cracked like a broken hinge and he winced.

He didn't recognize the room, and was unaware of how he had arrived there.

Empty bottles littered the open plan kitchen, it's classy White decor stained and scratched. Broken glass and food wrappers decorated the lounge, while cigarette packets and other paraphernalia lay screwed and ripped on the floor.

He clenched his head in pain, rubbing the bridge of his nose, trying to fathom any memories from last night's Independence Day Rumble.

Nothing.

He switched his attention to the bed in which he was sprawled. The white sheets matched the simpliticly chic furnishings, and to his right..... He was not alone.

Jackson smiled, staring at the protruding arm. His eyes found it hard to focus, but he was pleased with his conquest. Under the sheets, she was still fast asleep, but he refused to wake her. He wasn't capable of conversation this early.

"What time is it?" he suddenly thought and looked at his watch.

13:30

He sighed, and felt a little bit of vomit rise up to his throat. He managed to catch it with his tongue, and swallowed. He needed a top up, and fast.

The girl beside him stirred a little, and Jackson froze. He hated the complication of the morning after, and hoped that she remained hidden under the blankets.

Jackson scooped himself out of the bed, and quietly collected his belongings. His attention was drawen to a half empty bottle of Budweiser, which he quickly supped down in a heartbeat.

However, with a cough, Jackson swiftly choked on the loose dog-end which had been floating in the beer. He wiped the nicotine taste from his lips and cursed. With a jolt, he remembered something from last night. It was hazy, and black and White like an old silent movie.

He was making his entrance, or more specifically, he was in a wheelchair being pushed by Alan. He rolled into some kind of pond, that would explain his soaking ring boots that were resting soggy at the bottom of the bed.

After that, it was blank for a while, the only other memory was watching the rumble at the side of the ring.

Jackson glanced back at the bed, where his female conquest remained, unmoving apart from the sheets rising and falling ever so slightly as she breathed. Jackson shuffled into the kitchen, his feet hurt with every laborious step. He searched the work top for pizza remnants, before opening the fridge in the feint hope there was drink still inside.

Bingo.

He pulled the wine out and stared at the bottle 'Chablis.' With a shrug he pulled of the cap and took a swig. "Wonderfully developed nose of stewed apples and cream", My Ass.

His cell phone unexpectedly began to ring, and he could here it chiming in another room. Despite the distance, his hungover ears felt like they were being raped with a razor wire dildo, and he longed for the ringing to stop as he desperately searched for the phone.

There it was, buzzing away in the bathroom toilet brush holder. Jackson swore again, wheezing again as he bent down to pick it up. The screen announced his agent Alan Redman as the caller. Jackson exhaled, and answered.

"Hey Al, Lis-"

"WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU JACKSON!!!"

Jackson winced, wrenching the phone away from his ears as Redman screamed at the other end.

"Al.....please....don't shou-"

"I'VE BEEN CALLING YOU ALL NIGHT!!!"

"Al......please....don-"

"YOU'VE GOT A MATCH FOR A TITLE AT UNDERGROUND AND YOU'RE NOT EVEN OUT OF BED!"

"Actually, I'm ou-"

"WHERE ARE YOU ANYWAY?"

Jackson panicked, looking around the room for some clue to his location. Peering out the window, he could see no landmarks, no road signs.

"I think I'm still in Washington." Jackson guessed, his guess was validated when he found a business card laying on a bedside table. "Donovan House Hotel, Washington."

Jackson could tell Redman was fuming.

"Washington?! You were meant to be on a flight straight after last nights show. Jesus Christ, what happened? I lost you after the rumble."

"How did I do?"

"What?"

"In the rumble, how did I do?"

"Are you serious?!? Listen, pack your shit and get to Dulles Airport."

"But, I have.....a guest" replied jackson, nodding towards the bed, despite not being in visual contact with Redman. Jackson smirked, and the girl moved around in the bed.

"I have to go Al, she's waking up. I'll call you when I'm at the airport."

With a click, the phone went dead and Jackson shoved it into his pocket. He stepped toward the bed, sitting on the edge where the mattress buckled beneath him. His brain continued to hurt, and he longed to crawl back underneath the sheets.

He patted the outline of the figure beneath the cover, and whispered gently into her ear.

"Listen, I gotta go lady, but uhhh...thanks for last night, I had a great time," Jackson assumed. "I'll remember this." He lied.

The figure grunted, and Jackson paused. It was a deep growl, like a tractor revving in a cavern. Far too deep for an attractive female. Jackson lifted the sheet, ever so slightly and peered below.

His eyes widened in horror.

He couldn't speak, he couldn't scream. Jackson could hardly breathe as he stared at the spiked Mohawk, and sleeping beady eyes.

The Cog lay, snoring.

"Ohhhhh....shit" Jackson managed to exhale. Panicking, he made for the door, stopping only to grab the nicotine flavored bud. The hotel door slammed behind him, and the scene faded with the sounds of Cog's content snoring.