Ichabod stands at the carwash giving his truck a foam brush bath. He is soaking wet with bathing the gargantuan monster. But the night is warm and it feels good to have the warm breeze cooled by the dampness of his clothing. As he is taking the last bit of dried ash of the headlights, he goes to grab the spray nozzle for rinsing.
~>in thought<~
A week before all the plans I've worked so hard to set into motion, and I stand here with a new loss under my belt. A loss at the hands of Jecht himself, the very focal point of my manipulations. But that is for another time. For now I must put to rest this upshoot of the old ELITE. A rag tag group comprised of some old and some new members.
B-pac's very involvement with these men compromises the entire group's safety. It is B-Pac's fault, not Jecht's that I am out of the King Karnage tournament, the chance to regain the crown that should have been mine for a year now stolen out from underneath me by the jealous hands of one B-Pac, the man living in Smokey's shadow. Now he would live in Jecht's shadow, because it is doubtful that he will not go all the way in the tournament.
And I have to wonder if B-Pac didn't take me out of the tournament because he was afraid of facing me once again. Sure, he's got his own stable now, but what damage can a group of holier-than-thou's do against a force of repressed stars? Not much. Elite is the very group that Forsaken set out to destroy. Triple X, Lax, and B-pac, three men, who in Lax's own words, are out to punish WOW.
Punish WOW?? For what? These men have had the limelight since their names were first penciled onto a card. Guys, it sounds to me like you are just trying to steal back some of the limelight that Forsaken has managed to tear from you. Forsaken is against the ways of WOW... we have been since way before you three thought about declaring your little cold war on it. You think that by pulling the same shit we are pulling that you can maybe stand strong on your pedestals, the pedestals from which Forsaken has already begun to pull large chunks of stone. We are chipping away at your legacies, and it won't be long before you all fall... not just you three, but all of the top stars. I've already managed to step down and take my place among the rebels, and now Elite thinks they can form their own group of berserkers to combat our growing power. Bad news guys, we are a few weeks ahead of you, and soon we'll be several ranks above you.
Some of my friends have already had a brush with gold, but those visits won't be fleeting, as soon every member will hold a title. At King Karnage the steam engine hits high gear when I take from your Triple X his chance at the WOW Championship. I'll show you what I do to people who try and steal my thunder... I believe it was B-Pac who warned of a storm... well, Pac, X, Lax, the weather man doesn't predict storms of our nature... only the colonial preachers of days gone by could foresee something like this. Only Moses before us wielded the power in his staff that we wield with our group. We, not you, are the plague of WOW, and the sickness will soon blacken the skin of WOW, with the boils and sores running poison puss out to choke you all. And like Joshua in Jericho, the walls of WOW will fall when I blow my trumpet.
The water has begun coming out of the nozzle a drop at a time, and a buzzer sounds, signalling the end of the wash. Ichabod replaces the nozzle in its holder, and climbs up into the truck. He starts the truck and roars off into the night, sending water and gravel against the walls of the wash, and knocking out a few fluorescent lights in the process.
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