Awful, simply awful. I sit here in this chair, staring up at the ceiling. No noise, no light, and no one is sleeping. I'm sure of that. The guard who I talked to earlier is sitting in an office chair, I can't see what he's doing. The other guard, whoever he is, is laying on the floor. His eyes are wide open, I can see that. My hands are sore as hell from how tight the ropes are tied to my wrists. They're actually bleeding, I can feel that. However hopeless the situation seems to be escalates every damn second. The guard who I previously talked to stands up and in his raspy, low pitched voice asks:

"Hey lady, you should get some fucking sleep."

What the actual fuck?

"I will when you do.'

He looks genuinely annoyed at my back talk. Without warning, he slaps me as hard he can across my face. I decide to have fun with him, a lot more than I thought I would in this wretched place.

"Ooh Yeah!"

He stops dead in his tracks, looking stupid with that confused look on his face. I look over and lick my lips, smirking as wildly as possible at the now mildly disgusted look upon the mercenary's face. He mutters something vulgar and rude under his breath. A slight giggle escapes my mouth as I continue to keep eye contact with him. For that I'm greeted with another strike, this time in the form of a closed fist right into my stomach. God dammit you asshole merc, this is too much fun.

"Keep fucking hitting me!"

He can't contain himself as he bursts out laughing. I start to laugh too, I guess my little way of fucking with him struck his funny bone too. He smiles and says to me.

"Kid, we might get along better than expected..."



I can't fathom what's been going on lately. Every time I'm in darkness, there's always this light that shines and lights things up. I look around, but I can't find the source. The dreams are getting worse, too. Way worse, I'd reckon. I can't even remember how they go anymore. I just know that there's more abstractness within the dreams. I mean, I remember bits and pieces of the dream, but not the whole thing like the other nights. That wouldn't be a problem if the dreams weren't so drastically different now. What I mean is that despite the same location and for the most part sequence of events, there are new events that happen one night, and disappear the next, replaced by another set of new events. It's getting way too hard to keep up with. I can't even remember the words at the end of each dream anymore. I only remember a select few from each. As of right now, those words are 'Answer Is Only Death True The.' God fucking dammit! Why is everything so confusing anymore? I haven't made any progress at all with finding what happened to Christine either. I can't remember if I've even asked anyone, really. Pull yourself together, Neil. Christine's life may be in danger, and you're here wondering what a dream means! You don't really think a dream is more important than your best friend's life, do you?! DO YOU?! I've lost it, I'm having mental conversations with myself. Or am i? The voice in my head that's keeping me focused on my dreams sounds nothing like me at all. It sounds, distinctly feminine...



"Monday, another day another set of bumps and a paycheck. This Monday's opponent is the Crimson Cobra. A man I said I respected when I talked about last week's tourney. Well Cobra, respect only gets you so far...

You got a match with Mark Flynn, not because you impressed enough to earn a shot at the champ, it was because you were so cocky that even good ol' Wallace What-The-Fuck over on Warfare wanted you to be embarrassed in the worst way. You can tell that by the fact that he used Mark Fucking Flynn to do it. Flynn's a man I respect, regardless of his thoughts on myself. In the end, you lost based on nothing and no one besides yourself.

On Monday you got a first round bye in the name of Bryan King. I lost to the man who later became number one contender. I think everyone knows who got the harder end of the competition last Monday. I'll give you some credit, Cobra. You almost had the match. You were so close! However, close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, not a wrestling match. So however close you were doesn't mean fuck all in the grand scheme of things. No one screwed you, Davis didn't screw Cobra. Mr. XWF didn't screw Cobra. Cobra Screwed Cobra.

That's just the way things are, man. You think your rage will help you defeat me? Are you really that naive? I'd expect that shit from XWF's easiest to annoy supposed talent, Bryan King. Not you, man. I thought you were better than that. You say a snake backed into the corner will do that same as someone who has hit rock bottom? If that's true, I imagine we'll have the same gameplan come Monday. I've hit rock bottom in terms of my quality of life long ago, and lately I've hit rock bottom in terms of sanity, man. That however, is implying I'm a stupid motherfucker. I will never come out with the same gameplan as anyone. By the way, keep Flynn on your mind. The more focused you are on him means the less you are on me. I'm no joke Cobra, but keep thinking I am."