Girshu peered at the sailor guards through the iron bars, hatefully. Occassionally, they threw him hateful or loathing glances back. They didn't like guarding him, none of these poorly dressed sailors did. Girshu's very skin radiated cold, cooling the room significantly and straining the muscles of these ill-dressed sailors with cramps and numbness. And things were only getting worse for them with every passing hour, the room temperature dropping graduately and Girshu's strength slowly increasing as it did. Soon they'd have to put on something more than a filthy shirt and shabby pants. But for now, neither side did anything other than throw angry faces at the others. The sailors were just standing guard as commanded and Girshu was still biding his time.

Girshu grimaced. This whole situation was degrading. Not only was he caught as a stowaway and unceremoniously thrown into this cage, he even made the mistake of hiding on the wrong ship. He waited in Adeluna for weeks before a ship came by that would to head straight for Horae, but that turned out to be folley. Instead it came to this awful place. Which wouldn't have been a bad thing, if he hadn't been caught. But just after the ship shook, turned rapidly and shaken him awake by using those ungodly loud boom-pipes of theirs, the sailors had suddenly come down to the cargo decks where he was hiding and began searching every crate. He didn't know how they knew of his presence, or if they had known it when they came down. They had even searched the crates too small for him to hide in, so perhaps they knew not what hid down there.

They found him, eventually. Then they prodded him with sticks and netted him. Dragged him out of the hall and into a cage. Several people came to see him, including the one they called captain. The scruffy-looking man didn't look anything like the captain Girshu had seen before, but that only meant it was more likely that Girshu had boarded the wrong ship. Damned boats, all looking alike. The captain had been talking about Girshu as if he was someone's property, and other humans had come by to examine him as well. Some bound and with a perplexed look in their eye when they saw him, saying they had no idea whose pet he was. A pet? Rediculous. Girshu would never serve a human.

But it seemed that they knew not of his sentience. They had found him wearing only his cloak, the rest of his possessions hidden amongst the cargo. They thought he was a beast, and treated him as such. They spoke carelessly in front of him, as if he couldn't hear them. As if he couldn't understand him. Oh, if only they knew he was so much smarter than them. If they knew of the cryomancy he would unleash upon them once the time was right. He would bide his time, yes, and then break out when they least expected it. So go ahead, foolish humans, consider Girshu a pet. Don't put him in the prison cells with the others. Keep him here, close to his personal belongings.

Girshu looked at his bag, unceremoniously thrown in with the other sacks of the ship. It was still there, opened only once and then closed again immediately when the sailors were met with the rotting yeti livers in there. Girshu's snacks had gone bad a long time ago, but they served their purpose by hiding his silver. All the gold and silver that the others carried had been collected for 'sharing amongst the crew' the very day after they landed on this damnable place. The jewelery too. Only the rest of what they called 'booty' was still here with him. The things whose value still needed gaging, or that weren't too valuable.

And him. Their 'priced beast trophy'. Several people had come to see him, to determine what kind of animal he was, to see if he was valuable, to see if he was fit for the fighting pits, to see if they wanted him as a pet or rug. They all treated him as if he were an animal, and three of them died thinking it. Girshu had to be careful doing that, he could only kill so many people before they would get careful. He didn't kill the fighting pit guy. Or the ones treating him as a pet. Degrading or not, they would let him live. The ones who would kill him for his body parts, he had made sure to rip open their bellies quickly when they least expected it. Girshu smiled. A cage didn't protect the careless.

So for now, Girshu kept throwing angry glances at the guards. Soon enough, their faces would writhe in agony and he would be out of this place. Soon…

The Silver Serpent Company had recently muscled and bribed their way into the fighting pit business. The Company had seized a smaller pit from some businessman overestimating his power within the City. A lot of strategic moves and a handful of violent encounters were carried out, and soon enough, the pit was theirs. Nui had been put in charge, since he had proven himself fit for a leadership position. The first fights were great for business. A lot of hype was built around the pits since the Company were able to capture or recruit more interesting fighters than the previous owner. Nui had even participating in some of the matches himself, in order to create excitement. Nui had a knack for fighting, and he knew how to put on a good show. His name was also a somewhat familiar one in certain parts of the city, due to his alleged unnatural strength.

