It’s late at night somewhere in the southern hemisphere. The skyline is a smoky haze above Besty’s head but an educated guess may suggest it belongs to Auckland city. Besty is kicking a few cans around a deserted parking lot before turning his attention to the camera.

Good, you’re here. I was wondering when you’d start filming. Alas I must confess I have no intention of shooting a promo for the G1, lord knows that is already a lost cause. No, I am far, far more interested in sending a message to my favourite Revelry member, woody. Camera crew, I’ll give you a minute to make yourselves scarce.

Hurried footsteps can be heard echoing in the background of the abandoned car park, slowly transitioning into silence as the last of the crew members leave. Leaving Just Besty and the camera.

I do wonder sometimes, about the sanity of people who choose to confront me willingly. Moreover those who do so knowing what I’m capable of when said people piss me off, but in this shithole nothing surprises me anymore. Perhaps you thought this would be an easy victory against a man who’s struggled through the last month, faced every single piece of adversity thrown at him, been knocked down every single week, dealt with unfathomable amounts of bullshit, taken more L’s than the Kings - and yet, I’m still here. I’m still here ready to bury your ass under the rubble of my words, still here ready to maintain the hierarchy, still here ready to protect my reputation, still here ready to take you every step of the way in this war. I don’t care what the last few weeks has brought, I don’t know what the next few will bring but I do know I’ll be fucked if four cunts roleplaying the muppets are what end my career, let alone end my life.

See Woody, I’ve heard what you have to say and I can’t say I’m not intrigued. If you’ll be so kind to indulge me for a second while I divert to the philosophical In Plato’s theory of the cave several prisoners are chained to chairs facing a wall, unable to turn their heads.. Behind them are several puppeteers who cast shadows onto the wall which the prisoners are forced to face. It is from these shadows which the reality of the prisoners is created as they are unaware of the puppeteers who create these shadows. Ironically, you play both the role of the puppeteer and the prisoner Woody. Your persecution complex dictates a warped reality from which you place the blame at the world's feet for your own bad luck. But this isn’t where Plato’s theory of the cave ends, from here the prisoner is able to break free of these bonds and exit the cave and walk outside, where they learn of the one universal absolute truth. Congratulations woody, you’ve broken free of your mental shackles but to what truth have you awoken and at what cost? Yet this isn’t necessarily bad news Woody because as we know there isn’t one universal truth. Modern scholars such as Salvatore in “Collective vs absolute truth” suggest that there is a plurality of truths, much like Max Tegmarks four levels, so that instead of one narrow normative “truth”, several exist with their own outcomes which we will never know about. Yet this is where the good news ends for you Woody, because in all these different universes, with their infinitely unique possibilities and probabilities, there is not a single one where I give a shit about your dead Grandad.

If it’s sympathy you wanted then you have come to the wrong place. If you expected an ounce of empathy from me then you are as unprepared for this war as I thought. Your grandfather didn’t get the second chance at life that I got because he didn’t deserve the second chance I got. I’ve survived stabbings, shootings, tables, ladders and chairs, betrayal enough to last a lifetime yet have won more accolades than I know what to do with, i’ve fought for my day ones since I got here. Done all of this shit and more with a grimace and ruthlessness others can only dream of. I’m LLR’s gladiator, your granddad raised a shit eating cultist with a victim complex. If he was your father figure then he did a piss poor job. I hope your loved ones get to watch as I bury another member of your family because when I cut this branch off the tree I promise it won’t grow back.

Your fable ends here, the story starts and finishes, with me. You lost control of this narrative as soon as you attacked and so like any good story-teller I’ll end my tale back at the beginning. Rising.

Because that’s what I’ve done since day one,

Rise.