Post by forgottengod on Aug 30, 2018 20:45:00 GMT -5
The wind's current crashed like a freshly made memory, invigorating senses long-since forgotten. The figure's silhouette changed ever so slightly from the air's tide, hair whisking forward ever-so gracefully on the wings of the transparent waves. The moonlight sparkled down the figure's back, hidden ever-so-slightly by the trees behind the figure, revealing very little about them, other than the fact that they had shoulder-length hair.
Faintly exits a breath from the figure, almost like a sigh, but more like a breath of relief. Their hair shifted as the wind died down, settling slightly as the form of their face moved upward, looking toward the sky. Another soft release of air and they spoke. Their voice was evidently deep, yet masked by the tone of a modifier.
“The dreams have fled. A reminder of the past brings back swift memories of the life previously lived among the Gods of the Ring. Greats like Nirvana, Rayn, Annika, Megan, Glenn, Gary Mac. All those of the past like Ice, Malinko, Icon, Aj Nin, Amp. We are the Forgotten Gods of the past, hidden behind retirement and regrets. None were too confident or cocky, yet still so sure we were immortal and undefeated. Rising to the occasion like the celestial beings we strove to be and often were regarded as. We were the kings of the new and old, rising to our monikers and devastating, even demolishing the new bloods brave enough to face us. We waged wars with the other Gods on occasion, just to test our will of power and remind or remake the vision of who controlled the top of the mountain.
“Yet we dwindle. The few that remain are tired and lacking, fighting and scratching to keep hold of the small semblance necessary to keep them relevant. We are losing our image as a conglomerate of titans, allowing the new age to replace us so that we may finally rest so that we may reclaim what will always truly be ours. As we age we never digress to a weaker form, only evolve to fit the surroundings ever-changing, prolonging our shelf life to limits beyond measure. We never fade. We merely take a short hibernation to allow those weaker than us to take a short reign in our absence. Nothing is forever, but our immortality still rings through the hallowed halls of the Towers that still remain.”
The wind blows again, shifting his hair once more, but he does not slow his speech.
“The fact remains that we all only slumber. We all rarely stay gone, waiting for the opportunity to strike, returning to the field of combat – renewed as the warriors we've built ourselves to be. Yet I look around and see or hear no acknowledgment to many of our accomplishments. We are fading from the minds of those we've built. We are no longer the beings that created the new breed, at least, not in the visions of those so brave to forget us. A return was imminent, their destruction inevitable. Hope has always been fleeting, yet they are becoming further willing to try and permanently replace us? Oh how the faith has risen to dangerous thresholds.
“To think we've given them the gift of a name, yet they have the audacity to forget who gave them such things in the first place. Little more than selfish ingrates if you ask me. Still, I am proud to see my former home still flourish. It thrives with the warriors we've aimed to build. We have amassed an army any being would be proud of, immortal or mortal. The reapers of the damned are now fighters of our own arena, the heroes of their own story ready to be taken off to Valhalla. The Valkyries swarm above, but I tell you this... they are servants of the Gods... so who is their prey?”
The winds dies down, allowing the shadowed lines to fall easily back into it's silhouetted mass. The man continues to stare off into the night, gazing at the stars glimmering in the sky. For a moment, you could swear the shadow was smiling.
~Catching Up~
It's been several years since her passing and I've yet to come to terms with it. Brain activity creating vivid dreams of my saving her from different threats, coming out of them with unexplained scars and mental torture, just to never wake to her beside me. How do I explain these scars? How do I explain to everyone that these marks were not self-made and are of random occurrence?
I've seen some doctors, I've had the sleep studies. They have seen me in still sleep and monitored me for days, finding different marks on my body each day. They could not explain these varying creations either. Then, one day, I met the man named Siler. The devil's incarnate. He explained to me that I have a rare genetic displacement that causes my dreams to become real. My brain creates an enzyme that delves me into an alternate reality where my brain interacts with my environment. What happens to me in these dreams happens in reality. If I die there, I die in real life.
Awesome.
Though I have been told my genetic makeup is rare and occurs in less than one percent of the entire human population, I have met another. His name is Vincent, he is my friend and he helps me with my battles. He lost his family and is willing to help me regain mine. I am forever thankful.
Xavier Anderson and his crew have also helped me with the process of grieving, having found themselves in different scenarios helping me on my quests.
All caught up? Good.
