Hello, I am red on scanners.

[Blighter]

[font=Microsoft Sans Serif]Hi there citizen of the Republic of Liberty.
Good day citizen of the Kingdom of Bretonia.
Konnichiwa citizen of the Empire of Kusari.
Guten Tag citizen of the Federal Republic of Rheinland.
Hola hermano of the Corsair Empire.
And hola noble Outcast of the Nacion Maltesa!

Please allow me to introduce myself, I am a man of wealth and taste.
But more importantly, I'm your Pusherman, I'm red on your scanners.

Let me tell you of how, long ago, in a Galaxy far, far away, there was once a man.
We will call him Mister Montoya, and he was my father.

I remember after a long summer day when I was but a wee lad, he told me once:
Son, in this world you've to nut up or shut up.

So I lived my merry life nutting up, not shutting up, and doing what a man's gotta do.
And now, twenty years later, I am still out in this world and doing just the same.

But of course, I am now red on your scanners, my good man / lady / trans-human / Nomad / talking dog.
As I am red, and we're both pretending that red isn't dead during this conversation, Word of God™ mandates that I tell you more.

So let me tell of how when I had a German accent, I drank ze beer from ze glass but that was das boring.
Let me tell you of how I switched to the beer boot, let me tell you how much can ze boot hold. (It's four cans.)

Ja, that was a fun time back then, I was much younger and stuff, but you know what I also was?
I was red on your scanners!
Yes, even back then during the ancient days of those Taiidan mystery beings, a particular Copperhead and the legendary Zarevo, I was red on your scanners.
I was red on your scanners when I ventured to Omega-58 to get some delicious meat.
I was red on your scanners when I charged into Liberty countless times aboard my trusted Sabre.
Ja, Yes, Si, Da and Oui, many places I have been and many faces I have seen, and all the time I was red on your scanners, even when you got THUUUNDERSTRUUUCK.

I wandered into Leeds-now-Seto and watched the B-Razors glitter in the dark near New London's gate.
I have gone around the Omegas in the name of the glorious Krieg, finding everyone around me to be just as red on scanners.
I have seen war, I have felt war, I have started war - I have won and I have lost, but I am still here, red on scanners.

Call me silly, call me a fool, only because I'm addicted to Krieg.
Fluttershy, Spartan, Cancer-Tumor, #$%§#!& SINA, call me what you will.
I'm red on your scanners, and it's my job to kill you.

Up and down, left and right, it don't matter where I look, all I see is red on scanners, all the time.
I am hostile, and I love the smell of burned whiners in the morning.
Two-hundred-millimeter. Full. Metal. Razor. At your service. Why?
Dressed in uniforms so fine, I drink and kill to pass the time.

I'm red on your scanners.
And that's my role, to be red. To be bad.
I'm a bad man. How bad? Real bad.
I'm a twelve-point-oh on a ten-point-oh scale of badness.

And I came to rip and tear your guts. Does that offend you?
I don't care, suck it down, 'cause you need me like you need Tony Montana.
Want some Krieg, want some guts? I'm your Pusherman, I'm superfly.

And we both know if you could now, you'd shoot me right away, send everything and everyone after me to get me killed, prove yourself you're a real man, boo-hoo.
But you can't, and I'm all red, sitting in your comfort zone, your Liberty, your Bretonia, your Minor and your Rheinland, anywhere I want to go, 'cause I can, just like you, but I'd rather still be red on scanners.

It's your job to kill me, it's my job to kill you, and if you lose now, let me tell you what will happen.
You will, somewhere, in some way, shape or form, complain. You may whine. You may moan.
And if I hadn't told you my life-story, you'd be doing the exact same thing.

Because I'm red, I'm bad, I'm a dancin' Bonedaddy and you got nothing.
I lose, I come back, I win, I keep going.
And you don't matter, you're just red on scanners, and there's plenty more people like you.
All acting like you do, behaving like you do, whining like you do, sucking like you do.
You're easily replaceable.

My name is Íñigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.



<div align="right]This engagement notice is delivered to you by the BigMAX™ Corporation in loving memory of Zarro, <strike>Bugz</strike>, I mean CORRECTION BugZ and Ralf.