There’s a certain kind of dog you come across in this world. Not the barkers. Not the biters. I’m talking about the ones that’ve been beaten so badly, they flinch when you raise a hand—even if it’s empty.

That’s you, Felix Foley.

You’re not the showman anymore. You’re not the master of ceremonies. You’re a broken animal. Skittish. Shaking. Covered in the scars of a story that should’ve ended a long time ago.

You’ve taken beatings. You’ve been brutalized. You’ve suffered, over and over again—and for what? So you can crawl back to the same man who breaks you every time? The same man who holds your leash tighter each time you try to stand?

Tombstone.

He’s not your partner. He’s not your friend. He’s not your salvation.

He’s your master.

And he’s going to hurt you again, Foley. At Hounds of Hades, he’s going to beat you the same way he always has, with no remorse and no hesitation. The only difference this time? He’s going to do it in front of everyone, and when you reach for his hand, looking for mercy, he’ll let go.

You’ll come crawling back, of course. That’s what a beaten dog does. It returns, no matter how much pain it’s in. It hopes that maybe, just maybe, things will be different this time.

But they won’t.

Because Tombstone isn’t going to stop. And you? You’re too far gone to walk away.

You’ve confused pain for loyalty, suffering for strength. You think just because you keep getting up that makes you brave. But it doesn’t. It makes you predictable. Pathetic. And worst of all, replaceable.

I don’t have to do anything to end you, Foley. I don’t have to ferry your soul. I don’t have to put the shovel in the ground.

Tombstone will do that for me.

He’ll lead you behind the curtain. He’ll tell you it’s time to rest. And when your back is turned, he’ll do what every cruel master eventually does to the dog that just won’t stop whining.

He’ll put you down.

He’ll end your story—not with glory, not with honor—but with a bullet behind the ear and a grave already dug.

And I’ll be there. Waiting. Watching. Because that’s my job, isn’t it? To guide the dead where they belong.

You’ve been circling that grave for a long time, Foley. Every match, every betrayal, every heartbreak has brought you closer. And at Hounds of Hades, the circle finally closes.

You are not a fighter anymore. You’re not a hero. You’re not even a man.

You’re just a dog who doesn’t realize his final day is here.

And when it comes?

I won’t have to lift a finger.

You’ll go into the ground like all the others.

A victim.

A story.

A dirty dog who didn’t know when to stop.