~Simply Talking~
“Would you look at this. Three idiots thinking they've got a modicum of a chance to become a contender for the Hardcore Title. The fuck do you kids even know about being a hardcore champion? I'm a former holder of the title. Hell, I've held every title this place had to offer in my stay here. You three are merely insects in my world. I've climbed to the top, I've been at the top of the mountain. I've defeated people you couldn't even fathom sharing a ring with and yet you'll be so brave as to take me on? Of course you will. This new generation is filled with naivety.
“I guess my first target on the list of mortals would be Jamo. Apparently he's seasoned and has had the privilege of being a title holder or contender or some shit. No one actually gives a single fuck about you whilst in my presence. I outshine you. I'm the one who will have the crowds attention while I tower not only over your bodies, but over your careers. You want to match records with records? I've held the SFT Championship multiple times. I've held the Hardcore title on different occasions, both when it was a twenty-four hour brawl and as a singles competitive strap. But you'll think you can defeat me. This isn't my first rodeo.
“No matter what you've done for this company or any others, it will always fall short of the things I've done for any and all I've ever taken part in. You're a cheap fight in an expensive match. You're just another statistic on the medical occurrences in the wrestling world. Do you not know what I could do to you with my bare hands, let alone a steel chair or a sledge hammer? Do you know the kinds of matches I've won or competed in? You want to live on the side of life we call hardcore? Allow me to open your eyes.
“I once competed in a triple-tiered cage match with a man named Gary Mac. He was one of the best, as sour as that rolls off my tongue to say, it's the truth. We were in a Fall From Grace match, a match of my own design, where the only way to win was to make your way out of the three cages and ascend a ladder to a championship, or incapacitate your opponent by throwing them from the top through the layers of tables. I did both. He was broken. After that match, he was never the same; a shell of his former greatness.
“And sure, this is just a small, boring, four corners match. Sure, there are few possibilities of making this match as exciting as possible. I'm not here for entertainment value. I'm here for the satisfaction of drawing a few pints of blood from your forehead or breaking your bones one by one or ten by ten, depending on my mood. I'm here to send all of you rodents back to hell and reclaim my position as a God. You think you can rise to the challenge and defeat me, Joma? You think you can get through three other competitors and live to fight a championship fight?
“Do you have the stones to put a man down when you have the chance or will you fall to my mighty hand? I guess time will tell, won't it?”
~Step into My World~
“Yo, Lionel,”
My attention turned towards him as he yelled out my name. Why the hell he was wearing a yellow sports jacket and sweats was beyond me.
“Hey, man. Siler and I been talking and I think we got a plan for our next jump.”
I turned away from him, uninterested.
“Dale,” I huffed out. “The dangers of dragging your conscience into my world are too high. Your brother was gifted with the soul of fire, allowing him a chance of sustainability in the new realm. You are not fit to walk the wastelands and your training has proven that it is fruitless. You have no abilities.”
“But Lionel,” he began to beg.
“No, Dale,” I replied in a roar. “It's been weeks and we've run into complications each time. I cannot risk your life or ours any longer.”
“Then I'll have Siler...”
“Siler will do no such thing!” I yelled out. “Siler has no power over my domain. You cross when I allow it. As for now, I see no such hope in that happening. If I feel your aura shift, I will then try once more to unlock any potential you may be hiding.”
Dale frowned and began to scratch the scar on his right cheek. Apparently it itched when he became frustrated.
“I'll go over your head then,” he remarked, grinning. “Vincent has no problem risking anyone's life on their own free will.”
I stood up.
“Vincent is of fragile soul, Dale,” I spoke out, stepping toward him. “You want to be the boss hog and try to override my ruling by using another key to the realm? Are you so hellbent on finding your hidden powers that you are willing to risk both your life and his? His powers may exceed many in the realm, but his soul was born through the fire of loss, mine is kin to his, but of brightness. You ask him if he's willing to risk a bout with me.”
“I would not,” he spoke softly, stepping forward from the shadows of the connecting hallway. He stared over his cloak at Dale, softly shaking his head in disapproval. “The wastes are a place of war and destruction. Though your will to find an ability is great and you wish to recklessly give your life to find it, I am not at liberty to grant such a request. You go when Lionel approves. I will make sure Siler understands the same.”
“But guys!” He seemed upset.
“My art is that of the blood, not of the heart. Your tears would bring no empathy from me.”
I smiled a little.
“Cold.”
~Error 404~
"Woo! A first stab from an opponent! I do believe I know of you, failed program, but you are lacking execution. I do indeed know Travis from, what I believe to be, was Boardwalk. He was decent, but I had never faced him. That part you are correct on. It was probably for the best, since most who have come face to face with me have fallen at my hands. Of course, there are those oddly elusive combatants... Annika...