When he first learned of the magical icy cold salamander-like being that was secretly being auctioned off some stolen trading ship in the from Adeluna, he thought it was a scam. But after the news of the death of some potential buyers, his interest peaked. Nui had to see this creature for himself. If it was as powerful as the current owners proclaimed, it would be a great addition to the fighting pits. Seeing the creature for the first time had greatly impressed Nui. The cold radiating from the crature served as a taste of the true power the creature possesed. He struck a fair deal with the owner.Today was the was the arranged day of collection. He left his makeshift office, in The Silver Serpent Mansion on the eastern side of the city, and started heading to the docks. Nui brought 5 goons for protecting and relocating the caged animal. He had already scheduled a fight tomorrow, in order to test the beast. As the group of thugs entered the part of the boat in wich the creature was kept, the freezing temperature had gotten even colder. He commanded his men to carry the cage. While he marveled what he strongly believed would become his future champion. "We will make great money together" he said to the beast. He didn't expect an answer, as the lizzard could not possibly be sentient, but he needed to express the joy he felt regarding this splendid purchase

Girshu glares hatefully at the fighting pit guy and the careless henchmen he brought. They had apparently 'bought' him, and were now transporting him to some other place with cage and all. Worst of all, they were taking him away from his finally somewhat bearably frozen room and to some other place. One with that dreadful humid Vilpamolian heat still strongly present in the air. One that would require him to be carried through a lot of that bothersome heat on the way there. Hopefully it would be a smaller and better isolated room at least.

The pit guy seemed proud of his purchase, clearly liking what he saw before. Well, better him than the ornamental rug guy. Or the semi-noble looking for an exotic pet, who's death would give Girshu a lot of trouble even if he'd escape. Though not as advantageous as the pet store guy, who would've probably been a lot easier to fool and kill. He would've had a lot less henchmen too. The pit guy was a fair, but not optimal, compromise. His almost taunting words of earning a lot with Girshu were vexing, but promising at the same time. As if Girshu would help some two-bit human sate his own greed and gluttony. But the self-satisfied joy and pride that the man radiated was a good sign nonetheless, for it suggested that this man had no dragons or other fire-breathing monsters to pit Girshu against. Just humans and other common warm-blooded species, probably. And Girshu knew how to deal with those.

Girshu retreats to his hay pile, just to make sure it wouldn't reveal what he was hiding underneath. The hay, presumably thrown in his cage to make a bed of sorts, was piled up to cover Girshu's bag with belongings. Using some magic and less fantastical means last night when the sentry fell asleep on the job, he had managed to get the pile close to his cage and pull it through the bars. It wasn't much, he had thrown out everything he didn't absolutely need to minimise its volume, but it had to remain a secret nonetheless. One couldn't take away what they didn't know you had. His ceremonial knife, the kind that he would use to carve out the tongues of the prey he was charged to hunt down. His ornate magic wand, carved out of narwal horn and embedded with tiny bits of blue ice to enhance his frost magic. And of course his small amount of silver, always a necessity to have in human lands.

Curling up on the hay to keep it in place with all this tilting and shaking around of the cage, Girshu tries to bear the degrading treatment. He didn't like lying on the hay, each strand and twig frozen to a small needle under his frigid body, but they didn't know that. No, he'd just have to weather the journey and protect his secret stash for a bit, and then see how he'd escape his next prison.

