Revolver and Playmaker rode on the streams of data that permeated the area, turning and guiding their hoverboards to best catch the wind that was more like water flowing through the air. They rose and fell as they proceeded through the world of virtual reality, buildings passing them by at high speeds as they both did their best to remain in control of the unpredictable current.
They were dueling. At last the fated confrontation between the two of them had come, and tension filled the air. They sized each other up, each probing the other for weakness. Finally, Playmaker took the initiative and struck.
"I attack with Link Slayer! Shooting star break!" The clawed, golden warrior of a monster shot forward to strike at Revolver's monster. It struck with a mighty force that scattered electricity all around it, and a moment later an explosion erupted from Revolver's monster, wiping it away along with a fraction of Revolver's lifepoints.
Revolver felt the force of the impact, but refused to be buffered by it. He looked back at Playmaker.
"Bastard." Revolver said, his voice dripping with contempt.
Revolver wasn't too worried though. The advantage was still his. There was no way this upstart could defeat him. On his next turn he would use all his power to utterly crush Playmaker, and then-
"'Bastard' is a prohibited word." Revolver's duel disk chimed in, interrupting his thoughts.
A twinge of irritation. What the hell? His duel disk was ordering him around? He wouldn't stand for it. Revolver really hated being told what to do.
"Shut up!" Revolver said to the duel disk. He was in the middle of a heated battle, it was indecent for this…machine to interfere.
"'Shut up' is a prohibited phrase." The duel disk said helpfully.
"What? Are you fucking serious?" Revolver said in frustration, only realizing his error as the words came out of his mouth.
"'Fucking' is a prohibited word."
Revolver snapped.
"OH MY GOD YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! I HATE YOU SO GODDAMN MUCH, IF YOU WERE A GODDAMN PERSON I'D HAVE A MURDER-BONER FOR YOU SO BIG THAT I'D PUT YOUR GODDAMN HEAD ON A GODDAMN PIKE! FUCK OFF YOU PRETENTIOUS PIECE OF SHIT!"
Revolver waited, enraged, for the machine to do its incessant corrections now that he'd blown his top. He dared it to say something else. But a moment passed, and then another. No reprimand came. Revolver smiled. Did he break it? Would that fucking machine finally let him duel in peace-
"'Shit' is a prohibited word."
Revolver let out a guttural scream. He really wished Specter hadn't convinced him to get the duel disk with an A.I. program.