Felix Foley.
Man, you and I, we’re cut from the same damn cloth, aren’t we?
You know it as well as I do—what it’s like to live under the weight of a father who’s got a stranglehold on your soul, always pushing, always demanding you be more, be better, be something you’re not.
And then there’s the brother…
The golden child. The one who did everything right. The one who lived up to every expectation while you were left with the scraps.
You see, Felix, I’ve been there. I’ve lived that life.
My old man, he was just like yours—brutal, relentless.
And my brother? Jacky was the perfect son, the one who could do no wrong. The one who got celebrated, while I was the one whose successes were still not good enough.
So, I did what any man with a spine would do—I broke free. I went to hell and back to do it, too.
I became C.J. Thorpe.
I became my own man, and I’ve been burning this world down ever since.
But you, Felix? You’re still dancing to the tune your daddy played for you, still fighting the battles he and your brother couldn’t finish.
You’re like a puppet on strings, pulled this way and that by ghosts that have long been ferried.
Wake up, Felix.
Your daddy hated you. Your brother never knew you existed.
You think you’re doing the right thing, but all you’re really doing is letting them drag to the hands of the same ferryman they died to.
They’re chains wrapped around your neck, killing you slowly.
But here’s the difference between you and me, Felix.
I saw the chains for what they were, and I broke them. I shattered them into a thousand pieces and I never looked back.
I stopped fighting for a man who never gave a damn about me, and I sure as hell stopped living in the shadow of a brother who wasn’t worth my time.
I’m free, Felix.
Free of their expectations, free of their judgments, free of everything that ever held me down.
And you?
You’re still stuck, still trapped in that twisted little world you created to get away from Fernicus.
You’re still trying to be the son he wanted, still trying to be the son Albert was.
But here’s the thing, Felix—no matter how hard you try, you’ll never be good enough.
You’ll never be more than what he made you, a puppet on strings, with no will of his own. You’ll keep fighting their battles, never realizing you could just grab your scissors and cut the fucking strings?
But let’s be real, you’re too weak, too lost in their bullshit to ever find your own way.
And that’s where I’ve got you beat, Felix.
I’m my own man.
I’m THE man. The World fucking Champion.
And you?
You’re just a shadow puppet in a play that’s already ended.
Cause at the end of the day, it’s not about who your family was…
…it’s about who you choose to be.