"Ichabod" approaches the library with little caution at all. Libraries around here have no security guards. He stands at the entrance and stares at the door until a click sounds. "Ichabod" reaches and opens the door and steps inside. He walks to the left and sits down at one of the library's computer terminals. He stares at it for a minute and the monitor comes to life. As the computer boots up, "Ichabod" rubs his temples.
Richard Gazinya, depraved denizen of the adult film industry, you who brings pleasure to young teenage boys and disgusting old men. Are you proud of yourself?
You've led what you believe is a most interesting and accomplished life. You are the life of the party no matter where you go, am I right? Then I am the neighbor who watches listlessly from the window next door, having called the cops to break up your little party. The silent voice that whispers the deplorable words that bring end to your orgies of fun.
For far too long you lived in a shadow, and then emerging you've built an empire of sand, one that will easily be washed away with the first really determined wave. You yourself know what its going to take to bring you down. Every real champion knows his limits. Thats why the best tread carefully and speak carefully. But here you have misstepped. You tread now on unfamiliar ground hoping to grasp these beliefs about Ichabod and what you know of him. You know nothing of him, you know less of me.
The redneck spiel, the beer drinking, the accomplishments, the stereotypes, the enemies. None of this comes into play anymore. Trust me when I say Ichabod is dead. The only thing that still holds is his position, one that I will play to its fullest extent and manipulate for my own grand design. Until the day that you know this design, you are a fool speaking nonsense, and inviting destruction. May your accomplishments go before you into this match, for that is where they will remain, and from then on they will go behind you.
"Ichabod" focuses on the computer as it dials up and connects to the internet. Soon webpages flash before him and finally come to rest at WOW.com. He studies the roster and sighs as he comes across the names that he himself assembled, all now inactive.
So Ichabod fed all of you to the wolves I see. He let Elite tear you all from one another. Judas, Angst, Chad Harzy, Tim Gorder. Little do each of you know that you played your parts in my design, that Ichabod had nothing to do with it. But he let each of you burn at the hands of Elite. All except for my dear Chandra. But why has he kept you standing I wonder? All will come to light soon enough.
"Ichabod" focuses on the computer once more and it shuts off. He leaves the library on some unknown mission in the night.
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