Razor Thorn Arena got its name from the dried and hardned razor-vines wich Nui had enveloped the pit itself with when he took over the establishment. The pit itself was a huge hole dug into the dry earth Vilpamolan was built on. The sides were covered with simple sandstone brick walls. It was these walls that were covered in the sharp dead plants. It made it hard for combatants to escape the pit itself without help from above, while also making it fatal to be pushed up against the wall itself. The audiences were built in an gladiator-arena structure around the hole. The structure was also made out of sandstone. It was far from the biggest arena in Canelux, but it did it's job. And soon it would become a major attraction, if Nuis intuition was worth a damn.The trip to fighting pit was was quite annoying in the beginning. Though the cooling aura of the creature fought off the blazing hot sun, the paranoia of Nuis goons regarding the creature slowed the tempo a lot. With only a cage that had quite wide spaces between each metal bar holding it together, their tense mood was understandable. Crowds gathered around them in the street, looking in awe at the big lizard. This gave Uni a great opportunity for promotion, which he used for what it was worth. He presented his new gladiator with pride and made sure everyone knew where to see the creature fight. "Come and see this creature of cold face the Flaming Dragon!". The Flaming Dragon was a brute of incredible physical capabilities with som minor pyrotechnic magic for show. Though magic was not the gladiators actual strong suit, the flames bursting out of his mouth when he used his fiery breath was enough to convince the populace of Vilpamolan that he had ascended from dragonkin. Nui also made sure the crowd knew of the creatures newfound name. "Maybe in time Frostbite will become the new champion of Razor Thorn Arena!"Nui brought the Frost Salamander through the city into the arena and brought the crature to the celler. It was now functioning as a prison were they kept the involuntary fighters. Allthough the arena was mostly made out of sandstone the cellars walls, ceiling and floor was made out of moist bluish rock that seemed out of place in the warm climate of Vilpamolan. The rock was cold to the touch and provided a chilly atmosphere. 20 or so gladiators were locked into ten or so cells. The final one was empty, and they placed Girshus cage within it. "I would love too open the cage so you would get more space before the battle tomorrow, but I have a feeling that I benefit from having two sets of bars around you. I'm stoked for your battle though. I'll find out what you like to eat so I can reward you for every victory. Maybe ill let you eat your opponents corpse offstage" The last part he said with a wink. After locking the cell, Nui and his six men left the cellar, leaving the three guards that were watching the inmates. Both of them stayed as far away as possible from the lizards cell.

Girshu hissed at the people gawking at him. Not to sell the bit, but because he was genuinly sickened and aggrevated by their stupid stares. And their ugly human faces. Disgusting. Additionally angered by overhearing the pit master mention having some kind of fire dragon after all, which filled Girshu with both fear and loathing anger, he looked like a genuine caged but unbroken animal. The people were smart enough to stay far away, lest Girshu would bite their fingers off. He wouldn't, but they didn't know that.

The cage was carried into an arena of sorts. There were vines growing all over the walls like wildgrowth, some alive yet most dead and dried up. They'd snap and break if something were to crash into them, but that something would be impaled and carved open by hundreds of cuts in the process. It seemed like the arena had only recently been attained by this pit guy, from the look of the many seats that were yet to be repaired and cleaned. Either that, or the arena had never been filled up enough for him to need the broken seats. Probably both, actually. What Girshu didn't see, was thorn vines growing over the crumbled and broken seats. Not even wild sprouts, which should've had plenty of time to spread in the time that this arena had been in disrepair. They were probably added recently, by magical means.

Escape plans were already forming and being debased in Girshu's head. Unless the vines were a one-time service by a druid, they could probably be maintained and regrown in between fights. Because the plants were dead and dried, they wouldn't be too vulnerable to the cold. If they were alive and not maintained, he could've 'missed' his foe and blasted them with a cone of cold during one of the fights. A whole slab of wall worth of vines would wither and die, and Girshu could've climbed the wall at the next fight when the frost wouldn't keep the thorns rigid any more. But that wouldn't work with these mostly dead vines.

His second plan was simpler and relied less on the pit master maintaining the arena well in between fights. Girshu couldn't do it whenever, but he could set it in motion once the opportunity would present it. The walls were high, but not too high for any creature to scale it. Too tall for humans, obviously, and for most humanoids. But an ogre or other large brute could just reach up to the ledge if they tried. Not that they would, considering the vines. But that was good. That meant that the pit master wouldn't worry about that detail and hold back on using such creatures. And once one of them would be pitted against Girshu, he just had to figure out some way to bash it into the wall and impale it there. Then Girshu could just climb up the soft ogre flesh without being serrated to shish kebab, and fight his way out of the arena.

But, it was circumstantial. Other plans were still needed, if he saw more opportunities. Not that the pit master was being careless, putting Girshu in his cellar with cage and all. It was annoying, but the metal should conduct the cool from the floor and become cold soon enough. He then made a remark of feeding the dead gladiators to Girshu, which filled him with disgust. Humans were so often riddled with diseases and self-endulgent fatty acids, they wouldn't make a good meal at all. Hopefully he'd ask Girshu's previous captors about what they fed him. There was only fish to spare back at sea, and that suited him just fine. Fish, or fowl. And eggs. Standard aquatic lizard food, really.

