~It is better to keep silent and let everyone think you are an idiot, than it is to open your mouth and confirm their beliefs. Gian, you were silent until now, but now you have begun to get very superfluous, and you are being exposed, one promo at a time, for the fake, boring guy you are. You should have just kept your mouth shut, and maybe then you would still have respect.~

Ichabod shovels another pile of snow off the Monster. It isn't that the leviathon can't make it in the snow. He just likes it to be clear to show off. He doesn't want it to look like a victim, much like Gian looks like a victim with his stupid mask. He will be a victim soon enough though. He continues to make an utter fool of himself, speaking about things he doesn't know anything about. Ichabod opens the door of the Monster and climbs up inside. He fires up the engine and lets it idle loudly on the top of the parking garage. The echo around the garage is thunderous. Ichabod smiles at the raw power of his machine. The snow still drips off the bottoms of the other cars, as it is piled up at least five inches. Ichabod watches the snow melting and realizes its about as exciting as watching Gian's promos.

Gian, Gian, Gian, you are the very definition of an idiot. You say Dark Force isn't a religious stable, and yet you forget, or didn't pay attention, when Brimstone spoke the words of putting together the group for God, to punish the iniquities of the other people in this federation. These were the words he spoke, and no matter how much you deny them or regret you joined a religious group in hindsight, they are his words. Yet again, you are a proven hypocrite.

You consider yourself smart because you looked up my medical records. Bra-fucking-vo. Those records are as outdated as your lost soul gimmick. That back injury was sustained a year ago, and I was released to wrestle again eleven months ago. This means it wasn't a serious injury, if it only took me a month to heal. If you had gotten an updated medical report, you would have known that my most recent injuries were minor head injuries sustained at the hands of Ti Konflict, also not serious considered I was released to wrestle at the very next show. Way to go genius.

Gian, I feel sorry for you, I really do. After I tear you completely down, what will be left for you? Your past is fucked up. The present time isn't going so great with you constantly making a fool of yourself. And after you step into my ring, you might as well kiss your ass and your future goodbye. There is nothing I hate more in this world than stupid people, especially ones that act like little teenagers with a vengeful nature toward everyone. It makes me fucking furious to watch people like you wield what they think is power, and for other people to let you do it like you are important or something. You are not important to anyone but yourself and the Dark Force. Well la dee fuckin da! So you are important to a big group of self righteous hypocrites. Who cares? Who really cares about anything about you, Gian? No one, not even me. The only thing I care about is kicking your pathetic ass all over the arena on Sunday. And it will happen whether you like it or not, ya fuckin choad!

I know you will come back with the same old fucking story about no one caring about me. Let me ask you a question. If no one cares about me, then why the hell will there be a celebration when I die? You don't make a whole lot of sense when you say shit Gian. You always speak of fire and brimstone and darkness and nefariousness and twilight and night and evil and shadows and blah blah blah blah. No one gives a rats ass! No one cares if you are a tortured soul, no one cares if you had a fucked up past, no one cares if you are so messed up inside that you want to destroy me, Gian, NO ONE CARES! The only thing they care about is seeing me Bitch Thump the front of your face out of the back of your damn head, you piece of shit. Everything you say is gobshite. Everything you do is pointless. Your whole existance is meaningless. And soon everyone is going to forget the name of Azagrabble or whatever the fuck your name is. When you enter the ring, you enter a void from which you will never escape. Your tortured mind is going to reel as the flashbulbs slow down to thirty five second counts of your impending death. And each flash is punctuated by yet another blow from my arsenal. My arsenal, much beyond compare by any other wrestler in the business. Power house, technical, highflier, brawler, cheater, all of these describe me, but none of them describe me completely, as you will realize very soon. Oh and as further proof of your stupidity, when I said what is inside doesn't matter for a win, I didn't mean your knowledge of wrestling, I meant your emotions as far as the past. I meant your ignorance as it pertains to life. Maybe you should read a book once in a while.

Ichabod suddenly shifts into second. Tires spin in a screech of rubber on asphalt, sending snow over the wall of the garage, piling it on whatever was unlucky enough to be ten stories below his space. He tears out of the top level of the garage and heads out into the city.

-------------------------------------------------------

Ichabod stands on the edge of the dock looking at the choppy waves. Steve waits patiently at the other corner. Deidre stands behind them looking uncertain. Steve examines Ichabod. The weights he has tied to his elbows, wrists, knees, ankles, and neck are all securely in place and hang against his sides and ground. The coast guard had predicted water temperatures of 12 degrees that day.

I'm waiting.

Ichabod raises one of his arms as a signal. One of the ropes suddenly goes taut, it leads into the water. A boat out on the waves speeds off in the opposite direction. Ichabod is dragged into the chilly waters of the Atlantic, far out into the sea. The boat stops about 3/4 of a mile out and the rope is released. Ichabod swims hard, but not fast, considering the weights attached to his body. After about an hour of swimming, Ichabod has developed a pattern of swim/rest, swim/rest. Just as he reaches water above his head, the rope tightens again and Ichabod is dragged back out a little farther than the first time.

-------------------------------------------------------

Ichabod sits on the shore, soaking wet, shivering in the cold, but too tired to try to get to warmth. Deidre walks over and puts a blanket around him. He doesn't even move. Steve looks at his watch. They had been at it for six hours. The sun was going down in its early winter style. Ichabod watches the sun with intent. Deidre looks into his eyes and looks stunned. Steve looks over to see what it is. He looks pleased. The only thing he sees there is hate and anger. No signs of weakness, no signs of weariness.