Let me tell you something about being cursed.

When I turned ten, I was cursed to live like a slave.

I was cursed to give up my childhood far quicker than anyone should have to.

I was forced to watch kids my age have their souls crushed under the weight of the Jolly Roger Gang’s beatings.

I was forced to listen to their insults and abuse they hurled at us all the damn time.

I was forced to do things that no kid should be made to do, like licking toilets clean or jacking off the jackoffs until they let me sleep for the night.

Worst of all, I could never see my parents again. I never got the chance to tell them I loved them or give them one last hug goodbye.

I was way too young, man. Far too young to be separated from my ma and pa. Far too young to grow up and see the world for what it really is.

So yeah, you could say I was cursed long before I took that stupid goblet of yours, Captain Octopussy.

What the hell is with that thing, anyways? A bunch of freaky shit’s been happening to me ever since I took it.

Did you kill a man and pour his blood into it or something? Was what I was seeing his last moments alive or some other creepy crap like that?

Not going to lie, I almost gave it back after that haunting shit. Hell, I nearly threw it in the trash after the last Slam.

But I never had anything to my name before I snatched it from your ship. I bet you didn’t even notice it was gone when I took it.

So, no matter what it was you put in that thing, it’s not gonna keep me from keeping your ‘cursed’ treasure for myself.

What’re you going to do if I keep it, huh? You’ll beat me harder at Turbo Violence or something? Maybe you’ll keep up the nightmares until you believe I had enough?

I’ve been treated worse than you think I have. At least your old crew allowed you to die after all was said and done; I was kept alive during the beatings I was given.

Killing me would be a mercy compared to what those Jolly Roger bastards did to me and the rest of my Lost Boys. However, I know that you don’t have the balls to put me down for good.

You say that you claim souls, but I say you’d rather try to scare me instead of doing that gang a favor.

Prove me wrong at Turbo Violence, fuckweed. Prove to me that my “cursed” soul is worth claiming by killing me in the middle of that ring.

If the curse is as real as you say it is, then take the goblet out of my cold, dead hands.

I’ve beaten one curse already. What’s one more going to do to me that I haven’t already experienced?

Don’t believe me?

You will soon enough.