"Or was it Miranda?
"That doesn't matter. My focus is primarily on you for the moment. I wonder what you think you can bring to the table with that mediocre shit you call a promotion. For example... what in the fuck can you do against an opponent that towers above you? An ass-kicking for me? I'd scoff at you, but I've learned that even the smallest of opponents can leap up and kick you in the rear. Hah. Tingly. You never really gave me any material to work with, aside from the from-the-hip cracks you can pull out from anywhere.
"You're hilarious...
"Let's be honest. The only thing you have going for you in this industry is a mildly entertaining and witty, yet somewhat polar attitude. You'll give the fans something to look forward to, I just fear it will be from your mouth not your actions. Only time will tell if you're line breaking or just a break in a line.
"Oh."
-Fade in to a list of Lionel's championship wins, sitting atop a coaster.-
"Look at that. My reputation, coasting."
~Through The Breach~
“Lionel refusing me access to my own destiny?” Dale grabs his jacket and slings it over his shoulders. “I know that Siler lacks the ability to transverse planes without the Aspect of the Devil, yet he's been known to travel to help Lionel as his shell. Either he has alternate access, or something is amiss with his actions. I'll figure this shit out.”
Tap tap.
Dale turns around to find Siler standing there, a hand wrapped around his back while the other taps his shoulder.
“I assure you, young man, you are not missing a thing.” Siler turned around and began walking, gesturing with a finger for Dale to follow. “It is true, I lack the ability to walk the different planes the others do. It is also true that I have other means of travel. I have no problem with you using the method I use to get there, but I must ask why you do not travel with one of those who can take you along.”
Dale quickly realized that Siler had yet to be filled in by Vincent and had missed the first half of his ramble.
“I just wanted to get some of my own practice in. As you know, I'm training to become a warrior of the wastes and have yet to unlock my power. I wanted to get some practice in to surprise Lionel with my progress. Is there a safe place to train in the wastes?”
Siler nodded as he continued to walk the corridors.
“I find the most peace in the Temple of Meditation. It's a small temple in the wastes untouched by the scourge that plagues the land. I often go there to relax my mind and sit in meditation. I suppose you could train there in the meantime.”
“You'd allow that?”
Siler nodded again.
“I don't see why not,” he replied, stopping in front of a bland, tan door. “Lionel has granted you access to far worse places, my friend, I don't see why I wouldn't allow you a safer area to train.”
…
“Just knock on the large cedar door when you are ready to return.”
Siler pulls a key from the chain on his shirt, placing it into the keyhole gently. He slowly turns the key and pushes the door open, revealing nothing but a blinding light.
“This is the pathway to the Temple of Meditation. You may train for as long as you wish. If you find yourself in trouble for any reason, either knock on the door or ring the temple's bell. It will call our friends to you.”
Dale gave a grin and bowed his head, walking forward into the light without hesitation. The door closes on its own.
Siler gives a grin and tucks the key back into his shirt, his eyes shimmering a light red.
“Hey Siler, have you seen Dale?” I asked from behind him, his eyes going back to a light gray. “I wanted to apologize to him for this morning and take him to the Ghost Town to see if we could get his potential to unlock.”
Siler shakes his head.
“I haven't even heard from him since Vincent asked me to revoke his rights to the wastes. I'm sorry, friend.”
I walked away and went to look for Dale. Siler grinned and walked the opposite direction.
~Oh have I Learned~
"I'd like to take a minute to talk about Mya. Sure, she has a reputation with Nirvana and I'm not one to write off a female at first glance. I learned never to do that with the Reizeger's. Still, I have to question her sanity if she had relations with the Midnight King. Honestly, if I were given any more details of that relationship, I might have to toss myself from a bridge. Don't get me wrong, Nirvana is a fallen God as well, but we've never worked in cohesion.
"Still, I know she's a crazy chick. She says so herself, but just how far off the edge must you go to find yourself in that spread? Who lost a bet? Did she owe money to someone? I need answers to this one.
"No I don't. Please don't share.
"Still. Crazy has found some form of success in Strike Towers. Look at me. I am not exactly the model of mental health in this establishment, but my crazy has standards! Just kidding, Jeff. Text me.
"In all seriousness, I'm only writing her off as a competitor because I have no idea who she is or what she does. Sure, as error boy pointed out, she thinks high-flying high-risk is technical, but maybe there is still some potential there? Not in this match. Again, the Reizeger's have taught me not to hold back against a woman. This will be no different. You will find yourself in immense pain come Titan's, young lady.
