I don't go to church. I think all the illegal Mexican supplements I've been gobbling down since I was 11 years old forced Jesus somewhere deep below the surface. I don't attend any services or say any prayers at night. And still, no amount of illicit Chinese prototypes injected directly into the anus could quash a healthy level of respect for a higher power. There are some things which are just beyond our control as upright apes. I've come to understand that I don't know everything. Sure, I can tell you how many nerds I can deadlift without breaking a sweat or which buttons I'm going to pop if I really get a solid pump on, but the big things remain a mystery to me. Why are we all here? Is there life on Mars? How does rebuild work? Nope, no idea.

Simple, with muscles defined like I'm Merriam-WebsterWayne, I can only concede that some things elude me. I have to place my faith elsewhere beyond the practical, beyond scientific and thrust it deep into the spiritual. Theology is for more erudite and let's face it, less athletic beings than SSW. I choose to look at the things happening around us and arrive at the only conclusion my dumb-bell curled fingers can grasp. 

The 1% Gods decided it must be this way.

That's right. All this fighting, murdering, main-whining; preordained. They knew it was coming. They set the forces upon this path, tweaked their strings in a way Spike would have wet dreams over, and slapped their massive 1% dongs on the table with an intimidating thunk. Time to stand back and admire, gentlemen, your weapons are useless here. You can kill as many innocent Alkaline's as you want. Send your Optimus lemmings tumbling over the cliff. This is only going to be resolved one way. With every shot the mighty hand of the glorious 1% archangel draws ever closer to snatching stubborn little bitches from their protective caves as they cry to their doom. My weedy numbskull of a cousin, SoWeakWayne fell kicking and screaming into oblivion. Who is going to join him? 

The main contenders:

• Soseki
• Odin
• KingsleyShacklebolt
• Nevaa
• TNT
• TheDude

Which of these is going to sponge up one bullet too many and get smacked down to earth, waxy wings smoldering?

I'll take any action. Name your price. The 1% Gods demand further blood. 10 credits says it is Nevaa. 

Hollywood, Los Angeles, late afternoon. The streets are deserted. On a corner off Cahuenga Boulevard a few blocks from the studio lots, @D0minic is closing the doors to SUNSET ROAD & GUN Sporting Goods Hunting & Fishing S after a tough first day of trading where he receives no customers. It was an odd name for a business, and a controversial time to be opening one with mob war raging across the country but we wish him well.

A short distance away, former Chicago crime boss and now button-stripped Wise Guy of the Odin gang, TheDude is holding his arm out tentatively towards MommyGardevoir. "Just a fleshy, ok?" He asks, cringing away from her loaded gun. She grimaces and pulls the trigger....BANG.

ON A CLOUD IN THE ETHEREAL REALM WHERE MERE MORTAL CANNOT TREAD

The 1% Gods watch on impassively. Shall we take him now? Has he survived his last pro shot? Shall we claim his life like a deer season rifle from SUNSET ROAD & GUN?

Nov 09, 16:51:45    You witnessed armogdryovmiem attempt to WACK! TheDude

No. We think not. Survive for another 4 hours, TheDude. Our appetites are sated. 

For now...

BACK ON THE DINGY STREET CORNER NEAR TO DOM'S NEW SHOP

.....BANG.  

"Oh fuck, you got me!" screams TheDude hopping from one foot to the other. Mommy looks sheepish seeing the hole in TheDude's bowling shoe fountaining crimson. She'd been aiming for the meat of his arm. Whoops. Oh well, it could have been worse. 

South Philly. An evening of bloodshed and death. Gunshots ring out and the night air turning it thick and acrid. It gets up the nose like those little dweebs whinging about a lack of invites or dying at Gangster. Ruby_The_Beast26 staggers out of an alleyway, ChaosBringerUnicron chargers after her, gun raised. At the last moment his foot skids on the filthy cobblestone and he falls flat on his ass in a calamitous heap. Ruby walks away unscathed lost in the darkness. He picks himself up, embarrassed. A former Don relegated to street thug and now covered in alley scum, what a fall from grace. The only thing left is to try and give himself protection from retribution and lay low for awhile.

HIGH ABOVE THE WORLD BELOW, A 28 SIDED DICE ROLLS ACROSS A CLOUD

The 1% Gods frown down at the scene before them. Disgraced Unicron demands Engel fire a gun at him to save him from any assailants. Do they decide to punish him in response for his failure? They look at each other and consider it. Then they get distracted at how doubtlessly attractive they must be and great and amazing at what they do and they should definitely act one or the other in the view of this innocent observer....

BACK TO THE SCENE OF UNICRON'S SHAME

.....BANG. ChaosBringerUnicron cringes away as Engel reluctantly fires upon him. He runs his arms across his body, eyes scrunched up tight. Phew. He'd survived this round; rhe 1% Gods chose to let him live for another day. Would he be able to take another?

​Well, shit, man.

​Looks like the 1% Gods finally finished rolling their dice. Hell of a lot of bodies lying around for a bunch of fellas supposedly in control of everything.

​You had my name on that list, Wayne, and I'll give you credit... man, I certainly gave your gods enough opportunities to collect. Took more chances than pairing an Egyptian rug with silk curtains and had more bullets flying my way than I'd care to remember, but shit... somehow I'm still sitting here.

​You know what's funny, man? Your ancestor once explained that the reason he wiped out the Saints and Chicago was because he didn't know who TheDude was.
​Suppose the family knows who I am now. Just a shame it took another fucking war just to arrange the introductions.

​And this whole 1% business? I dunno, man. One percent, ninety-nine percent... lot of fucking percentages being thrown around for something that apparently nobody could predict. Except the dead fellas, I suppose. Their odds seem pretty settled now.

​Anyway, Wayne... the war's over. The gods have gone quiet, your betting shop's closed permanently, and I'm back where I belong. Behind a bar, watching my people knock over ten wooden pins instead of each other.

​Still breathing, man. Still abiding.

​Not bad for a fella you were betting wouldn't see the morning.