Girshu growls at the pit master as he leaves the cell. He didn't like the man, or any of these people, really. He wouldn't harbour vengeance however, it would only bear him down. Girshu would have to focus on making it out of here, killing the guy in the process was a possibility but not an objective. Girshu lies down to relax his tense body, alowing his overheated skin to cool off again. At least they had given him a personal cell, so he didn't have to worry about keeping up his feral appearances at all times.

And now to prepare for the upcoming fights by taking a much overdue long rest. Girshu needed the sleep, and for once he had a fair confidence that he'd be woken up properly before things would happen to him. Not like back at the loot chambers, when there was an all too realistic possibility that they'd kill him in his sleep and harvest his skin for a rug.

1 day later, Nui watched as the sandstone seats of the arena filled up. This might be the first night no seats would be left empty. Frostbites feral and aggressive behavior towards the onlookers in the crowded streets of Vilpamolan had really helped the doorsales of todays match. Pirates, gamblers, smugglers and vendors of all kind flooded the circular building. The sun would go down in the next 2 or three hours. There was a cooling breeze in the air. The sky above them was was filled with dark clouds, so the sun only peaked out every now and then. The temperatures had fallen a bit, making the heat more than baerable. It was actually comfortable to be outside in Vilpamolan for a change. All the factors seemed to line up for a perfect show. The only problem was to get the Frost Salamander back to the dungeon after the match.If the creature survived of course. And Nui had a feeling it would. Until they had figured out how strong Frostbite was, they would have to use the Sky Gate in order to keep him secured. Sky Gate was a giant circular metal-bar construction, they put on top of the pit like a lid, in case of emergencies. The plan was to use the pit itself as a big makeshift cell for the lizard after the show. The cell-bars like construction also had a smaller door/lid in the middle, which they could open up and transport food and water through, down to the trapped gladiator using ropes.

As the crowds settled, Nui blew in a warhorn carved out of a mommoths tusk. Runes of an acient Itjivutian laungaege covered the horns surface. It was not made by any craftsman, this horn was made by a unknownn culture and lost in the glacier, only to be found by some expedition. A wonderful instrument given to him along with the arena. A powerful howling sound silenced the audience and probably startled locals living close to the arena. Nui stood upon a wooden podium next to the pit itself, as he shouted: " Ladies and gentlemen! Scum of the western continent! Get ready for a fight you will never forget! Not only will I pit one of our best fighters with tonights newcomer! The winner of this match will have the honor to face of against Orog, the yellow fist! Or in other words, the twoheaded ogre himself!" The crowd broke into a roar of excitment in the wake of the announcement. "But lets get to buisness!" Nui continued. "I present to you the Flaming Dragon himself, Gorgos firefist!" A huge mucular man came out of the tunnel on the southermost side of the arena, then proceded to jump into the pit. Gorgos proceded to blow fire out of his mouth, in order to work the crowd. Firefist wore a simple boiled leather armor, and had white warpaint covering much of his face and shaved head. "And now, our next contender, Frostbite!" The crowd went silent with anticipation. Four Silver Serpant goons came out of the northernmost tunnel-entrance with Girshus cage. Then proceded to lean it over the pit, so that when the door opened Girshu would fall out of the cage and into the ring. The doors opened, the crowd roared and what Nui figured would the greatest match of the arenas history, began.

Girshu was dragged out to the arena, cage and all. The people here were careful, not knowing what Girshu was capable of and therefore not taking any risks. Problematic, but it should resolve itself in time. Girshu was annoyed that he was being dragged out of his more comfortable cell, which had since cooled to near sub-zero temperatures, and back into the unpleasant heat. At least they were having him fight during the night, rather than with the unrelenting sun beating down on him. That wouldn't have been favourable to his cryomancy at all. Even with the bright spotlights that assured that everyone could see the spectacle, it wasn't too hot.

As Girshu enters the ring, the first thing he sees is that they had placed a cage over it. Double paranoid. Very problematic. The vines would already assure that none could just climb out of the ring, the cage would only prevent airborn things from going in and out. The audience might perhaps be a bit too engaged in the battles at times, throwing in items to aid their favourite? Or rather, try to help their bet win with a quick arrow? The cage wouldn't assure preventing that, but it would help. And it would keep any flying beast from just taking off, so perhaps there was a winged monster they'd pit him against. The Flaming Dragon, perhaps?