"Please. Don't kick the nuggets."
FADE.
Faintly exits a breath from the figure, almost like a sigh, but more like a breath of relief. Their hair shifted as the wind died down, settling slightly as the form of their face moved upward, looking toward the sky. Another soft release of air and they spoke. Their voice was evidently deep, yet masked by the tone of a modifier.
“The dreams have fled. A reminder of the past brings back swift memories of the life previously lived among the Gods of the Ring. Greats like Nirvana, Rayn, Annika, Megan, Glenn, Gary Mac. All those of the past like Ice, Malinko, Icon, Aj Nin, Amp. We are the Forgotten Gods of the past, hidden behind retirement and regrets. None were too confident or cocky, yet still so sure we were immortal and undefeated. Rising to the occasion like the celestial beings we strove to be and often were regarded as. We were the kings of the new and old, rising to our monikers and devastating, even demolishing the new bloods brave enough to face us. We waged wars with the other Gods on occasion, just to test our will of power and remind or remake the vision of who controlled the top of the mountain.
“Yet we dwindle. The few that remain are tired and lacking, fighting and scratching to keep hold of the small semblance necessary to keep them relevant. We are losing our image as a conglomerate of titans, allowing the new age to replace us so that we may finally rest so that we may reclaim what will always truly be ours. As we age we never digress to a weaker form, only evolve to fit the surroundings ever-changing, prolonging our shelf life to limits beyond measure. We never fade. We merely take a short hibernation to allow those weaker than us to take a short reign in our absence. Nothing is forever, but our immortality still rings through the hallowed halls of the Towers that still remain.”
The wind blows again, shifting his hair once more, but he does not slow his speech.
“The fact remains that we all only slumber. We all rarely stay gone, waiting for the opportunity to strike, returning to the field of combat – renewed as the warriors we've built ourselves to be. Yet I look around and see or hear no acknowledgment to many of our accomplishments. We are fading from the minds of those we've built. We are no longer the beings that created the new breed, at least, not in the visions of those so brave to forget us. A return was imminent, their destruction inevitable. Hope has always been fleeting, yet they are becoming further willing to try and permanently replace us? Oh how the faith has risen to dangerous thresholds.
“To think we've given them the gift of a name, yet they have the audacity to forget who gave them such things in the first place. Little more than selfish ingrates if you ask me. Still, I am proud to see my former home still flourish. It thrives with the warriors we've aimed to build. We have amassed an army any being would be proud of, immortal or mortal. The reapers of the damned are now fighters of our own arena, the heroes of their own story ready to be taken off to Valhalla. The Valkyries swarm above, but I tell you this... they are servants of the Gods... so who is their prey?”
The winds dies down, allowing the shadowed lines to fall easily back into it's silhouetted mass. The man continues to stare off into the night, gazing at the stars glimmering in the sky. For a moment, you could swear the shadow was smiling.
~Catching Up~
It's been several years since her passing and I've yet to come to terms with it. Brain activity creating vivid dreams of my saving her from different threats, coming out of them with unexplained scars and mental torture, just to never wake to her beside me. How do I explain these scars? How do I explain to everyone that these marks were not self-made and are of random occurrence?
I've seen some doctors, I've had the sleep studies. They have seen me in still sleep and monitored me for days, finding different marks on my body each day. They could not explain these varying creations either. Then, one day, I met the man named Siler. The devil's incarnate. He explained to me that I have a rare genetic displacement that causes my dreams to become real. My brain creates an enzyme that delves me into an alternate reality where my brain interacts with my environment. What happens to me in these dreams happens in reality. If I die there, I die in real life.
Awesome.
Though I have been told my genetic makeup is rare and occurs in less than one percent of the entire human population, I have met another. His name is Vincent, he is my friend and he helps me with my battles. He lost his family and is willing to help me regain mine. I am forever thankful.
Xavier Anderson and his crew have also helped me with the process of grieving, having found themselves in different scenarios helping me on my quests.
All caught up? Good.
~Simply Talking~
“Would you look at this. Three idiots thinking they've got a modicum of a chance to become a contender for the Hardcore Title. The fuck do you kids even know about being a hardcore champion? I'm a former holder of the title. Hell, I've held every title this place had to offer in my stay here. You three are merely insects in my world. I've climbed to the top, I've been at the top of the mountain. I've defeated people you couldn't even fathom sharing a ring with and yet you'll be so brave as to take me on? Of course you will. This new generation is filled with naivety.
