MD98: Barbosa vs. Triple X (Non Title)
- Thread starter Harthan
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doesn't know REAL wrestling...
SHIT: This one's extensive databanks has found a human expression that is relevant to their situation
*Seated on a folding chair, Barbosa stares off into the distance backstage at a WZCW house show as Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology stands near by continuing to talk about the negative results that had afflicted both members of BarboSHIT at Apocalypse.*
SHIT: Possession is nine tenths of the law.
SUPPOSITION: Neither Barbosa nor Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology retained possession of their shinies. Therefore neither Barbosa nor Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology are considered champions in human law. That means Barbosa is not alone in his feelings of loss, if this one could feel feelings.
*The manbot did not seem to comprehend that Barbosa was not listening to its musings and attempts to sympathise, lost in his own internal strife at what had befallen him personally and professionally at Apocalypse.*
Stupid robot.
We liked it better when it could not string more than five words together. Instead of existing to destroy, SHIT seemed to now to exist to talk incessantly.
And fail to comprehend the basics behind winning and losing.
It had lost its title. Barbosa's had been stolen.
STOLEN!
But that was not the only development to have affected Barbosa.
There was the latest in a long line of mental changes had befallen him - the one that saw them thinking in a single voice but unable to settle on a singular or plural.
Simultaneous unity of thought and division of outward expression - Dr Rivers would just love that.
Yet another mental development - one of partial integration no less. He would see it as immense progress.
If the doctor could actually see them right now.
Barbosa had SHIT to thank for that.
It was part of the reason why they still tolerated the manbot and had allowed it to engage in this one-sided conversation - it could be useful. That and the spectre of it being a future challenger to his title had been sidelined for the time being, replaced by half-bearded King waiting in the wings instead.
But what use was keeping an eye out for a cash-in if they had no title belt?
Although in a strange way, this one act of theft had presented Barbosa with the kind of incentive they needed; the kind of focus for their rage. Slowly slumping into a repetitive cycle of title defences could take its toll on even the most focused of competitors.
That kind of repetition had eventually done for the robot.
Thinking of which, what was it talking about now anyway?
SHIT: and next you face the runner up in the King For A Day match, a position that you yourself once held, XXX.
This one has attempted to find information on XXX but when Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology does so, it finds another level of security asking for this one's date of birth.
Even surmising that this one's Activation Day was required left this one facing a firewall that claimed it was too young to access information on XXX.
SUPPOSITION: XXX is a government spy!
Just as they suspected - the robot continues to talk insignificant rubbish.
At least now they could shut that rubbish out
Wait it was saying something that was eliciting an emotional response in Barbosa
SHIT: SUGGESTION: Use your match with XXX to re-enter the hunt of the KFAD briefcase. Defeat the Beard like you defeated Wasabi Toyota. Cash in to regain the WZCW title.
* Barbosa rises emphatically from his chair and seems set to square up to the robot but instead he simply walk around in a circle before then leaning over on the back of the folding chair he has only just relinquished.*
No, no.
This is not the time for such a confrontation.
Or was it?
Maybe
Just maybe, it was time for a change
For a message
SHIT: QUESTION: Is Barbosa upset?
*Without waiting for an answer to its query, SHIT continues.*
SHIT: If so, it cannot be with Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology for this one has not said anything that Barbosa does not already know.
*Barbosa finds his fists curling into a firm grip on the top of the chair.*
SHIT: If it is losing the WZCW to Ricky Runn then
*Before Barbosa knows what is happening, the metal frame is swinging
SHIT's photoreceptors recognise what is about to happen and its internal processors quickly switch into gear *
SHIT: THREAT IDENTIFIED! Defensive posture initiat
*But not quickly enough as Barbosa smashes his erstwhile ally in the face with the unfolded chair! SHIT staggers backwards from the force of the blow, perhaps only able to maintain its feet by the collection of cases and boxes nearby. However, that respite is extremely short-lived as Barbosa follows up with another chair shot to the sternum of SHIT. This drives the robot back further, far enough for Barbosa to rear back and land a venomous shot to the top of SHIT's head.
The ferocity of this blow, even with the reduction of the impact by SHIT's 'armoured' head, still leads to the manbot slumping against the nearest wall and sliding down to the floor. Such is the outpouring of rage, Barbosa is still not done as another vile chair shot connect with the side of SHIT's head and shoulder.
