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Manson 'The Martyr' · **10-16-2014, 08:43 AM**

The rain is pelting down on the front window as Manson grips the steering wheel of the car. He's driving pretty fast for such shitty weather. Poor visibility. He could crash at any moment, we wouldn't want that would we? No. Our story is just beginning. Besides, you wouldn't be able to see him at War Games. Well, me.

Manson is humming the tune to a depressing song on the radio, he's into that stuff. Anyway, back on track. He was driving back to the apartment. It's a trashy place but he calls it home. Smashed windows, the scent of old cigarettes and coffee stains on all the furniture. Oops, we haven't even got there yet! Why am I describing it? I never was a good story teller.

"Gein was never a good story teller."

Mickey swerves to avoid an old lady crossing the street. Bit late for an old hag like her to be outside eh? Street lights illuminating the narrow road leading to my parking space.

My parking space.

He gets, slamming the door shut before making his way round the back of the car. Opening the boot, he pulls out the cracked mirror that we saw before in the torture scene. He lifts it up onto his shoulder and hurries up the steps in front of the apartment. The rain was still pissing it down.After fumbling around in his pockets, he opens the door and we get inside.

Can I finally describe it properly? Thank you.

Rotten floorboards, cracked doors, wallpaper peeled off the walls, a light flickering on and off, a big puddle of water in the kitchen where there lied different knives, all blood stained and in an assortment of different sizes. The dining room table was a stack of cardboard boxes, the chairs were stools that he stole from a local bar. The fridge was empty, apart from an out of date bottle of milk.

Christmas decorations still were wrapped around the banister of the stairs and the living room TV completely smashed. Beer cans and newspaper lay strewn all over a damp carpet, that was stained with blood and alcohol. On the mantelpiece were Christmas cards that Manson all wrote to himself.

Ignoring all of this, he slammed the door shut and leaped upstairs, two steps at a time. Entering a small, unfurnished room with grey coloured walls, Manson hangs the mirror he had been carrying all the way from the abandoned warehouse on the wall.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall..."

What I struggle to understand is why I am being underestimated by Morbid's team. I am the guy who Morbid was willing to pay 5000 Xbux for. I am the guy who ended the career of Soviet Damage. We are the people who are going to win this Wednesday.

Venomous, you seem to think the only time I have appeared is on a screen. Do you not remember me climbing up that steel cage and placing Damage into a coma? You must have a pretty bad memory. Did some Iraqi damage your brain so badly you can't remember simple things like that? It was pretty recent.

You have NOTHING in common with me. Nothing. Maybe you have something in common with Mickey, but not me. You don't fear me? That's a first. I will see how much you will fear me in our match.

I will rip your fucking head off.

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode Mirror, Mirror on the wall.
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