I'm goin' feral. Straight fuckin' slapstick. Fuck it, the only weapons I use are claws. I keep the squad with me just so I can structure 'em myself before I Go Loud. Put me in the ring, I will solo your named Ultra and half their army like this shit was Armored Core. Haters say I lost my humanity, they lost their fuckin' lives. That's just the numbers. Yeah, sure, I got a handler, he handles the lawyers and I handle the opps.
I am them, I will continue to be them, last time I died it was from pulmonary thembolism. The fury within me would burst your body at the seams, punk. I'm hitting combat stims so heinous that I have to get organ transplants every six months. Occasionally I grieve for the person I once was; I do not have a punchline for that one. Smokin' straight existential horror, I do not fear death because I am ready to leave this life behind. Haters can't see my inner turmoil behind these Lux-Iconic Louis Vuitton antiphotonic trueblack shades, I got 'em avoiding eye contact.
This shit is everything to me, man