As the stricken SHIT comes to rest in a prone seated position on the floor, Barbosa's eyes light up even further as he recognises that his brutal attack has pierced the 'armoured' plating near the top of what would be SHIT's left collarbone.
Before the dazed and confused cyborg can throw up any kind of defence, the disenfranchised WZCW champion throws aside his weapon and leaps on top of the scaled humanoid, trapping its left arm with his own and begins to rain down a furious but precisely aimed barrage of elbows to the exposed area of the prone SHIT.
As the flurry of pinpoint blows reaches and surpasses thirty, the flailing right arm of the desperate manbot eventually manages to find Barbosa's face, which helps to slow if not stem the flow of elbows. However, Barbosa is quick to counter this intrusion, using his right arm and right leg to pin down this interfering appendage, leaving SHIT completely helpless as the barrage of elbows restarts.
As it passes fifty landed blows, Barbosa becomes vaguely aware of a shout coming from down the corridor but this does not deter him from continuing his assault.*
Hey! Get some help down here!
*Within a handful more seconds, several pairs of hands grab hold of Barbosa in an attempt to pull him off his quarry, but so pumped full of rage and adrenaline is the WZCW champion that they cannot budge him, although their interference does reduce the speed, accuracy and power of his calculated strikes.
Eventually, after passing three figures and landing one last extra hard strike to the battered mechanical torso, Barbosa allows the congregating mass of backstage personnel and officials to drag him off of SHIT. As he rises to his feet, sweat glistening on his brow and his lactic acid burned right arm hanging somewhat useless by his side, Barbosa looks down at the damage his attack has caused and the concerned and confused faces that have swarmed around.*
Stupid robot.
Barbosa did not lose the WZCW title.
It had been stolen from them; stolen by someone who had been proven their inferior; someone who needed multiple allies just to stay alive in a match with Barbosa.
Things would be different next time. Ricky would not be able to walk much less Runn away with his property.
And even if there the Powers That Be did not grant him an official 'next time', Barbosa did not need a specific time or place. He would force one.
But Barbosa was not stupid.
He knew he was outmanned with the Swaggers and if he thought for one second that SHIT would take this attack personally and abandon Barbosa completely, he would have chosen a different target for his rage - Backstage Bob, any number of deserving members of the roster or his next opponent, Triple X.
No, he had not consigned himself to shedding himself of an unwanted ally in the Scaled Humanoid - when it came down to it, Barbosa still recognised that SHIT could be useful. It had removed Dr Rivers from his back for the foreseeable future - at least until he got out of hospital anyway and there was little chance him being approached by someone from Mayfield until then as Rivers was too wrapped up in using Barbosa to further his own career to pass them off to another psychiatrist.
The robot would recover though. It had come through worse beatings before. Barbosa himself had doled out greater damage to it on at least two separate occasions. It may even forgive, if it was capable of such a thing.
But a message had been sent to WZCW; a message that right now was more valuable than backup.
He had not said anything during his 'conversation' with Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology, but his actions had spoken louder than any words he could have uttered.
The message reverberating around the walls, halls and corridors of WZCW would be "If this was how he treated his supposed allies when they angered him, just what would he do to his opponents?"
Just what would he do to Ricky Runn and his minions when the sheer mention of his name was enough to turn him into a raging monster?
We would see soon.
Meltdown 98 was only a few short days away and Barbosa was sure that Ricky Runn would not be able to help himself in coming out of hiding to show off his WZCW title belt.
He had no problem in admitting that his match with Triple X was something of sideshow this week but there was something satisfying about the timing of that and the stupid robot's mistake.
If they got their hands on Ricky Runn, it would definitely be worse than X-rated.
*Seated on a folding chair, Barbosa stares off into the distance backstage at a WZCW house show as Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology stands near by continuing to talk about the negative results that had afflicted both members of BarboSHIT at Apocalypse.*
SHIT: Possession is nine tenths of the law.
SUPPOSITION: Neither Barbosa nor Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology retained possession of their shinies. Therefore neither Barbosa nor Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology are considered champions in human law. That means Barbosa is not alone in his feelings of loss, if this one could feel feelings.
*The manbot did not seem to comprehend that Barbosa was not listening to its musings and attempts to sympathise, lost in his own internal strife at what had befallen him personally and professionally at Apocalypse.*
Stupid robot.
