Up in the skybox, above the entry ramp in the War Room, Smoke sits. Relaxed in the leather armchair used by the king during normal Warfare shows, Smoke sits with his feet up on the table, crunching away on some breadsticks while he watches the camera crew pack up after his 'interview' with Steve Sayors. The medical team have arrived and seem to be trying to get Steve onto a stretcher.

You comfortable there?

At the sound of that voice, Smoke quickly turns his head to face the guard that he had encountered down by the reception. Not reacting to this sudden appearance, Smoke takes a large bite out of his breadstick, before turning to look out of the skybox. From where he's standing, the guard looks too.

Quite a path of destruction you've got going on.

Smoke slowly chews the mushy mound in his mouth, still not giving the guard any recognition past when he had looked at him before. The guard sighs, walking over to the other seat, which he puts his hand on. Just as he does, Smoke puts his foot on the cushion of the chair. Still not turning, he swallows.

Sorry, authorized personnel only.

The guard sighs again.

I just wanted to apologise on my actions from last time.

Smoke looks at the guard again, an eyebrow raised to silently question his motives, thinking on how to act in response. He ultimately decides to lift his leg off, with the guard sitting down. Smoke turns back to face the medics on the ramp, but the guard keeps his stare on Smoke. The Predator takes another breadstick and starts loudly chewing.

Apologise?

Yeah. After what had happened I asked Shane what was going on, and whether or not you actually had any permission.

Was he mooing on the other end, to the sound of screaming women and children?

The guard looks shocked and confused.

...Yeah. How did you know--

Smoke shrugs.

Just a hunch.

Well, it turned out you were right either way, and that I shouldn't have jumped out at you. Next time it won't happen.

Smoke stands and rounds the chair, leaning his hand on the table while still eating his breadstick.

If I can get what I want by the end of the week then there won't be a next time.

...What... do you want?

Smoke shrugs again.

Many things. Revenge, for one. Revenge on Dean for costing me that last match. Revenge on Shawn Steele for walking out during the Lethal Lottery. Revenge on Gilmour for costing me my re-shot at the X-Treme Title. Revenge on Rebel for stealing my Title. Revenge on Nova after being the first person to beat me, even something as small as that.

Hatred goes a long way. It's enough to allow you to unleash power you never knew you had. It can dig up past transgressions and send you into a spiral of loathing and longing for biting back twice as hard. Hatred can transform you.

Hatred can transform you for the better.

Smoke chuckles and closes his eyes, thinking of an image.

And who knew all it would take was a simple matchstick, a single scratch on the side of a pocket-sized cardboard box, the twister of fire and ash that sent my world tumbling down. And the partnership that even I did not expect.

Smoke opens his eyes and slowly paces around the room. He is surprisingly calm considering the subject of which he is speaking.

But to answer the question of what I will gain from doing this; the answer to that is knowledge. The power of knowledge exceeds that of revenge, hatred and anger. I used to believe that ignorance is bliss. But had I not pursued this knowledge, I would have never truly woken, instead blindly going by my day cracking jokes and pretending to be likable. Now; I am doing things that I have only ever dreamed of, and all it took was to realise my true potential.

All it took was that simple matchstick.

Smoke sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

But as soon as that knowledge is in my holding, as soon as I know who did that act of pure stupidity, I will have to let go of this rage, this... power. I will be upset of course, but without fuel, what is rage - really? You can't have the hatred without the hate.

Smoke clenches that hand.

I want that knowledge so much. The choice between knowing and allowing this rage to bloom is not an easy one, but I must have that knowledge.

I must know. I have to know.

He stands there in silence, breathing in and out of his nose loudly, trying to remain calm after thinking about those events again. After a few seconds, the guard stands. Smoke turns, startled at the sudden movement after delving deep into his own thoughts.

Sorry, I--

The guard cuts Smoke off by raising his hand.

It's... it's fine.

The guard smiles, and it's not long until a smirk crosses Smoke's face.

By the way, Shane also mentioned that he'd like to see you.

Smoke's taken aback by this request.

See me? Do you know where he is?

The guard shakes his head.

All he said was to follow the yellow brick road.

Smoke shakes his own head and shrugs. He turns and leaves without so much as a word of warning. He gets to the door but stops.

Thanks.

He quickly departs before anything else can be said, making sure to slam the door on his way out.