Whatever the case, the audience didn't seem to like it. To them, the grid was just an annoying grey filter that obscured their view a bit. It didn't matter that it was made as thin and wide as possible without being too weak, anything but a completely unobstructed view would be too much for them. But then again, humans were spoiled and self-centred like that. And despite the rabble gathering here clearly not having paid that much for their seats, they were expecting optimal service. Girshu doubted that the arena masters had the namesake and exclusivity yet to make some boxes extra expensive and hold esteemed personal seats for the 'nobles' of this place. Rather, they'd probably sell tickets at a slightly lower price to gain awareness and a reputation before raising them again to the the price range of their competitors.

As Girshu is being dragged towards the arena, cage and all, the pit master blows a horn. Girshu snarls at the man, a gesture completely missed by all because there were a good hundred meters between the two of them, and his hatred towards his 'owner' grows. How he obtained a Hiafaen horn was beyond Girshu, nor did Girshu know if the man blew it knowing the cultural meaning,  but it didn't matter. Girshu hated him. He would gut him. He couldn't even tell if this was one of the horns that the ice elves used during their frost salamander hunts or one with a different meaning, but the difference was moot.
[Note: As described in some of Girshu's history and journals, his species used to be a wild race living in Itjivut that was hunted by the ice elves. While they don't live there any more, the hatred and distrust still exists. The frost salamanders aren't the ancient race from the frost caves and blood rituals.]

The pit master continues to shout and perform to his audience, speaking of an ogre that peaks Girshu's interest and then introducing the Flaming Dragon. As the man jumps into the ring however, all wariness that Girshu felt melts away. This man was certainly no dragon, perhaps not even a pyromancer for that matter. Girshu didn't see a bottle of alcohol in the man's hands, but that didn't mean that his firebreathing trick wasn't just the cheap spitting trick that the humans liked so much. Girshu could show what a real elemental breath looked and felt like, for some karmic justice. But perhaps not, he shouldn't show too much of his abilities.

In fact, he shouldn't show too much at all. If he wouldn't have to feint lacking sentience, he could've ended this fight before it even began. The self-proclaimed dragon was wide open and completely unaware of his opponent, showing off to the crowds and raising their cheers to his cause. A few ice shards thrown at him and piercing through the unarmoured fighter with ease, and Girshu could kill him in three seconds flat. But he shouldn't reveal that he had long-range capabilities, it would be more useful if the jailors wouldn't be aware of that feat. They'd rely on their ledges and their distance from Girshu's cage, not knowing that either was pointless.

Girshu should keep as much of his power hidden as he could. His long-range, his intelligence, his tactical insight, even his raw frost power for the most part. If he would seemingly have a moderate amount of trouble against this guy, he wouldn't be pitted against enemies that would actually be a challenge to him or be guarded with more care. He would fight with his bare savage prowess only, or so it would seem.

One advantage he would take, was the cage. There were three, maybe four meters between it and the floor. And the floor was sand and gravel, soft enough to prevent any fall from doing any real damage as long as you wouldn't land on something hard. With his six arms, Girshu could easily climb it with relative speed and accuracy, staying out of this guy's reach and greatly disadvantaging him. And that was just what he would start with.

Girshu gets up, standing as he normally did when not pretending to lack sentience. Resting on his tail like a snake centaur, he prepared his lowest two arms and readied himself. He placed them on the ground and lifted up his body, taking the weight off his tail. It whipped up and slammed down, crashing into the ground. The tail slap wasn't aimed at the ground rather than opitimising the kickback, making Girshu fly up almost straight into the air. It was the natural way for his species to jump, both before and after they became civilised. The proper geluscentra didn't jump often, though. The technique was meant for scaling the first few meters of an ice cliff or jumping at their prey, and those were things that only the savages did.

Girshu jumps up about four meters into the air, the best he could do and therefore not something he should keep hidden from the pit master. It wouldn't get him out of the arena anyway, not with the thorn bushes he would impale himself on. It did get him close enough to the cage however, which Girshu grabbed on to. Quickly hoisting himself up to be hanging from all six, he steadies himself. With three claws hanging on at all times and the rest moving to the next bar, he starts moving upside down relatively quickly for his position. About as fast as a human when fast-pacing their walk without actually running.