We liked it better when it could not string more than five words together. Instead of existing to destroy, SHIT seemed to now to exist to talk incessantly.
And fail to comprehend the basics behind winning and losing.
It had lost its title. Barbosa's had been stolen.
STOLEN!
But that was not the only development to have affected Barbosa.
There was the latest in a long line of mental changes had befallen him - the one that saw them thinking in a single voice but unable to settle on a singular or plural.
Simultaneous unity of thought and division of outward expression - Dr Rivers would just love that.
Yet another mental development - one of partial integration no less. He would see it as immense progress.
If the doctor could actually see them right now.
Barbosa had SHIT to thank for that.
It was part of the reason why they still tolerated the manbot and had allowed it to engage in this one-sided conversation - it could be useful. That and the spectre of it being a future challenger to his title had been sidelined for the time being, replaced by half-bearded King waiting in the wings instead.
But what use was keeping an eye out for a cash-in if they had no title belt?
Although in a strange way, this one act of theft had presented Barbosa with the kind of incentive they needed; the kind of focus for their rage. Slowly slumping into a repetitive cycle of title defences could take its toll on even the most focused of competitors.
That kind of repetition had eventually done for the robot.
Thinking of which, what was it talking about now anyway?
SHIT: and next you face the runner up in the King For A Day match, a position that you yourself once held, XXX.
This one has attempted to find information on XXX but when Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology does so, it finds another level of security asking for this one's date of birth.
Even surmising that this one's Activation Day was required left this one facing a firewall that claimed it was too young to access information on XXX.
SUPPOSITION: XXX is a government spy!
Just as they suspected - the robot continues to talk insignificant rubbish.
At least now they could shut that rubbish out
Wait it was saying something that was eliciting an emotional response in Barbosa
SHIT: SUGGESTION: Use your match with XXX to re-enter the hunt of the KFAD briefcase. Defeat the Beard like you defeated Wasabi Toyota. Cash in to regain the WZCW title.
* Barbosa rises emphatically from his chair and seems set to square up to the robot but instead he simply walk around in a circle before then leaning over on the back of the folding chair he has only just relinquished.*
No, no.
This is not the time for such a confrontation.
Or was it?
Maybe
Just maybe, it was time for a change
For a message
SHIT: QUESTION: Is Barbosa upset?
*Without waiting for an answer to its query, SHIT continues.*
SHIT: If so, it cannot be with Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology for this one has not said anything that Barbosa does not already know.
*Barbosa finds his fists curling into a firm grip on the top of the chair.*
SHIT: If it is losing the WZCW to Ricky Runn then
*Before Barbosa knows what is happening, the metal frame is swinging
SHIT's photoreceptors recognise what is about to happen and its internal processors quickly switch into gear *
SHIT: THREAT IDENTIFIED! Defensive posture initiat
*But not quickly enough as Barbosa smashes his erstwhile ally in the face with the unfolded chair! SHIT staggers backwards from the force of the blow, perhaps only able to maintain its feet by the collection of cases and boxes nearby. However, that respite is extremely short-lived as Barbosa follows up with another chair shot to the sternum of SHIT. This drives the robot back further, far enough for Barbosa to rear back and land a venomous shot to the top of SHIT's head.
The ferocity of this blow, even with the reduction of the impact by SHIT's 'armoured' head, still leads to the manbot slumping against the nearest wall and sliding down to the floor. Such is the outpouring of rage, Barbosa is still not done as another vile chair shot connect with the side of SHIT's head and shoulder.
As the stricken SHIT comes to rest in a prone seated position on the floor, Barbosa's eyes light up even further as he recognises that his brutal attack has pierced the 'armoured' plating near the top of what would be SHIT's left collarbone.
Before the dazed and confused cyborg can throw up any kind of defence, the disenfranchised WZCW champion throws aside his weapon and leaps on top of the scaled humanoid, trapping its left arm with his own and begins to rain down a furious but precisely aimed barrage of elbows to the exposed area of the prone SHIT.
As the flurry of pinpoint blows reaches and surpasses thirty, the flailing right arm of the desperate manbot eventually manages to find Barbosa's face, which helps to slow if not stem the flow of elbows. However, Barbosa is quick to counter this intrusion, using his right arm and right leg to pin down this interfering appendage, leaving SHIT completely helpless as the barrage of elbows restarts.
