[The camera flickers like a distorted transmission. Propaganda stands alone, hood lowered, hands clasped behind his back. His voice is calm, but carries a quiet, unsettling satisfaction.]

Believers…

Two weeks ago, Death was humbled.

But tonight… Death is unrecognizable.

You see, Mr. Grimm was never just a monster. He was a rider. A symbol. A presence that moved with purpose, carried forward by something larger than himself.

The Pale Rider.

A machine. Cold. Unstoppable. Engine humming like inevitability itself. Every rotation of its wheels a reminder that no matter how far you run… it will always arrive.

But symbols are fragile things.

And machines… can be broken.

We did not attack the man.

We attacked the myth.

While he clung to his legend, while he believed himself untouchable, my followers descended. Not in chaos — but in unity. Not in anger — but in understanding. Piece by piece, we dismantled the illusion. Steel bent. Glass shattered. The engine… silenced.

The Pale Rider does not ride anymore.

And without it… what is Death?

A man… forced to walk.

Do you understand what that means?

The distance he once closed in seconds… now takes time. The fear he once inspired from afar… now requires proximity. The myth that once carried him forward… now drags behind him like a corpse.

I did not just weaken Mr. Grimm.

I slowed inevitability itself.

Because that is what the Message does.

It does not meet power head-on.

It redefines it.

A machine only moves when something fuels it. Belief. Fear. Myth. Take those away… and all that remains is weight. Dead weight. Metal and memory.

Mr. Grimm rode on fear.

And I have taken his engine.

Now he must step into my world. No longer elevated. No longer distant. No longer inevitable. Just another body inside the ring, forced to endure what every other soul has endured before him.

Pressure.

Control.

Submission.

At Invasion, he will look for something that no longer exists. He will reach for speed that has been stripped from him. He will search for presence that has been dismantled. And in that hesitation… in that moment where the myth fails to answer…

The Message will be waiting.

I do not need a machine.

I do not need momentum.

I am constant.

Every hold I apply is a tightening bolt.

Every breath I take is another turn of the wrench.

Every second he spends resisting… is another piece falling away.

Until there is nothing left to hold him together.

He believed the bike made him unstoppable.

But the truth is far simpler.

He was never the rider.

He was the one being carried.

And now… there is nothing left to carry him.

At Invasion, Mr. Grimm will not arrive as Death. He will arrive as what remains after belief is stripped away — slow, exposed, and already falling apart.

And when I take him down… when I force him to submit… when the last piece of his myth collapses beneath my hands…

It will not be theft.

It will be confirmation.

I will win because machines fail.

I will win because myths break.

I will win because the Message… cannot be dismantled.

Obey.
Submit.
Believe.