I sat alone in my study, examining the remnants of my cloak. The beast had slashed it to ribbons, but I escaped unscathed. I took a glance at the time; 10:24. I set the cloak down, stood up and took a few steps toward one of my favorite books, 'The Art of War: Second Edition', a tomb known only by a handful through history. I sat back down, and began to flip through the pages till I reached the part I'd been looking for. "A warrior shall never come unprepared to a battle that is beyond a small scale skirmish. In all acts of violence there is no other weapon greater than thorough evaluation of the battle ahead. Albiet, some times the most powerful retalliation is none at all."

I sat the book down upon the table, picked up a martini glass filled with Cherry Kool-Aid. I gently shook it a bit in my hand, gazing up at the camera. "Frodo, young Freddie... So we meet again. First and foremost, I respect you for the defeat you served me. That most likely means little to nothing to you, just serving up a little slice of honesty. I've been trying to contact you via Twitter. I noticed you deleted all my comments. I guess the Truth Stings just a little too much, huh? Now, you're probably waiting for me to lambaste you regarding everything you've said about me in the past and recently. If so, I'm sad to say, but your words are beginning to fall upon deaf ears. Allow me to educate you on a little something. I am a seasoned vet. And you? You are a parasite. First you attached yourself to Peter, trying your damndest to get a reaction. Mission accomplshed. Alexandra? Same story.

"I'm where the trend ends. Sorry about your damn luck."

I slowly lifted the glass to my lips and took a quick sip, before licking my lips seductively. I placed the glass down upon the counter, next to the book.

"When you do address me, you take the Azrael path. Petty names, trying desperately to get a rise out of me. Sorry to dissapoint, but I've learned through books such as this one that giving in to bullying, name-calling and such only feeds people like you. Haters. I don't need your respect to know that I am one of the greatest competitors in this company. It's not bragging or gloating, it's confidence and Truth. I will not allow you to break me down verbally and emotionally.

"You say everything under the sun about how either I'm following you or that I'm below you, yet you do to me just as you did them. But unless you haven't noticed? I'm a different breed. I don't stop till the job is done. And I've taken it upon myself, just as Ally-cat did with me last year, to remove you from this company. And the best way I know how to do that is via dropping you directly on your pea-brained skull. When you can no longer step into a ring as an active competitor? I'll know my job is done. So you can choose to run me down or ignore me altogether, but you will not shake me. I'm not following you. I'm not stalking you. On the contrary.

"I'm a hitman. And I just so happen to have you in my crosshairs. It's not over between us, far from it. If I were you? I'd pray."

I stood from the chair, picking the glass of Kool-Aid up in my hand. I headed for the door out of my study, but noticed something. My Platinum Dynasty championship. A title I had high hopes for in the not too distant future.

I grazed my hand against the belt's shimmering face plate. I then flipped off the lights, the glow from the outside casting a shine to the championship. I walked out, and the camera faded upon the Platinum faceplate.


--cut--