a mercenary before he cuts his mask and is humbled by civility and survival for awhile... a rare look just before the sabertooth is devolved into it's more city suited pussycat, a prince of cats nevertheless minus the whiskers, but the image remains frozen in digital honey...like his skin underneath the ink and north of cell and sanguine border...
the mercenary can hold his breath for months, up to a year or more! if need be. he kneads the void and breathed a mission...just some small realities need be machined to fit.
he's on his way...a title fight in the jungle. teeth lengthen...
a thousand miles sharp eyes to see,
your smiling eyes/infinity-
the only mission and sole currency-
life is that cocained electric and that Superbeast is Me.
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