Geoffrey is experiencing that feeling at this particular moment. But, as the camera crew has been driving all over town looking for him, Geoffrey felt the need to say...well...something.

“So, Beaumont has decided to make one of his ‘I don’t know what to do, so you guys go in the ring and kill each other’ matches. Super.”

Apathy. Or, maybe sarcasm. Whatever it is that Geoffrey is conveying, it sure isn’t a positive one.

“The esteemed Mr. Ingles may not have been able to say much of anything about this match, but I can—it’s worthless. Every person in this match is worse than the person before it. The only saving grace is that—hopefully—I won’t have to be too involved.

“Yes, you heard me correctly. Everyone will be wondering which team fall apart into incohesive self-destruction first, and my bet would be on mine.

“Look at my teammates: First up is Blake Grumann, someone who doesn’t even care what’s going on as long as he gets to hurt someone. Here’s a guy whose only positive personality trait is that regularly brushes his teeth.

“Blake, you’re a just a scared little child. You’re the punk who throws rocks at a dog, as long as that dog is behind a fence and chained up. You’re a big man when you have the upper hand; as long as you know that you’re not in any real, imminent danger.

“But, whenever Ingles, or Wallace, or Jin has you on the mat and your body is battered beyond functionality, you’ll be scared. You’ll be a child who realizes that his promise of safety has been taken way. You’ll be looking to tag out. You’ll be looking to put somebody—anybody—in your place, so that you don’t have to struggle anymore.

“I don’t usually like to see people hurt, Blake. Actually, I abhor the senseless violence that those in our profession go through. But, in your case Blake, I think I’ll make an exception.

“Then there’s Roderick Toombs.”

Slate stops and grits his teeth. Just saying his name reminds him that his entire jaw still hurts from being hit with that damn miner's glove. That, in turn, reminds him that he had to pull a f*cking fork out of his own shoulder.

Roderick Toombs is a dick.

“He is a man who is so completely self involved, and for seemingly no reason, that it borderlines on being a psychiatric disorder. Last Fusion, Roderick Toombs was doing his best to cause enough damage to force my brain into the same state of idiocy that his was born to. And now, at the very next show, I’m supposed to care what he goes through. Moreover, I’m supposed to put what we just did to each other behind me and try to help secure him a victory? It seems like quite the stretch indeed.

“But, it’s not as if I will just roll over and let the opposition win. No, much to my dismay I am a professional. My job is to inflict pain on others, and that is exactly what I will do. I am very good at what I do.

“It’s not as if some great deed will be done if my opponents win.

“You have Jin Akujin, a man fully willing to dismember anyone he comes across if it were to ensure that he’s quit living his life as the second-tier, ‘almost good enough,’ excuse that he’s spent his entire life being. You have Dean Wallace, a man whose delusions of grandeur are of such proportions that it makes Roderick Toombs look humble. And you have Harbinger, the man who has spent almost his entire career professing to be some sort of messiah sent to show us simpletons the some sort of ‘better way’ to spend our lives beating each other up.

“No, no great justice will be done if my opponents win, no higher calling will be fulfilled if my team wins. It seems the only purpose of David Beaumont’s experiment in mismatching will only accomplish the testing of my patience.

“I’ll fight whoever is in front of me in the ring. Whether I like it or not, it is my calling in life. I will do my best to break the body of the person in front of me. Whether it is my opponents or my teammates, in this case, doesn’t particularly seem to matter.”

And with that, it is done.