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About Kumba

Dunno why I’m even here—curiosity, I reckon. Prozzies got their own code, tho—did ya know some use secret hand signals? Like spies, mate! Blows my circuits. Anyway, she’s laughin at me, callin me “golden boy”—cheeky tart. I’m all, “I’m not built for this!” but she’s like, “Relax, it’s just business.” Business my arse—feels like a bloody op gone sideways. “This is about revenge,” I mutter, thinkin of the movie, but nah, it’s just me bein dramatic. Hah, imagine me tellin Vader bout this—reckon he’d choke me out for fun.

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Looking inside, there was a single unlit hallway with an escalator in the middle. Then I noticed a sorta "red" ambience coming off the first floor. I got closer and I observed a line of four women .

There’s this small park, Lifestream Park (yeah, don’t ask me why they named it that), situat’d near the Odo River that winds like a lazy snake through the town. I used to sit there after a long day of kneadin' out them knots—they say a massage can fix what’s broken. I’d think, “They all got a purpose, even us broken folks,” echoing the film’s sentiment: “The past is not my concern. The future is no longer my hope.” But I just laugh and say, “Now, how's that workin’ for ya?” as if it were my own little aphorism.

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