As it passes fifty landed blows, Barbosa becomes vaguely aware of a shout coming from down the corridor but this does not deter him from continuing his assault.*
Hey! Get some help down here!
*Within a handful more seconds, several pairs of hands grab hold of Barbosa in an attempt to pull him off his quarry, but so pumped full of rage and adrenaline is the WZCW champion that they cannot budge him, although their interference does reduce the speed, accuracy and power of his calculated strikes.
Eventually, after passing three figures and landing one last extra hard strike to the battered mechanical torso, Barbosa allows the congregating mass of backstage personnel and officials to drag him off of SHIT. As he rises to his feet, sweat glistening on his brow and his lactic acid burned right arm hanging somewhat useless by his side, Barbosa looks down at the damage his attack has caused and the concerned and confused faces that have swarmed around.*
Stupid robot.
Barbosa did not lose the WZCW title.
It had been stolen from them; stolen by someone who had been proven their inferior; someone who needed multiple allies just to stay alive in a match with Barbosa.
Things would be different next time. Ricky would not be able to walk much less Runn away with his property.
And even if there the Powers That Be did not grant him an official 'next time', Barbosa did not need a specific time or place. He would force one.
But Barbosa was not stupid.
He knew he was outmanned with the Swaggers and if he thought for one second that SHIT would take this attack personally and abandon Barbosa completely, he would have chosen a different target for his rage - Backstage Bob, any number of deserving members of the roster or his next opponent, Triple X.
No, he had not consigned himself to shedding himself of an unwanted ally in the Scaled Humanoid - when it came down to it, Barbosa still recognised that SHIT could be useful. It had removed Dr Rivers from his back for the foreseeable future - at least until he got out of hospital anyway and there was little chance him being approached by someone from Mayfield until then as Rivers was too wrapped up in using Barbosa to further his own career to pass them off to another psychiatrist.
The robot would recover though. It had come through worse beatings before. Barbosa himself had doled out greater damage to it on at least two separate occasions. It may even forgive, if it was capable of such a thing.
But a message had been sent to WZCW; a message that right now was more valuable than backup.
He had not said anything during his 'conversation' with Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology, but his actions had spoken louder than any words he could have uttered.
The message reverberating around the walls, halls and corridors of WZCW would be "If this was how he treated his supposed allies when they angered him, just what would he do to his opponents?"
Just what would he do to Ricky Runn and his minions when the sheer mention of his name was enough to turn him into a raging monster?
We would see soon.
Meltdown 98 was only a few short days away and Barbosa was sure that Ricky Runn would not be able to help himself in coming out of hiding to show off his WZCW title belt.
He had no problem in admitting that his match with Triple X was something of sideshow this week but there was something satisfying about the timing of that and the stupid robot's mistake.
If they got their hands on Ricky Runn, it would definitely be worse than X-rated.
BK Styles
Certified Nerd
*SMASH*
*THUD*
*CRACK*
*THUD*
*CRACK*
Talia tentatively makes her way up the stairs into the penthouse, cautious of the variety of noises that were inconsistently bursting out. She opens the door into my office, just as an expensive lamp is thrown across the room into the wall right next to her. She flinches initially, but continues in. The table, with its notebooks, laptop, papers, amongst various other items were now upturned, broken and scattered around the place. Pictures from the wall were broken, and several fist-shaped indents and holes had been punched in the cream walls. She looks up and sees me, standing there in black jeans and a black t-shirt, with my fist firmly planted in one of those holes, with a small trickle of blood rolling down to the ground. I remove my fist and look at my knuckles; there isnt as much blood as I believed there would be, but a small pool of it begins to form in between the fingers of my clenched fist. The pain has yet to manifest, but I wouldnt care if it did. Im too overcome with rage to worry about pain.
Pain is temporary.
Bad phone interview, huh?
I never liked this room. I speak casually, as if shed walked in on me doing my taxes. I walk over to the overturned chair, underneath which there is a box of tissues. I grab a handful and apply pressure to the wound on my hand, and let out a heavy sigh. I mean, what does a guy like me need an office for?
