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           ItwasacordlesselectricdrillthatthepolicethoughtwasagunwhentheyblewBigBobaway. 

           TherewasnothingtotieBigBobtoProjectMayhemorfightcluborthesoap. 

           Inhispocketwasawalletphotoofhimselfhuge andnakedatfirstglanceinaposingstrapatsomecontest. It’sastupidwaytolive,Bobsaid. You’reblindfromthestagelights, anddeaffromthefeedbackrushofthesoundsystemuntilthejudgewillorder, extendyourrightquad,flexandhold. 

           Putyourhandswherewecanseethem. 

           Extendyourleftarm,flexthebicepandhold. 

           Freeze. 

           Droptheweapon. 

           Thiswasbetterthanreallife. 

           Onhishandwasascarfrommykiss. FromTyler’skiss. BigBob’ssculptedhairhadbeenshavedoffandhisfingerprintshadbeenburnedoffwithlye. Anditwasbettertogethurtthangetarrested, becauseifyouwerearrested,youwereoffProjectMayhem,nomorehomeworkassignments. 

           Oneminute,RobertPaulsonwasthewarmcenterthatthelifeoftheworldcrowdedaround, andthenextmoment,RobertPaulsonwasanobject. Afterthepoliceshot,theamazingmiracleofdeath. 

           Ineveryfightclub,tonight,thechapterleaderwalksaroundinthedarknessoutsidethecrowdofmen whostareateachotheracrosstheemptycenterofeveryfightclubbasement,andthisvoiceyells: 

           "HisnameisRobertPaulson."