"What are you, crazy?"

Ratboy demanded accusingly, his squinty eyes peering out at KnightMask from behind his long, crooked snout of a nose and the shadows cast by combination of his protruding, almost simian brow and the tattered hood of his ancient, grimy sweatshirt. He held "Bob," the lifeless rat whom Ratboy insisted raised him (and whose death he seemed ever unaware of), with one hand while he gingerly stroked his stiff fur with the other.

"Don't you think you got enough problems without getting in the middle of Agony and Neil Capra? Those guys are killers...you've got enough on your hands just dealing with that French guy! Although, that Frenchie is probably pretty intimidated after the hidden camera video of you tearing apart his cardboard stand-up was put on World's Dumbest Videos...I mean, cardboard cut-outs can't even feel pain and they never give up...and you still kicked its butt!"

KnightMask grunted out another rep of 315 on the bench-press and silently chastised himself for using the gym's CD player instead of his MP3 player (Ratboy had shut off his Stryper CD first thing as he walked into the gym, replacing with a CD of what he said was a collection of Bob's motivational speeches).

"What kind of thing is that to say?"

KnightMask grunted again as he completed his set and wracked the weight.

"I take time out of my busy schedule to try and talk some sense into you and all you've got are some sort of caveman sounds for me?"

Ratboy held Bob to his ear and nodded.

"Bob, you really should tell him that yourself...but you're right...he didn't even leave room for us on that bench. He just lay down across the whole thing, so I guess he expects us to just stand while we talk to him."

KnightMask thought back to all the times he'd seen Ratboy on the bench-press at SlamMaster's gym. He seemed to understand the concept just fine then.

“Well, if you‘re going to be rude, I guess I‘ll just leave. I don‘t need to be grunted at!”

KnightMask finished off one final press, mustering up whatever dwindling fires he could with the combination of no music and…well, Ratboy. He loved working out; his routine was almost sacred to him. Heck, right or wrong, it was sacred. His routines, his music, they were like rites. Or was that really what it was? It was more about what the music, the solitary struggle, the push off his muscles against the iron or the push of his will against his bodies limitations did to him, the way it ignited those sparks within him and fanned them into flames. He hated to poor water on those flames.

And he did need to work out.

But Ratboy, he needed a friend, didn’t he?

He wondered, crazy though Ratboy was, if he was as oblivious as he let on to the way people felt about him. Sometimes Ratboy bugged him so much that he was sure his annoyance was written all over him in gigantic, screaming letters, mask or no mask. People had a way of sensing those things, didn’t they? Even the crazies.

KnightMask sat up and scooted over on the bench press.

“Hey man, I don‘t think I ever thanked you for helping me practice my throws, especially the Flying Squirrel.”

Ratboy paused at the door and turned around. He tried to suppress his smile, but his happiness at being thanked for something was palpable.

“And thanks for your advice, too.”

Ratboy…and Bob…sat down on the bench-press next to him.

"You know, I hate to say it, but you've got what they call a complex. You run around, getting into other people's business, trying to play hero...getting into trouble...and suddenly, where's my career? Poof! Its gone! Cause now I'm spending all my time pulling you out of the trouble you're getting yourself into! You know, you need to meet Neil Capra's girlfriend. She'd be a good person to talk to. Her and Bob don't always get along, but she's great with advice and she gets results and that is the bottom line. Anyway, you know, around 3:30 AM or so me and Bob are gonna go get a bite to eat. You‘d be able to come with us if you didn‘t spend your check from the XWF on that Brazilian guy…and all because you‘ve got a crush on his daughter…I mean, look where it got you? You‘re not going to be able to go have dinner with me, too bad so sad, only yourself to blame. That‘s the thing, you have to know how to place blame or else you can‘t understand blame and understanding blame is what makes blame really blamey in the head. Bob taught me all about that back in middle school and he actually managed to do it without saying a word. It was amazing and I don‘tblahlblahblahblahblah...."

Wherever Neil Capra and Agony were, KnightMask thought, hopefully they had someone around to listen to them once in a while.