Part One.
I was sick of being partnered with namby pamby Octanes (Cucktanes), that clearly were new to the game and equipped whatever new item they just found. It's easy to pick them out before the match even starts, if I see their title is hidden, I know they're just some Semi-Pro wannabe hotshot. How are you ever going to win if you've got nothing to prove? It had felt like so long since I was partnered with someone who knew what they were doing. Is it so hard to understand that protecting the net is the highest priority when the up-man challenges for the face-off, and not rush off to the boost leaving the net exposed? Stupid Cucktane teammates. I swear I was playing with some acne-faced virgins. I needed a real man.
I started a new match, and I was teamed up with a Merc. Great, I'm playing with a brick on wheels. Chalk this one up as another loss! I checked the scoreboard, but under his name, he was a true Legend. He wasn't some block with boost, he was a powerful beast: aggressive to the ball and rough with the other teams. He would demolish an enemy to clear the net, he would take the boosts in their defensive zone to pin them back and not allow a counter-attack, yet always found a way to rotate to protect the net. He and I were a dream team met in heaven.
Sure, he was from the wrong side of the Wasteland, but I didn't care. He made a stormy night in Beckwith Park seem like a sunny day in Utopia. His hard harsh lines looked so stoic with me, a sleek sexy X-Devil with long racing stripes and curves in the right places. His name was TestosteRon, and me, SeX-Devil. After we finished running a train over some Cucktanes who couldn't even rocket jump, we decided to team up. I didn't have the courage to tell him right there that we should back out of this 2v2 and let him manhandle me on his own, 1v1, but does he feel the same way about me?