Ain’t no denying it, I’m a fucking monster.
A predator in a city of parasites. Because Arcadia’s a jungle, and in this jungle, that’s all there is.
Predators go to war every goddamned day, scraping and clawing.
Parasites use the predators as hosts, gorging themselves on their blood until the predator notices.
And Narcissa Balenciaga?
She’s the queen of parasites.
Yeah, I said it.
Narcissa, you’re a goddamn leech. A dick-rider. Always clinging to the next big thing, sucking the life outta any predator you see.
You think I’m oblivious to your little game?
Once upon a time, you were Zeus’s wife. But when you fucked around, Zeus, like the predator he is, tossed your ass out like a used rubber.
Then you scraped together your first Uprising. Weak, pathetic, fools. It was spiraling down the shitter until you got desperate.
Which led you to us, the inmates of Death Row—the scum of the earth, hardened by cold steel and shattered dreams.
Predators, every last one of us.
You think you’re running the show, Narcy, but here’s the harsh reality: your power ain’t yours. It’s stolen valor.
Like a goddamned parasite.
That shiny World Championship belt you’re flaunting? How’d you get it? Blood, sweat, and tears?
Fuck no.
You got that gold because of predators.
Me and Redgrave.
We spilled the blood. You just gorged on the gold and glory.
You want to find the traitor in the Uprising? Take a long, hard look in the fucking mirror, because the real traitor is staring right back at you.
You’ve betrayed everyone you’ve ever known. Even yourself, because deep down, you know the truth.
You can’t beat me.
Not in a fair fight. Not in a dirty brawl. Not in the fucking pit of hades itself.
You can’t beat me because you’re not a predator, you’re a parasite. And parasites can’t survive without a host. They can’t fight their own battles.
Zeus, the Uprising, even that cunt Ramsey… you use everyone you can sink your fangs into.
The truth is, I could break you down, piece by fucking piece, until there’s nothing left but your fear and greed.
I could expose you for the fraud you are, the weak, pathetic leech clinging to power you didn’t earn and don’t deserve.
But I won’t.
I won’t, because you saved me from Death Row. I owe you.
So I’ll lay down for you.
But don’t you dare mistake my gratitude for respect.
Because here’s the thing, Narcy. I’m not your fucking host or your meal ticket.
I’m a predator.
And predators, we don’t play nice with parasites. We rip them off, crush them, and leave them to rot in the sun. So remember that, Hera, when you stand tall at Ring of Dreams.
You run the Uprising that I embody.
You hold the World Championship I won.
Remember that all that happened, did because a predator allowed it.
Because THE predator allowed it.
You can hide behind your stolen glory for now, Narcy.
But a parasite’s reign always ends when the host wakes the fuck up.
And bitch, I’m wide fucking awake.