Gorgos the wannabe drake looks up at Girshu, first shouting something angry and then something taunting. Girshu couldn't hear him over the noise of the audience. The man seemed to try and spin things to his favour though, as if the disadvantageous position he was in would only make his eventual victory better. Psk, why would a hard-earned victory be any more impressive than a clear domination of raw power that would simply blow the opponent to smitereens? Humans had such weird priorities, probably stemming from trying to cope with how weak and insignificant they were.

Girshu hangs from the cage, close enough to Gorgos to jump him but not enough to be in the man's fire breath range. The fire wells up and tries to lick him, but Girshu easily backs away from it. This flaming fist guy clearly wasn't experienced enough with his breath to know the delay it had. He tried to move along with Girshu's movements, but the fire required a few seconds to reach Girshu and was therefore not the fire he spewed at the moment that Girshu moved. He was more likely to set his own beard on fire having a chance of hitting Girshu this way, but Girshu quickly told himself not to use that. It would show tactical insight to move in a manner that would ensure that.

Instead Girshu whips with his tail to jump at Gorgos. Gorgos jumps to the side, apparently already insightful enough to know what the tail whip means. Girshu doesn't let go of the metal bars and slaps his tail not too hard. The metal dome vibrates from the impact and Girshu feels the metal give way a bit. It is rather thin after all, to prevent obscuring the audience's view too much. Not thin enough for anyone normal to just bend the bars out of the way, though.

Girshu moves a bit along with Gorgos, intentionally putting his tail where his claws were before. There was more and strong condense on the bars, which were frozen colder from his touch. And anyone with a basic understanding in thermodynamics knew that when something like iron got significantly colder, it would become harder but also more brittle. Girshu slaps his tail again and Gorgos dodges his faint again, this time Girshu feels the vibration ring only near his tail rather than through the entire cage. The bar he struck broke, the metal hardened to a point where it was brittle enough not to bend. It was just a hair fracture breach, the bars seemingly still connected to the naked eye as if severed by saw.

Good. If this cage would be here too often, Girshu could unnoticably add more of these broken spots throughout the matches. It shouldn't be too noticeable, at least not until he could break off a whole chunk and form a gap big enough for him to fit through. Then the bushes wouldn't even matter any more, because they were underneath the cage. But hopefully he wouldn't have to do so, hopefully there would be no cage when he fought this ogre coming next.

Girshu slaps his tail against the bars again, this time letting go and being launched at Gorgos with a speed that mere falling wouldn't accomplish. Gorgos jumped to the side, but not fast enough. Girshu rammed into him, sending them both sprawling. Gorgos grunted and tried to grab on to Girshu, but a mere muscular man was no real challenge to a clawed being like him. Girshu gets up with four arms while digging the talons of his fifth into one of the grabbing arms and slapping Gorgos's face with his tail. He was already up by the time that Gorgos can even start to properly raise himself, and takes a hunter's pose when Gorgos is merely standing.

The man already seems battered. The side of his face slapped by Girshu's tail and the shoulder that Girshu rammed into look bruised more by the force than the cold, but the five puncture wounds were Girshu's talons digged in looked much worse. Gorgos felt it too, grasping his wounded forearm with his other hand. There was frostbite around each wound, the purple red festering like an infection. He was lucky that it was his left arm, because just this much would already decrease what he could do with his arm and hand. Gorgos spits his fire breath more to keep Girshu at bay than as an attack.

Girshu breaths a frost breath back, which clashes with the fire and makes a cloud of steam well up for a second. When it clears, Gorgos had already retreated a few meters back. The snowflakes and frost streaks on his face make it clear that his breath didn't quite measure up to Girshu's. Not surprising, fire was mere empty energy where frost actually had water as a solid component to give it substance. Girshu smiles, the frost breath would do. It looked a lot more like a natural weapon than his real frost magic, despite being harder and less potent. Easier to be passed on as a species feat. And he could always just spit at the guy, his saliva was much more potent by mere body temperature alone. Where frost breath had a greater reach and arc, any place that Girshu would spit would be festering with frostbite cold enough to cause second or even third grade burn marks. Which included the fingers that the victim might use to wipe his wounds with.

"Damn it, you backstabbing traitor!" Gorgos shouts at the pit master. "I thought you said this beast would just be an interesting match for me! One that looked strong enough for me to make a real name with, not one that would probably kill me! I didn't sign up to die like this!"