JACKSON: the final/definitive bio

The Basics
Stage Name: Jackson
Real Name: Bradley Thomas Jackson
Former Nickname(s): The Dark Horse, The King of Pain, The Machine, The Mechanical Animal, That Rotten Bastard
Gender: Male
DOB: 4/13/1971
Age: 46
Birthplace: Rotterdam, Netherlands
Current Residence: Reno, Nevada

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Vitals
Height: 6'4"
Weight: 217 lbs
Hair: silver
Eye Color: hazel (greenish-brown)
Blood Type: O-

Past Injuries: knee surgery, concussion (multiple), gunshot (chest), broken nose (multiple), stitches (too many to count), ruptured disc

Physical Appearance: Jackson used to be a man of steel, known for his rock hard physique. Now in his forties and retired from the ring, he's a bit more relaxed with the workout regime although he's still quite fit. Permanent five o'clock shadow peppers his cheeks and chin while his arms, chest and back are covered in a myriad of tattoos.

Attire (Outside of Ring): Jackson doesn't really care about his appearance, despite formerly portraying a vain, egocentric asshole on camera. He wears what he wants, and unlike some others in the industry, doesn't feel the need to flash or flaunt his money. He earned it the hard way, and never forgets where he came from. Normally found in a worn out black tee and faded jeans and never without his jackboots or a mangled pack of stale Camel cigarettes kept in the inside pocket of his leather jacket.

Ring Attire: No flash, no nonsense. Jackson usually dresses in a pair of black Levis jeans and his black combat-style wrestling boots. Also has black elbow pads and black tape covering from second knuckle to forearm.

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Mindset

Personality: Once a moody, volatile prick who didn't care for the rules and preferred to make up his own, Jackson seems to have mellowed out considerably over the last year few years. He's no longer angry all the time. He's still an asshole, a foul-mouthed jerk who is more than happy to break someone who crosses him the wrong way – mostly just because he can. Jackson is a seasoned veteran with so many skeletons/demons in his closet he needed to buy a bigger house. Having battled and overcome addiction that plagued the better part of his career, he finally managed to hang up his boots on his own terms. The itch, though, that never went away.

Strengths: Well-rounded, Jackson is a cerebral assassin, capable of thinking on his feet, and adapting to his opponent. His power moves are well-honed and destructive, while he is just as comfortable locking on a submission hold or going to the top rope for an aerial move (although he takes to the sky far less now than he did ten years ago).

Weaknesses: Jackson is still moody, still bent on destruction. Sometimes he takes the violence too far. Jackson hates losing, and will do almost anything to ensure that DOESN'T happen. Since he's gone sober, he's also a hell of a lot more prone to injury. Because of this, he works a much lighter schedule than he used to, almost needing to take extra time to recover after each match.

Match Tendencies: He will cheat (if he has to). He will bend the rules (whenever possible). He will use weapons and try to injure his opponent. Anything he can do to ensure a win and make it out of the ring with the least amount of personal damage.

Backstage Tendencies: Antisocial. Doesn't make friends (deliberately). Hates sycophants. Loves to crash other people's serious moments. Enjoys snarking and riffing on others just to ruffle their feathers. Not really approachable or friendly (on the surface), although those who've known him long enough can tell when he's truly annoyed beyond that gruff exterior.

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Gimmick and Wrestling Stats
Wrestling Style: all rounder/striker
Years Pro: 24

Top Moves:
GRAPPLING/OTHER
gorilla press slam, DDT, swinging DDT, low blows, foot stomp, sucker punch, swinging neckbreaker, back drop driver, haymaker punch,
scorpion death drop, missile drop kick, double axe handle smash, elbow smash clothesline, Russian leg sweep, stomach breaker,
powerbomb, jawbreaker, piledriver, rope rake, football tackle, springboard DDT, brainbuster, European uppercut, Thesz press,
Beel throw, gorilla press drop/gut punch combo

SUPLEX
northern lights suplex, fisherman suplex, vertical suplex, release german, t-bone, belly to back, millennium suplex

GROUND/SUBMISSION
STF, iron cross, Mexican surfboard, crossface, kneelock submission, full nelson, sleeper, Indian deathlock, triangle choke,
scorpion deathlock, camel clutch, figure four, rear naked choke, elevated cloverleaf with a knee to the back

AERIAL
double axehandle smash, flying fistdrop **(rare)

Signature Moves:
(1) Carpe Noctem: Psycho Driver II
(2) Choke On This: mandible claw chokeslam
(3) #mybatislonely: (only when ref is downed or otherwise distracted) baseball bat to the head

Vintage Signatures:
(1) Ego Trip: legsweep faceslam
(2) Memory Lapse: Belly to Back Half Nelson and Chicken Wing Suplex
(3) Welcome To The Machine: Machine Suplex
(4) Head Trip: Burning Hammer (secondary finisher while working in Japan)

Finisher(s):
(1) Something Wicked: inverted double underhook facebuster (Killswitch/Unprettier)
(2) Therapy: Michinoku driver
(3) #DAMAGE: Steiner screwdriver 
(4) Darkest Hour: Inverted STF (SUBMISSON)

Theme Music: "Lies" by Evanescence (remix)



Most Up-To-Date Ring Intro: The lights dim, heavy mist filling the ramp as strobe lights begin to pulse slowly while the sound of rushing wind comes over the speakers. On the screen, a storm is brewing above a windswept desert wasteland. A dark point appears far off in the distance, growing nearer.

A voice screams, "he's coming! The dark horse is coming," over the sound of pounding hoof beats.

The dark horse charges across the desert, his nostrils flaring, foam dripping from his lips, a look of fierce determination in brown eyes that gleam reddish as the lightning courses across the sky. Suddenly the horse rears, letting out an enraged shriek that's drowned out by mocking laughter and Jackson's voice hurling insults before the music skips, and then the sounds of "Lies" by Evanescence filters through the speakers. The strobes shift to red and continue to pulsate on the entrance-way, revealing the unmistakable, heavily tattooed silhouette of a man.

The screen crackles to life again, showing heavy static that gradually fades to grainy and over-saturated footage of Jackson utterly demolishing various opponents interspersed with him either lifting weights or screaming obscenities into a microphone. Jackson stalks down the ramp with his baseball bat in hand, pausing for a second as he makes eye contact with the camera before letting a smirk cross his lips. Shaking his head, he climbs into the ring and immediately points at the camera before pounding his fist against his chest. Pulling himself up on the apron, he glares out at the crowd, holding his trusty Louisville slugger aloft to huge heat before stepping between the ropes and stalking towards the center of the ring. Jackson stands there, his head thrown back in a triumphant roar as the music comes to a grinding halt, cut off with a squeal of feedback.