Talia walks over to embrace me, but I move before she has chance to. I walk over what used to be bits of my office, stamping on the laptop and smashing it in two in the process, and leave the room to enter my lounge. The room is as youd expect; a couple of sofas on one side, an armchair on another, a 52 Plasma Screen television (I dont go in for that 3D crap) on the third, and a cabinet with a sound system atop on the fourth, with a glass table in the centre. In the far left corner is a glass cabinet of the two belts I have claimed in my time in WZCW; the Elite X Championship I won off of Steven Holmes, and the Eurasian Championship that it took going through Rush and Mason Westhoff to claim.
Im sorry it didnt work out X. She throws her cream jacket onto the sofa and slides her hands over my shoulders, wrapping her arms around me.
What do you mean?
King for a Day.
No, I know you mean that. I turn around and check my hand. The blood has dried up, leaving a lovely red crust on the skin around my knuckles. I place my other hand firmly on her hip as I stare at her.
Just that you didnt win, is all.
I smile at her and plant a kiss, before drawing her in for a hug. Talia, its okay. It worked out perfectly.
How??
Who won the match?
Beard did, but-
Exactly. Beard did. Blade didnt. I cost Blade a shot at the WZCW championship, just like he cost me a shot when he injured me. That was always the intended outcome, and it was achieved.
But he then-
I know what he did. My tone is sharp; sharper than I intended. I attempt to soften my demeanour. I got a bit rosy-eyed at the thought of the contract. To be virtually the next guaranteed WZCW Champion. But I set out on a mission, and as much as I want the title, I want Blade more. I want him to suffer more. I want to rip apart everything that makes him who he is more than I want anything else.
I walk over to the championship cabinet and look at the spoils that sit inside. Many would kill to have half of what I have. I look upon them as nothing more than disappointment.
I dont need a briefcase to be guaranteed of my shot. Blade delayed the inevitable. Ill break his body and his spirit and move on to whoever that champion is. Be it Barbosa, or be it someone else.'
Talia smiles as she reciprocates the kiss from before. Youre already my champion.
That sentence makes me wanna vom.
Too much?
A little, yeah.
I smile at her and pull her in again, wrapping both my arms around her. Thank you.
No problem.
No, not just this. For everything.
She simply smiles back. Youre welcome. She takes my beat-up hand and looks at it. Just a cut. Nothing serious. Ill get a bandage.
She leaves the room and I look back at the cabinet. As much as I tell myself otherwise, I know that not winning King for a Day is definitely an opportunity missed, but I also am fully aware that it is not one lost. Even so, this was my third chance to gain an opportunity at a World Title shot. Steven Holmes. The Gold Rush tournament. Now King for a Day. The last two shared one deciding factor, and I will not stop until I fulfill my mission to eradicate that factor.
My desire to destroy Blade goes beyond the need to wrestle him. That I have no desire to do. Instead I want to hurt him. To torture him and make him pay, and see him where he belongs; in a cell. But now, I even get to use him as a stepping stone to greatness along the way.
Good things come to those who wait, after all.
A Few Days Later
I open the door and glance around the gym; light pours through the filthy windows onto the boxing ring in the corner, with a scattering of various exercise machines, weight benches and all sorts in front. Its a few days from Meltdown 98 and I know my opponent for the big event.
WZCW World Champion, Barbosa.
Truth be told, I know little of him. Our encounters are few and brief, and he isnt the sort of person I would actively seek out for conversation. He unnerves me. Multiple personalities. Mental instability. And a skill set good enough to stop anyone in their tracks. Hell, he was good enough to take the title from David Cougar. But surely if a whack-job like him can be champion, there should be no stopping me.
I throw my bag down by a punch-bag, and begin to unleash hell. Even with a period of time to think it over, the King for a Day loss still hurt. Well, not the loss as such. But the manner of it. Losing is never easy, at all, but you can accept it and move on, learning from your mistakes as you go. But I cant do that this time, not when I know Blade is responsible for my loss. Theres no accepting it. Nothing redeeming about it, other than another reason to end him. And end him I will.
I think back to the World Champion. The match itself is non-title, but a win puts me right in that upper bracket of people who are in the line for a shot. Easier said than done though. He could submit me, he could knock me out, he could drop me on my head, or e could beat me in a whole ton of other ways. But he wont.
I wont let him.
Well, bloody hell.
