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AerialKnight · **03-01-2015, 03:20 PM**

"With Lethal Lottery coming to a start, teams have been drawn and assigned to matches. No one wants to lose in the first round, but taking one look at their opponents can pretty much prove that they're not going to last very long at all. Case in point, TJ is stuck with Mastermind while I'm stuck with a man in a goat mask. I'm surprisingly lucky that I managed to get teamed with a shepherd on a roll, while the world's worst silencer and the master of none have been paired to try and take us down. Let's get the greetings out of the way, shall we?

"Hello, Wallace. How's that gang of yours been doing ever since you've disbanded with us? What's that? You three haven't done a damn thing since you met up? Reminds me of your time with Jet Frost. Whatever happened to that fucking loser, anyways? We haven't really heard from him after his loss to me and Swann, another man who I bet I'll be seeing sometime soon. The last time I heard from you before your attack on me was your brown pride match, which the Mexicans won, and the fatal four way match to be next in line for the Uni belt, which Lane won. Where have you been hiding after that? You showed your face after we beat Austin and some drunk ass whore, but that's it. What have you been doing in the meantime? Trying to teach Malik and Elijah to speak up more often and how not to get ran over by ice cream trucks? Valiant effort, but I don't think it will work out for you in the end.

Now what about your partner, Mastermind? I see he beat Peter Gilmour with the help of Tommy Gunn. Sure, I got help from him too during my first match against you, but that's only because I offered to train that kid to beat Gilmour in that Playground brawl. Guess who got their first victory over a grown ass man?"

Johnathan chuckles.

"Anything other than getting shot and beating the second biggest

in the entire fed? Not really, no. I mean, he visited the Doctor, but that only filled him up with false confidence and led him in the wrong direction. You know, like most psychologists do. Taking advice from D'Ville is like taking a giant spoonful of Samuels'

Flakes, which, let's face it, the senator has accused almost all of us for doing that already. Speaking of the Doc, he did most of the talking for you. You can't just let someone else do everything for you, you have to say something for yourself that isn't about why we should pity you. Oh, your mom's dead and you still couldn't forgive your father, boo hoo. Just wait until the cameras film them kissing and making up, folks, because you won't believe how staged it'll end up feeling.

"Better yet, tell me which moments are really genuine. I don't really think the XWF has access to time travel, so anything from his childhood years is staged by actors, or is at least animated. Oh great, now I'm sounding like Jesus and Justin. Oh well, at least this one makes some sort of sense, even with the capabilities of the XWF's cameras and crew. If that's being faked or if every other moment of his life is being recorded, how do we really know he's not bullshitting everything else in his life? That mansion he has? Nothing more than a set from an abandoned movie set, maybe. Him claiming to reside in New Zealand? A lie that managed to come true through insistence, probably. His parents? Possibly making millions on a currency that doesn't mean jack shit."

He shrugs in a manner that doesn't show ignorance, but possibility.

"Now let's take a look at your team number real quick. You're supposed to be team 7, supposedly the luckiest team in the entire card. If that's the case, you're fighting against team 13, the team that, if you're as superstitious as I believed, murders black cats and stomps down on the cracks in the cement for a living. We naturally counteract the luck both of us have going into this match, so any advantage you think you have instantly gets thrown out the window. Especially since I'm sick of the fucking shirts that my locker has been stuffed with every time Mastermind kicks out or picks up a victory. You know, MM, constantly making shirts doesn't make you a marketing hog. It just makes you annoying and fills up the sales booths with shirts no one in their right mind would buy. Do you constantly have to be reminded of who you beat and who beat you? No, that would be stupid!

Mastermind seems to think that, however. He likes to think that everyone would want a shirt saying that he's so fucking stupid, he can't remember who he beat unless everyone puts on one of his shirts. I don't think he realizes it's just as insulting for him as it is for his opponents. If he does, why does he keep doing it? Part of the mysteries of life, I guess."

The knight rubs his stomach.

"Damn, I'm hungry. All my money is in the bank, too. Thank God I can transfer money from other banks, otherwise I'd have to fly all the way back to Baltimore just to grab some pocket money. Look, I'll finish this up later, but for now, I just want to grab some food."

Johnathan places his hand over the Cambot and the scene fades out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We fade back in on the knight walking along the city streets for a nearby bank to use the ATM. He didn't really want to bother the receptionists for a withdrawal of twenty dollars. He has headphones over his head not to listen to music (because he didn't bring his iPod with him), but to prevent the voices from seeping out of his head. He also has a look of unease on his face, as if he knows that something, somewhere is about to go down, and it won't be anything good. He also seems to believe that something bad will happen at this bank, of all places. While he knows it's about as likely as a toilet from a rocket ship hitting him as it falls back down to the earth, he just can't seem to shake the oncoming dread of something happening today.

Nevertheless, he manages to make it to the bank's ATM machine without any problems. He swipes his debit card and enters his pin number, keeping a careful eye on the people around him. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a group of men in all black carrying sacks and guns of various sizes and firepower. They can be smelled from a mile away; it's like they haven't showered since they were born. They leave the door open wide for one of their group members, who happens to be in a wheelchair and, for whatever reason, shades. Once the handicapped thug wheels himself inside, everyone else follows, as if they appointed him as their leader for whatever reason.

The knight just keeps staring at the group in confusion, unsure if he should be laughing at them or if he should be doing something about this before things get ugly. The money is spat out of the machine a few seconds later. He folds it up and places it in his left pant pocket, all the while staring at the armed men.

"They're an interesting bunch, aren't they? Certainly dedicated to their mission if they didn't leave the handicapped man behind when they saw stairs. Never mind that, what are you going to do with them now that they've sneaked past all zero guards? Stand there like an idiot? Walk away like the coward you really are? Or will you do something foolish, but brave? Something that will cement yourself as the knight everyone has been waiting for?"

He says nothing, instead debating on what he should do next.

"You better hurry up, Johnathan, who knows how much time the people have left before they pull the trigger.

Gun shots ring out through the building and the outside.

"Apparently not much."

He jumps back a bit in surprise, wondering just what the people are robbing a bank for in the first place. Usually they want to spend it on big things, like a mansion or a collection of yachts. None of the people he's seen enter the building look like they're the ambitious type, in fact they seem content with where they are. Muffled screams can be heard from inside the buildings, all of which manage to snap the knight back to reality.

"Well? What are you going to do?"

"I'm unarmed! There's no way I can take them on like this!"

"You aren't alone, Johnathan. You have us, for one thing. If you'd just let us control you for this one thing and this one thing only, maybe you'll understand that submitting to us won't be so bad. After all, you are teamed with a satyr. What could possibly be more humiliating than that?"

The screech of tires can be heard just behind the knight. Stunned, he turns around to see a strange car parked just to his right.

"For one thing, that's more humiliating than the satyr itself."

The driver's side door pops open and the man of the hour is stepping outside, revealing BzzZZzZzZzZZzZZZzzZZZzZzzzzZtTTTttttTTTTTttTT

Just who is the man in that stupid looking car?

Why is he here?

Why am I asking questions you already know the answer to?

Stay tuned next time to find out!

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