Anger, rage, whatever you call it, it’s an emotion that can control oneself.  Leaving you to take options that a normal person would never find themselves at the doorstep of.  Like subjecting yourself to being a test subject for a man known to be less than caring about the people he works with. 

It can lead you down a path of self-destruction.  Where that one emotion consumes your very essence.  Where you come up with terms to mask the true emotion, you can call it vengeance, redemption, retribution, reprisal, animus, the list is truly near endless, but it all comes back to that one point… Anger.         

Hatchet, you’re a font of rage.  Doom and I could tell it consumed you well before you walked into our world.   Since you’ve, “come down”.   I’ve watched you walk around Arcadia, and it’s like watching madness itself made flesh.  You hide the anger you have behind a cocky attitude, and overblown personality saying stuff for simple shock value.  

I mean, you consistently distill everything to a one-word slur meaning one whose thought process is slow.  So, I guess the abject question here, Hatchet, is, do I think you’re thought process is slow?  Absolutely, you chuckle-fuck, I think your anger holds you back, makes you… Slow. 

I know that because I only magnified your emotions when you were under my control.  Whenever you went after those heroes, that was all you were displaying: rage.  You were the hammer, and everyone around you was a nail.   

I believe in your dialect that would make you… A tool, right?  Hatchet, what you need to realize is that you’re my tool.  To use and manipulate how I see fit because no matter what you do, no matter who you try to become, Juggalo, Seeker, it doesn’t matter.  I got that good shit, and when you… Breathe it in… It will all slip away again, and your anger will wrap you up like a warm blanket. 

You can’t truly hurt me now, can you, Hatchet?  You know me, I’m your friend, your main boy, thick and thin… I’m your pusherman.  All you’ll need is one more taste of what I got, Hatchet ole boy, and your blind, obediently misplaced rage will be mine to control once more.   

It’s ever so fitting that your partner is the Puppet Master himself, Felix Foley, because by the end of the night.  I’ll teach him what the term Puppet Master means when you’re dancing to my tune once more, the Gathering, the Seekers, it’ll be nothing more than an afterthought.  You’ll be happy to be home, back in the loving arms of your anger.   

Because the only use you’ll ever have is being a hammer, my hammer, knocking off anyone that I tell you is a nail.  I am the only one who has ever known how to make use of the simmering rage that you harbor within you, or you’ll allow it to slow you.  That even you’ll realize, everything dies.