User blog:CounterMatt/'Name Redacted' Personal File. Entry three.

Disclaimer. . . Read, enjoy, but this is all OOC. You weren't there. It didn't happen. Don't worry about it.

Aaaaa-hahahahaha! Punch's laughter echoes as he staggers around the bunker. Dropping to his knees a pained expression appears. He then drops futher his hands pushing up but barely keeping him off of the floor under whatever invisible apparition which is causing strain to his systems so. His casing buckling, internal coolant pipes cracking and venting gasses Punch's laughter is replaced by a tortured screaming sound.

Punch isn't making it though. Not verbally. If sounds had nightmares then a eight hertz wave that some may more easily recognise as the transformational sound's twisted dark clone. What Punch may have transformed into is obscured by the cloud he's in. A second scream, the inverse of the first, comes shortly after. Punch collapses, exhausted, before the cloud can clear.

Time passes. As it does. Punch recovers and reawakens. As he does. He then walks over to a cracked mirror, carefully reframed, and says, "Finally managed it." Punch is overjoyed. Never, ever in his life has it been so difficult to transform into that thing. He must have done something right. He must have found more of himself. Just like he found all the pieces of the mirror and had them reset. One day he'll repair all the shards into one smooth flawless surface. It'll be the symbolic reward for once he's got a cure for the damned thing.

In the meantime He'll build his own life, one piece at a time. Until this war is over though. . . he still needs the acursed costume. Right now his work, the cure, everything hinges upon it still being usable.

Ironic really. . . all his life. . . it's been being Punch that's been a struggle. . .for the first time he has the glorious problem of struggling to become Counterpunch instead of giving it up.

Today. . . is a good day.