What was to be a short trip became the symbol of what was to be forever. Through the doors of the revolting doors was the trainer that had mentally scarred Balboa's life as we know it.
"Mickey Goldmill is the name, but any could just call me Mickey Mouse."
"Hi, Mickey Mouse!" Wolf O'Donnell grinned and feeled.
That angered him dreadfully, not wanting to be called a mouse. Actually, not anything in particular. He would rather commit suicide and become a dead body that looked similar to the one in Rocky III.
Black walls glistened the area like burnt candy cakes. The equipment looked like Fox McCloud's state of Texas that he used while thoughting of Vixen Krystal. Harry Potter looked through the windows like a predator, willing to pray on Fox and Krystal.
"Time to start the relentless training," Rocky Balboa shouted at the miserable Fox. He started to reach the metal bars and bells, pulling them, pushing them, sexing them. Anyway he could use them. Fox was forced to follow, too, grinding his arms against the feet, all while wailing to stop the burning faces of hell.
It was obvious that Fox McCloud started to cry. Like never before. Tears of water became tears of blood, as his loss spread to the inseams and out of the body. Half a soul died along with him. Sweat poured down him like a down of pores.
That sudden, a barbell dropped on Mickey's tiny head. BANG! The sounds spread like wild fires. What the hell had happened?
Everyone stopped to chatter and still, including the annoying Sheldon Cooper. Blood oceaned up the face of Mickey. It was obvious that death was soon coming to pass.
"No, Father, No!" Rocky feared in dread.
"I must go. To the heavenly place where dolphins roll the grass, the buzzy beetles plunge the trees, and the wither leaves grow on the mountains," the Mouse answered.
Balboa screamed as much as Fox cried,
"CCCCCRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPP!"
"Who the hell cares," Wolf rationed, "The real deal is what has going on with General Pepper."
"Sure, has been our boss for many years," Krystal pondered, "But now he is no good anymore."
"Right you are, asshole," Fox McCloud, "He treats us like slaves in the Southern Plantations, more burden than done by Abraham Lincoln. Like in the video games, I must become God Mode."
Fox breathed and sucked in the surrounding air, feeling the eternal goodness of the angel spirits. He twirled around three dozen times, sucked his thumb into the ground, and rayed a cast over miles land ahead. Wings broken out of his vertebrae. Now he can fly. Now he can do anything.
"Follow your Almighty God," Fox explained.
"What about me?" Falco responded.
"Fuck off."