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Gears

Gears

There’s an electric hum in the air as the event draws near. People rushing back and forth, scrambling here and there. Referees and stage hands preparing everything for the onslaught brimming just around the corner. The fans will filter in, preparing for some absolute bloodshed. And last but not least, the wrestlers will come together. Clashing, sparks will fly to the roars of the audience.

All of these pieces come together to create something spectacular. But this creation has it’s flaws. Instead of flowing through, every gear runs into another. Staff have to clash with ravenous fans. Referees must dodge and wind from the wrestlers, who themselves clash again and again. Grinding against each other creates such a myriad of color in the sparks, but it has it’s costs.

For each spark tears a new part off. The sparks start to light the inner workings in the machine. Tearing holes, causing fires. It becomes only a matter of time before it all starts to crumble down, crashing in a fiery blaze of glory. All that will remain will be a burning heap of scrap smoldering in the shadows of the city.

If one maintained the machine, it would be different. The gears of OSW have been neglected, and built up layers of grime, dried blood, and the bodies of the fallen lay broken within. It’s owner slain, and death above reigning, the rot has already set in. For it is the folly of man that leads to the inevitability of decay, and OSW is no different.

However, this ability to be.. Unsynchronized remains a human problem.

To become the best, one must not be held back by those grudges. The gears that move me do not spark and clash in an attempt to clamber above themselves. They are not individuals clambering against each other, but aligned parts of a greater whole. Unity leads forth, and brings success in place where others fail.

Standing outside, removed from the human equation is to see it’s flaws and grinding gears from a new perspective. It is not hard to see where the gears in their lives flow, to merely apply pressure and watch the human machine fumble. It is their folly, their inability to align into unity that damns them. And their weakness to exploit to my gains.

If one were to want to escape, to see how precision and unity can turn a squabbling set of gears into something fearsome, they would only have to look to me. Each movement is the cause and correlation of a thousand small parts working together. My gears are a masterpiece with every step, a symphony in each strike. That sound of meat cracking with each blow is a true magnus opus.

Sleek steel, silver in it’s hues will soon be stained red. A dark, rich color that won’t smell much different than what I do now. The gears of OSW may have been made by a man, but it will take a machine to clean out this filth.