Post by turbo on Dec 18, 2008 11:58:15 GMT -5
Roman didn't much like what the man under the mask of TurboNegro had been doing behind his back. Especially in the loosely regulated rings of Central America... but he got over it soon. The ring rust was gone, and he was back on his game. His hand picked punching bags were down and out, visciously picked apart by the man's technical submission game.
Hell, half of them were in the hospital because he was annoyed they weren't challenging him enough. Their fault.
Regardless, his home is in the midwest of the United States. He'd finally returned to the general reason. His hair long and unkempt, a weeks long beard and he didn't plan to shave. Mostly because it was fucking cold, but, yeah. Less recognition the better. He made no contact with old friends, with family, nor anything like that. Not Roman's rules, but his own.
Besides, a shit storm brewing is much more fun to launch off in a national scale, than a few seperate occurances, blabbed about on the internet, to boo you out of a building with before you even enter in.
Until then, it's best that it wait. He can look like a homeless man wandering down Lake Shore Drive, a few miles away from his apartment that Roman leased for him to keep his name safe. The beard and long hair helped greatly in this weather... not to mention it didn't make him look like a rich man. Muggers left him alone. Homeless didn't ask him for any money.
They left him to be alone, looking at his sorely missed Lake Michigan as long as he wanted. Thoughts of his previous and looming career floated in his mind, as well as a few laugh out loud almost moments about the look on everybody's faces when it finally happens.
Hell, half of them were in the hospital because he was annoyed they weren't challenging him enough. Their fault.
Regardless, his home is in the midwest of the United States. He'd finally returned to the general reason. His hair long and unkempt, a weeks long beard and he didn't plan to shave. Mostly because it was fucking cold, but, yeah. Less recognition the better. He made no contact with old friends, with family, nor anything like that. Not Roman's rules, but his own.
Besides, a shit storm brewing is much more fun to launch off in a national scale, than a few seperate occurances, blabbed about on the internet, to boo you out of a building with before you even enter in.
Until then, it's best that it wait. He can look like a homeless man wandering down Lake Shore Drive, a few miles away from his apartment that Roman leased for him to keep his name safe. The beard and long hair helped greatly in this weather... not to mention it didn't make him look like a rich man. Muggers left him alone. Homeless didn't ask him for any money.
They left him to be alone, looking at his sorely missed Lake Michigan as long as he wanted. Thoughts of his previous and looming career floated in his mind, as well as a few laugh out loud almost moments about the look on everybody's faces when it finally happens.