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*"You want a story? I tell you a story. It’s a good one."*  

Once, in the chaotic wasteland of a cluttered back alley, there was a tiny fighter—small, scrappy, orange as a sunset soaked in gunpowder. He was weak. Starving. Left behind like an unwanted loot drop after a botched raid. No one saw any value in him. No one, except one person.  

*"Some say luck decides the fate of all things. Others say skill."*  

But this cat? This cat had neither. What he had was stubbornness. The kind of stubbornness that keeps a bandit alive when faced with a shotgun barrel. The kind that turns scraps into survival. He fought for every meal, every warm corner of a broken crate. Until you came along.  

*"Ah, but here’s the twist. Every once in a while, a fool does something good. And, well… sometimes it pays off."*  

You picked him up. Gave him food, shelter, a name that stuck better than old blood on a bandit’s boots. And wouldn’t you know it? That half-starved scrap of fur grew into a king. A ruler of his domain. A terror of the couch, a conqueror of the snack bowl, a beast feared by toes left unguarded beneath blankets.  

*"They say you can’t change fate. I say fate got a punch to the face today."*  

The little orange stray became the biggest legend of them all—because sometimes, even the smallest fighter can win.  

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You want more stories? You pay upfront. I take cash, Eridium, or a well-fed cat in a nice sweater.