Once upon a time, I had a problem.

Gas.

Not the kind you pump into a generator. Not the kind that powers Arcadia’s systems. No, I mean the kind that bloats you up, that stretches your belly until you feel like you’re gonna pop. The kind that turns walking into waddling, breathing into battling, and thinking into panicking.

It started small, as it always does. A little discomfort here, a little pressure there. But it builds. Slowly. Silently. And before you know it, you can’t move without feeling like you’re going to burst. You try to pretend it’s nothing. You walk it off. You smile through it. You pretend everything’s normal. But it’s not.

That gas becomes everything.

And Doom—he was that gas.

He filled me up with hope. With loyalty. With love. With dreams of family and brotherhood. He made me feel bigger, stronger—like I mattered. But it was all pressure. Fake weight. An artificial bloat from a man I thought was my brother. And Nox? Nox was the stench that followed. The toxin that clung to me after it all went rotten. The poison that turned brotherhood into betrayal.

You know what happens when you ignore gas for too long? It finds its own way out. And one day, I let it go. The longest, most cathartic release I’ve ever had. Doom turned on me. Nox stood beside him. And just like that—I exploded.

And I felt better.

Because it’s always better out than in.

That’s what I learned.

You see, I’ve already been inside a gas chamber. Not the metal one we’ll step into at Warzone, but the emotional kind. A pressurized hell of loyalty, love, and lies. A chamber built by friendship, sealed by betrayal, and filled with the poisonous aftermath of hearts turned cold.

So when they say Gas Chamber Match, I don’t flinch. I don’t gag. I don’t panic. Because I’ve already lived it. I’ve already suffered through the pain of being bloated with someone else’s lies. I’ve already choked on the fumes of promises broken and dreams corrupted.

The difference now?

I’m in control of the release.

You want to trap me in a chamber, Nox? You want to pump it full of whatever noxious vapors you’ve cooked up in that venomous little mind of yours? Go right ahead. Pump it in. Lock the door. Watch the pressure rise. Just know this…

You’re not sealing me in there.

You’re sealing yourself in with me.

And I don’t hold it in anymore.

This isn’t going to be a match. It’s going to be a purge. Of everything I’ve held back. Of every word I never said. Every hit I didn’t throw. Every breath I gave to people who didn’t deserve it.

Doom gave me the pressure.

You’ll get the release.

Because the truth is, Nox, it’s not about who gets the air first. It’s about who’s already learned to breathe without it. And I’ve been holding mine for far too long. At Warzone, the release won’t just be physical. It’ll be personal. Emotional. Final.

I’ve been bloated. I’ve been poisoned. I’ve been betrayed.

And now?

It’s better out than in.