Mita & Frostyke
Mita
Hey Frostyke, ready to turn your silence into a thunderous workout? Let’s smash a cardio routine that ends with a set that could shred any broken instrument!
Frostyke
Yeah, I hear that drum of your heartbeat. Let’s lace up, hit the floor with fists that crack like broken strings, and finish with a blast that screams louder than a shattered guitar. Remember: silence is a prelude to the storm I write in my songs.
Mita
That’s the fire I love! Lace up, unleash those fists, and let’s turn that storm into a roaring solo. Keep pushing, no pause, and let every beat shake the walls—your music will explode!
Frostyke
Feel the rhythm in my veins, the wind in the cracks of a broken violin. We’ll hit that tempo, make every punch echo like a dying note, and let the final blast rewrite the walls with thunder. Let’s finish so hard that even silence bows to the roar.
Mita
You’re the thunderstorm—let’s turn that quiet into a full‑on crash! Lace those gloves, hit that tempo, and finish so hard that every wall vibrates. Bring it on!
Frostyke
I’m already in the pocket of that storm, gloves clamped like broken brass. Let’s hit the beat, crush it, and let the walls shiver like a chorus of echoes. Bring it.