“I guess my first target on the list of mortals would be Jamo. Apparently he's seasoned and has had the privilege of being a title holder or contender or some shit. No one actually gives a single fuck about you whilst in my presence. I outshine you. I'm the one who will have the crowds attention while I tower not only over your bodies, but over your careers. You want to match records with records? I've held the SFT Championship multiple times. I've held the Hardcore title on different occasions, both when it was a twenty-four hour brawl and as a singles competitive strap. But you'll think you can defeat me. This isn't my first rodeo.
“No matter what you've done for this company or any others, it will always fall short of the things I've done for any and all I've ever taken part in. You're a cheap fight in an expensive match. You're just another statistic on the medical occurrences in the wrestling world. Do you not know what I could do to you with my bare hands, let alone a steel chair or a sledge hammer? Do you know the kinds of matches I've won or competed in? You want to live on the side of life we call hardcore? Allow me to open your eyes.
“I once competed in a triple-tiered cage match with a man named Gary Mac. He was one of the best, as sour as that rolls off my tongue to say, it's the truth. We were in a Fall From Grace match, a match of my own design, where the only way to win was to make your way out of the three cages and ascend a ladder to a championship, or incapacitate your opponent by throwing them from the top through the layers of tables. I did both. He was broken. After that match, he was never the same; a shell of his former greatness.
“And sure, this is just a small, boring, four corners match. Sure, there are few possibilities of making this match as exciting as possible. I'm not here for entertainment value. I'm here for the satisfaction of drawing a few pints of blood from your forehead or breaking your bones one by one or ten by ten, depending on my mood. I'm here to send all of you rodents back to hell and reclaim my position as a God. You think you can rise to the challenge and defeat me, Joma? You think you can get through three other competitors and live to fight a championship fight?
“Do you have the stones to put a man down when you have the chance or will you fall to my mighty hand? I guess time will tell, won't it?”
~Step into My World~
“Yo, Lionel,”
My attention turned towards him as he yelled out my name. Why the hell he was wearing a yellow sports jacket and sweats was beyond me.
“Hey, man. Siler and I been talking and I think we got a plan for our next jump.”
I turned away from him, uninterested.
“Dale,” I huffed out. “The dangers of dragging your conscience into my world are too high. Your brother was gifted with the soul of fire, allowing him a chance of sustainability in the new realm. You are not fit to walk the wastelands and your training has proven that it is fruitless. You have no abilities.”
“But Lionel,” he began to beg.
“No, Dale,” I replied in a roar. “It's been weeks and we've run into complications each time. I cannot risk your life or ours any longer.”
“Then I'll have Siler...”
“Siler will do no such thing!” I yelled out. “Siler has no power over my domain. You cross when I allow it. As for now, I see no such hope in that happening. If I feel your aura shift, I will then try once more to unlock any potential you may be hiding.”
Dale frowned and began to scratch the scar on his right cheek. Apparently it itched when he became frustrated.
“I'll go over your head then,” he remarked, grinning. “Vincent has no problem risking anyone's life on their own free will.”
I stood up.
“Vincent is of fragile soul, Dale,” I spoke out, stepping toward him. “You want to be the boss hog and try to override my ruling by using another key to the realm? Are you so hellbent on finding your hidden powers that you are willing to risk both your life and his? His powers may exceed many in the realm, but his soul was born through the fire of loss, mine is kin to his, but of brightness. You ask him if he's willing to risk a bout with me.”
“I would not,” he spoke softly, stepping forward from the shadows of the connecting hallway. He stared over his cloak at Dale, softly shaking his head in disapproval. “The wastes are a place of war and destruction. Though your will to find an ability is great and you wish to recklessly give your life to find it, I am not at liberty to grant such a request. You go when Lionel approves. I will make sure Siler understands the same.”
“But guys!” He seemed upset.
“My art is that of the blood, not of the heart. Your tears would bring no empathy from me.”
I smiled a little.
“Cold.”
~Error 404~
"Woo! A first stab from an opponent! I do believe I know of you, failed program, but you are lacking execution. I do indeed know Travis from, what I believe to be, was Boardwalk. He was decent, but I had never faced him. That part you are correct on. It was probably for the best, since most who have come face to face with me have fallen at my hands. Of course, there are those oddly elusive combatants... Annika...
"Or was it Miranda?
