Prologue: A Bite in the Butt
Life... is chaos. Everyone knows it. The unpredictability is practically predictable, yet it still manages to creep up on you and bite when you least expect it. There is not one person that can beat the system- Kicking the bucket really is just giving up, not winning. So, while one remains conscious on this planet, they're in a constant battle to stop insanity from overwhelming them. Those locked up in "safe houses" have either failed at that, or are one step away from beating the system.
Now, my life is made up of a series of cliches. Everyone goes on their journey, everyone aims to be the best and all that. Most actually do pretty well, even if they aren't part of the group that become Champions or Top-Coordinators. Actually, I'd say that only about two in every hundred really fail. Of course, that's going along with the whole "seventy three percent of all statistics are made up on the spot" deal (that number changes every time.) What am I saying? That in my world of ponytas and sunflora, there is almost no way to lose. I've been told so many times that "There is almost no real danger," no need to walk that "middle road" that "they" talk about.
As if that could ever be real. There are handfuls of rabid ponyta in this little "safe" world. They run around and bite people in the butt when they aren't looking and vanish as quickly as ghosts, leaving a festering wound that won't go away until you get medical attention. By the time you actually figure out you're infected, it's rather late in the game.
But if that ever happens, no worries, because after all, you aren't ever in any real danger, right? Right.