I sop punching at the familiar British accent, and turn around. My old independent wrestling buddy, Dave Red Redfield stands in the ring, staring. Hes in baggy shorts and a sleeveless shirt, with red MMA gloves and kickpads. I approach, not knowing what to expect. Faith had made her position all too clear, and I could only imagine where Frank and Mom stood. Dave however hed always been there for me. No matter what.
I hop onto the apron and enter the ring. Red slowly extends a hand, to which I reciprocate.
Good to see you.
You too, buddy.
He notices the new tattoos on my hands. Theyre new.
Had some time off. Got some new ink.
Fair enough.
It isnt the warmest of responses Ive ever had, but it certainly isnt at Faiths level. Red smiles and walks over to his kit-bag in the corner, pulling out a pair of black gloves.
Its been too long, Xander. Lets see what youve got.
I smile and hold my hands up. Youre the guy who practices MMA. I just kick and hope for the best.
Seems to have worked for you so far. Come on mate. Youre not afraid, are you?
He drops the gloves at my feet. I look down at them, and even I can feel the smile grow across my face. I show off a bit by kicking the one glove into the air and catching it, before picking the other up and putting them on. The guy Red was training with drops out of the ring, and I raise my fists as we circle each other.
So he says, before throwing a couple of playful jabs that I easily dodge. this Blade thing.
What about it?
Well he continues circling. Im not exactly that fond of the Irish, and Blade has never done anything to change my opinion of that
Red throws another right-handed punch at me. I sway to my right, and plant a kick on his left shin. He grimaces, but is immediately back in full focus.
but I dont want to lie about my opinion.
Red I begin, throwing a pair of my own jabs his way. Honesty is one of the things Ive always looked for with you. Just say it.
Okay, Alex. He says, before laying in a jab/haymaker combo, the latter of which I manage to just miss. I think youve gone too far. The guy hurt you in an accident. I can still understand wanting revenge, but Christ, wanting to end his career? Calling the police on him? Im not sure its all necessary
He lazily goes for another haymaker, but I duck and swing for his head with my foot. My attempted roundhouse is ducked, and greeted with a cold stare from Red.
Youve never had a serious injury, right? Nothing like a break, or separation. Have one of those, and tell me how you feel towards the bastard who caused it.
Point taken. He backs off slightly, before throwing more punches at me. A few body shots hit, but I avoid most. Okay, so whos your next match?
Barbosa.
See? A little MMA training should help you out then.
Im not sure Id count this as training. I finish the sentence with a few low kicks to Reds legs, before sneaking one into the rib section. The match itself will be a good practice, though.
For what? He goes for another punch, then stops, breaks out of his stance and looks at me. Oh, so thats it. You take out Blade, and then set your eyes on the prize, right?
Thats one option.
No shit. Youve been telling everyone how youre here to piss off the fans and all that other bollocks but really youre just playing everyone for the title, right?
That isnt-
Course it is you dozy twat.
And what the hell would you know?
I know you.
You knew me. Who I was. Im different now.
Not by much-
But enough to make a difference. Do I want to be champion? Absolutely. But I mean what I say about the fans, and becoming their champion is the ultimate slap in their face. I get to rub it all in and say I fucking told you. And I plan on doing just that when the time is right.
And until then?
Theres a roster full of screw-ups who think that theyre the fans heroes or antagonists. I have plenty of things to keep me occupied.
Red just stares at me for a moment, before he begins to laugh.
What?
Just this. You. Youre so serious. So cold.
I told you. Im different.
Not completely though.
How so?
Well Before Red finishes, Im off the ground and he has me locked in a kneebar, to which I immediately submit from. Red lets go and beats me to my feet offering me a hand.
You still dont mind your surroundings.
I laugh and take his hand, allowing him to help me up.
I may not agree with everything youre doing, but I still care. And Im still here.
Means a lot. Really.
He smiles, and turns away for a second.
And youre not so different either.
'Hows that? he replies. He begins to turn around, and as his eyes catch me, he sees that Im halfway through performing my X-Rated superkick to his face. He ducks it and hits the ground, only to see my leg still coiled, waiting to strike.
You still overreact to everything.
I offer him a hand and help him up, and pat him on the shoulder before exiting the ring and heading over to the punchbag again. I take a look at it, visualising Blades face, then Barbosas. I kick the bag square in the area I imagined the faces, and continue to stare and kick relentlessly at that same, blank spot.
- Status
