Masses during the most well known and tragic riots of all time come to view. Clip after clip of people protesting, pushing, each escalating in lack of courtesy, then downright rudeness, hesitation followed by uncertain action, outright violence, murder, cruelty, genocide, and mass graves. A voices narrates the reel as it ticks along.

"The reach of the disturbing images and their meaning... still as potent as it was when each occured..."

A car bursting into flames with people inside, the moaning slowly turning into firey crackling.

"That is Burma, 1988. Three Thousand."

The black and white splotchy feed reveals Japanese troops firing into dense crowds made up of regular citizens.

"1919... Korea. Seventy-Five Hundred."

Next coming into view strict military forces killing indiscriminately.

"1948-1949, South Korea. Sixty Thousand."



The video stops, empty reel clicking repeatedly. The dim silouette of a man behind a white screen to focus...

"That was it.
Everything made sense to me.

Not the content of the presentation,
The nature of the people."

A chuckle from the deep voice mirroring that of the narrator.

"Outside of jealousies,
Around common practices,
Ground breaking, no less,
Movements beyond confidence."

He gets up, dramatic movements with each word and sentence as if a cartoon character.

"It wasn't about town and country,
The pain dwelling behind,
Every life they lost,
A new nail by which to abide...

No."

He wags his left pointer finger subtley then violently until a crack is heard. Keeling over moaning in pain, another crack and pop, he methodically turns back.

"See... for all of them, casualities,

Narrow eyes kept harrowing focus,
On how to fill a prescription,
When unwell, gloomy, or porous,
Success didn't depend on their diction."

He points off to the left, back down, and off to the right.

"Not one of a hundred colors in a box,
Earnestness defeated by militant talent,
Industrious in solitude,
And sounding sweeter to ears less defiant..."

The screen drops, the weathered sheeth over his head, view from behind. What little can be seen in the dark are the tip of smiling carved cheeks of a white mask.

"Their Medication was to lead,
Not a symptom of illness,
Some revolution bursting at the seams,
Blessings disguised as personal madness.
A way out to challenge someone,
Where anyone can be,
Instead of a real match...
Because you fear being dispatched..."

He turns around slowly as only his head and shoulders appear within lighting visible. The carved mask beneathe his eyes, over his nose, a permanent smile, bright white, brown sheeth covering the rest of his head.

"Every listening ear,
No matter what they came with,
Had their doubts realigned, daring masters,
Until they were vanquished."



His eyes begin to gleam as if the sun caused a glare. The screen rises again, with nothing on the other side. A dim transition on the screen vaguely shows 'Unknown Soldier' with text under reading... [A date of your choosing. Another Unknown One lost to the rubble and ruin.]

(10-17-2016, 01:10 AM)Unknown Soldier Said: "Hey, , you're welcome to meet me HERE 24 hours a day, seven days a week, 666 months of the year! Would someone please inform Batman here with his Edgar Allan Poe nursery rhymes how the Unified-Xtreme Championship belt works?!?! Any of you, literally ANYONE, can find me waiting for them to even fucking try. Just come on and try it, pussy! Try and take my title! Ghost Tank, you may not know him yet but you'll soon come to realize that he's the mother fucking biggest pile of shit in the entire XWF.

All he can do is sit back and envy my belt like a love struck little teenage boy popping his first erection. Still he refuses to try and pin me? So, come on BiTcH DoCtOr. Are you an even bigger pussy than Ghost Tank? Well, are ya? I guess will find out soon enough whether you decide to pin me or not. You better make the right choice here BiTcH DoCtOr, because believe me, if you look like an even bigger pussy than Ghost Tank then nobody here in the XWF will ever let you live it down for your entire career. The way your hiding off in the shadows stalking me like some kind of creepy queer and acting all strange is pretty similar to him. I mean, fuck, you even have that strange fucking eye staring at me like that douche does, so it wouldn't surprise me if some type of pussy ass bitch-like connection exists between the two of you."