Street Bred, Street Cred, Street DEAD! (SNC IV RP #1)

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And despite the thoughts that shenanigans would triumph over might, "Perfectly Sane" stands tall! Another bloody "V" on the mat. Nine points. Nine. Points. Did you ever imagine, for a minute, a second, the space between a moment, that a man like ol' Maxie-poo would be THE, currently, presently, as it stands, MAN in RWD? Not any of Rech's Soldiers of Misfortune, not the mercenaries who'd sell their soul to the same man for a single point, not even the ultra-sinister KONSTANTINE. The Portland Madman. Perfectly.
                                                                               Sane.
                                                                               Maxwell.
                                                                               Schneider.

The perfect design with the awful wrapping. This week squaring off with the perfect thug with the awe-invoking rapping. A match made in HELL. A blood bath? A blood OCEAN. Violence⁶⁶⁶. The e      n          d of d   a    y  s. no upper case letters needed in hell or punctuation either for that matter

Schneider boggles the minds of critics week in and week out. Week four, mo

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Sarah Conner. She has the privilege this week. She is safe. She will be okay. She knows this. She is confident she'll be okay. But why does this feel different from her first encounter with The Portland Madman? He came into the RWD a baby, a bi_{g hairy loud terrifying bab}y, running from state to2222 state, until he stopped in front of a would-be conquerorrrrrr, and vanquished him. He visited all too familiar sites to show a man oO0vercome with unbridled anger that these places did not give him pause. He toppled the Duke's most prized warrior, and gave them both mementos to remember him by.


Now, no rules. No borders. No LIMITS! No. Dis. Qual. I. Fi. Cation!!!

Frankie Cocheese.

Maxwell Schneider.

And a tr^{ail o}f brok_{en bon}es an^{d spilt bl}ood in the_{ir wak}es!

And the next day, another type of wake, if either man has anything to say about it!

But back to Sarah Conner.

"Ladies and gentleman, I'm once again standing with the undefeated 'Perfectly Sane' Maxwell Schneider! Maxwell- Maxie, welcome!"

There he stands. Next to beauty, beast. Big beast. Big big BIG beast! But despite what he's gone through thus far, he still reserves a mostly lucid smile for the little lady.

"Ala-BAMA, Miss Conner, Ala-BAMA! Birmingham's got NO CLUE what it's in for in two weeks! The RWD's got SOME clue what it's in for in two weeks! Frankie Cocheese? He's got ALL th' clues, but he's HID 'em all, and his little scavenger hunt better not take TOO long, because at Sunday Night Combat, it's gonna be too LITTLE, too LATE fer that punk!"

"And that bri-"

"Too late, Frankie! Too late fer YOU!"

"Uh, which brings us t-"

"Too late! Too late! Too late! Too late!" he sing-songs as he stomps around, cocking his head from side to side. Sarah retains her composure all the while.

"And, uh, speaking of Frankie Cocheese, he's indeed going to be gunning for your winning streak and pick up three big-time points in the process! Do you now feel there's a large target on your back, all things considered?"

Schneider strokes at his filthy, scraggly, salt and pepper beard. This Cocheese was a blight on society in a very different way from his last three opponents.

"A big target on my back, ya say, Miss Conner? Yeah, I guess I DO now, DON'T I? HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HAAAA! GOOD! GOOD! I WANT that target there! Cuz ya see, Miss Conner, when an already outta control animal gets cornered, it's a dangerous thing! When ya take a man like Frankie Cocheese and wrap a buncha raw meat around his neck, give that same animal his scent, then turn both men loose out on the vast expanses of Anywhere, USA, why, ya got the makings of a double, triple, quaDRUPLE dangerous thing!"

"And your match indeed is a No Disqualification Match, an environment that many say is best suited for you, but Cocheese is no stranger to the whole anything goes lifestyle. Combine that with his alleged connections with our General Manager Robert Garland, and you've got the balance of the match set back to its beginning position! Do you worry about Mr. Badger's involvement in your match again this week?"

Schneider's eyes widen so wide you'd think his eyelids would tear themselves asunder and allow the entirety of his eyeballs to pop out of his skull.

"Uh, no, Miss Conner, I ain't worried about that tasty no-good S.O.B., cuz if he so much as blows air through his left nostril in my general direction Sunday night, I'm gonna suffer through a Pearl Harbour beating from my opponent, if only ta tear Garland's nose off his FACE!!! Badgers get put ta SLEEP when they get near me, Miss Conner! General Manager or no, don't mess with me! That'd be the perfectly SANE thing ta do, anyway, and you oughtta take it from me, a REAL perfectly sane individual!"

"Though after what you did to Mr. Garland at the last show, chances are, he'll come more prepared than ever. He's not beyond sending waves of men to do his bidding until at least one of them gets the job done."

Schneider grins at the thought of many severe beatings occurring that night, both TO him and BY him!

"Yep, yep, that just might be a possibility, Miss Conner. But the match ain't gonna end until I beat Frankie Cochese, even if that takes a few days AFTER the fact! FRANKIE! You better BELIEVE that the folks you've grown accustomed ta scrappin' with ain't no li'l Maxie Schneiders! Mama told me somethin' a long, LOOOONG time ago, and that's if ya can't BEAT 'em, KILL 'em! If ya can't KILL 'em, make 'em WISH they were dead!"

He pauses in thought for a few moments before shrugging, "At least, I THINK that was my mama! Either way, Frankie, we're gonna have a HELLUVA time Sunday night, HELLUVA time! Sing one last song, Frankie, one of those talkie-songs ya do so well! Be sure ta add in yer Last Will and Testament, cuz I can't afford ta go anywhere but UP from here on out! Baby wanna keep on sleepin' in BEDS, mama! Baby wanna keep eatin' food out of a WORKIN' fridge, mama! Oh mama, gimme the strength ta do the deed I must perform on Frankie Cocheese! I NEED this, mama!"

All this "mama" talk should be disturbing Sarah by now. Maybe not!

"A-any last words for, uh, anyone else? Anyone but your mom?"

Schneider just grins a very non-lucid grin and shakes his head. He then leaves by backing off slowly, until he's out of camera shot. Sarah turns to look at the camera and exhales in relief.

"Well, there you have it, folks! This episode of Sunday Night Combat promises to be the most intense show yet! Just, uh, maybe leave your kids at home this one time?"

She then shrugs, as the cameras fade to gwerg24g24trzzzzzzzzzzzrkkkt-