"That doesn't matter. My focus is primarily on you for the moment. I wonder what you think you can bring to the table with that mediocre shit you call a promotion. For example... what in the fuck can you do against an opponent that towers above you? An ass-kicking for me? I'd scoff at you, but I've learned that even the smallest of opponents can leap up and kick you in the rear. Hah. Tingly. You never really gave me any material to work with, aside from the from-the-hip cracks you can pull out from anywhere.
"You're hilarious...
"Let's be honest. The only thing you have going for you in this industry is a mildly entertaining and witty, yet somewhat polar attitude. You'll give the fans something to look forward to, I just fear it will be from your mouth not your actions. Only time will tell if you're line breaking or just a break in a line.
"Oh."
-Fade in to a list of Lionel's championship wins, sitting atop a coaster.-
"Look at that. My reputation, coasting."
~Through The Breach~
“Lionel refusing me access to my own destiny?” Dale grabs his jacket and slings it over his shoulders. “I know that Siler lacks the ability to transverse planes without the Aspect of the Devil, yet he's been known to travel to help Lionel as his shell. Either he has alternate access, or something is amiss with his actions. I'll figure this shit out.”
Tap tap.
Dale turns around to find Siler standing there, a hand wrapped around his back while the other taps his shoulder.
“I assure you, young man, you are not missing a thing.” Siler turned around and began walking, gesturing with a finger for Dale to follow. “It is true, I lack the ability to walk the different planes the others do. It is also true that I have other means of travel. I have no problem with you using the method I use to get there, but I must ask why you do not travel with one of those who can take you along.”
Dale quickly realized that Siler had yet to be filled in by Vincent and had missed the first half of his ramble.
“I just wanted to get some of my own practice in. As you know, I'm training to become a warrior of the wastes and have yet to unlock my power. I wanted to get some practice in to surprise Lionel with my progress. Is there a safe place to train in the wastes?”
Siler nodded as he continued to walk the corridors.
“I find the most peace in the Temple of Meditation. It's a small temple in the wastes untouched by the scourge that plagues the land. I often go there to relax my mind and sit in meditation. I suppose you could train there in the meantime.”
“You'd allow that?”
Siler nodded again.
“I don't see why not,” he replied, stopping in front of a bland, tan door. “Lionel has granted you access to far worse places, my friend, I don't see why I wouldn't allow you a safer area to train.”
…
“Just knock on the large cedar door when you are ready to return.”
Siler pulls a key from the chain on his shirt, placing it into the keyhole gently. He slowly turns the key and pushes the door open, revealing nothing but a blinding light.
“This is the pathway to the Temple of Meditation. You may train for as long as you wish. If you find yourself in trouble for any reason, either knock on the door or ring the temple's bell. It will call our friends to you.”
Dale gave a grin and bowed his head, walking forward into the light without hesitation. The door closes on its own.
Siler gives a grin and tucks the key back into his shirt, his eyes shimmering a light red.
“Hey Siler, have you seen Dale?” I asked from behind him, his eyes going back to a light gray. “I wanted to apologize to him for this morning and take him to the Ghost Town to see if we could get his potential to unlock.”
Siler shakes his head.
“I haven't even heard from him since Vincent asked me to revoke his rights to the wastes. I'm sorry, friend.”
I walked away and went to look for Dale. Siler grinned and walked the opposite direction.
~Oh have I Learned~
"I'd like to take a minute to talk about Mya. Sure, she has a reputation with Nirvana and I'm not one to write off a female at first glance. I learned never to do that with the Reizeger's. Still, I have to question her sanity if she had relations with the Midnight King. Honestly, if I were given any more details of that relationship, I might have to toss myself from a bridge. Don't get me wrong, Nirvana is a fallen God as well, but we've never worked in cohesion.
"Still, I know she's a crazy chick. She says so herself, but just how far off the edge must you go to find yourself in that spread? Who lost a bet? Did she owe money to someone? I need answers to this one.
"No I don't. Please don't share.
"Still. Crazy has found some form of success in Strike Towers. Look at me. I am not exactly the model of mental health in this establishment, but my crazy has standards! Just kidding, Jeff. Text me.
"In all seriousness, I'm only writing her off as a competitor because I have no idea who she is or what she does. Sure, as error boy pointed out, she thinks high-flying high-risk is technical, but maybe there is still some potential there? Not in this match. Again, the Reizeger's have taught me not to hold back against a woman. This will be no different. You will find yourself in immense pain come Titan's, young lady.
"Please. Don't kick the nuggets."
FADE.
