You sit in the stands of a long abandoned racetrack. You used to bet on horses before the war and made a modest amount of credits out of it. Calypso sitting next to you. She smiles at you before you turn back to the empty racetrack, remembering the good old days.

I used to watch the races too, zanmi. Not because I was betting on them for credits, but because I was fascinated by one horse in particular.

As she recalls this, a horse as black as shadows materializes on the track.

Mouns called her Nightmare. She was as dark as the horse you see on the track now and as fast as a speeding bullet. None of the other horses could hope to match her speed as she dashed through the track.

The horse begins to gallop through the track as Calypso continues to talk.

The other jokes pushed their steeds to their absolute limits to no avail. Nightmare was simply too fast and skilled to catch up to. She was unbeatable in the races, and only retired due to an injury after the championships.

The Voodoo Child pauses as she watches the ghastly horse races around the track. You watched in awe as it made it’s way around twice now.

I never saw her again after that. I asked the joke what happened to her, and they revealed they put her down since her leg was too badly hurt.

With a sigh from Mama Calypso, the horse vanishes from the track, leaving it barren once more.

Lambs to the Slaughter is one such race that eighteen other horses and riders will try to win. All of them will fail because Tombstone is Nightmare reborn.

All of them will try to outlast and outclass him, but they won’t be able to do so. He’s simply too strong and skilled to be eliminated by the mouns that dare fight him.

She chuckles.

Jokes like Narcissa and Cade think they can push the Preservationists and Seekers to their limits to take him down, but they’ll soon find out that such an enposib task will only result in injuries for their horses. When they try to do the task themselves, they’ll be swatted away like flies by yours truly.

For I am Tombstone’s joke. Together, we will make it to the final two.

A frown forms on her face as she shakes her head.

Yet it is the joke that has to claim the prize at the end. Tombstone, despite his best efforts to hide it, will suffer an injury at the finish line that will force me to put him down.

Fè eskiz, Tombstone, but Lambs to the Slaughter can only have one person take the championship opportunity, and it won’t be you. Jokes can always find another horse to ride once the horse breaks it’s leg, and the horse is but a simple zannimo without a joke.

Fortune favors me, horses and jokes. But break a leg trying to conquer the enposib anyways.

With a snap of her fingers, she vanishes too, leaving you alone.