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[IC] Fight the Power


olopi

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GM

 

The audience, as expected, was watching. Cheering louder than before, now that Cynthia was landing quite a few punches. For the most part, at least. Some people had bet against her, and some probably didn’t like her too much, and they seemed a bit annoyed at Knuckles’ lack of activity so far. But there wasn’t anybody with a clearly malicious intent in there, not beyond wanting to see somebody get hurt at the least.

 

Meanwhile, inside the pit, the fight continued all the same. Cynthia looked quite shocked that her punch had no effect, a bit taken out of it perhaps, as she attempted a simple one-two, feinting and then attacking. She botched it, rather badly so, clearly showing her intention even to the less combat-savy Synth, and allowing Knuckles to catch the fists as they were coming at him, causing quite the uproar in the crowd, and a not-so-nice expression on Cynthia’s face, as both the boos and the cheers immediately got louder.  

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Synth  (as Knuckles)

 

"Gotta do better than that!" said Synth, cheerfully, to Cynthia. Nothing mysterious happening yet...but...

 

but eyes open!

 

Keeping a half-eye on the crowd, Knuckles crept forward, swinging his fists fast and hard. It would have been quite a punch to land, surely, but every swing was telegraphed and even if it would have landed, it was easy enough to side step by an experienced fighter. Perhaps it looked like Knuckles was holding back. Or at the least, was a wild swinger. 

 

Perhaps his mind was not on the fight, but the events behind the fight. 

 

Perhaps, unconsciously, he simply didn't want to fight. Knocking someone out and breaking their jaw was not on his agenda. 

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GM

 

Knuckles continued to scan the surroundings, everything getting a bit more active now that the two were exchanging blows. The crowd was enjoying it, even if quite a few people looked doubtful, as if they assumed that neither person was fighting at the top of their skill, both waiting for their opponent to do something else.

 

Did that man…? No, everything seemed to be right. A few people were seemingly analysing the two fighers’ styles, perhaps for their own gains? Was that to be expected of this place, or did it tell of something more sinister, another layer to this all? Perhaps there was more to it, perhaps it was simply a bit of paranoia striking.

 

Cynthia, for her part, managed to dodge effortlessly. She took a step backwards, deflected the blow to the side, and took a massive step forwards, planting her foot into the ground. Clearly, she was trying to incite a flinching reaction, in order to allow her following punches to hit their target in a more direct way than before.

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Synth

 

If anything unnatural was going to happen, then it seemed Cynthia needed pressure. Or the crowd needed blood. Or both, quite probably. 

 

Synth reached into his adrenal glands and, with that uncanny ability to control every synthetic organ in his synthetic body, squeezed. 

 

In just a second the adrenaline flooded his body. A hot sweat flooded his skin. He could feel his heart racing, furiously pumping the adrenaline and the blood around his body. His muscles twitched in anticipation. 

 

And then he was off, leaping forward swinging fists wildly. He gave no thought to his defence right now, instead letting speed and power and fury fly forward. It was not graceful or pretty, but it did have a primal beauty - a bezerkir rage, or at least, near enough,

 

Swing after swing after relentless swing at Cynthia...

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GM

 

Cynthia reacted like a deer in the headlights. Completely stunned by the sudden action, she barely managed to deflect the first blow before fist after fist pummelled into her, the crowd erupting much like Knuckles, louder and louder, punch after punch. The assault continued, and then, after a few seconds, Cynthia stumbled backwards, working on autopilot, the damage already showing all across her body.

 

And then, she hit the ground, just about managing to catch herself in a way to avoid more injury, before fainting properly. The crowd’s volume increased even further, with quite a few people’s expressions being those of disappointment or anger, clearly they hadn’t expected this result. A few of the people who had been observing the two fighters intently looked rather pleased, others disappointed, much like the crowd at large there wasn’t a consensus.

 

Gus had already gotten to his position, and a quick glance revealed that Jeb was manning the betting booth, even if he looked a bit unsure.

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, your winner of tonight’s tournament: Knuckles O’Hagaaaaaaaaaan!”

 

A quick pause, while Knuckles ascended out of the pit, and a few people went to check of up on Cynthia.

 

“Now, as for your prize, let’s discuss that afterwards! For now, let’s go for some drinks! Happy Hour, everyone! “

 

More cheers. Arguably louder than during the fight.

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Synth (as Knuckles)

 

As the adrenaline started fading, Synth felt his sweat become colder. He felt a sense of sickness at the damage he had caused Cynthia. 

 

All in a good cause...he said to himself, but the thought didn't taste good. No matter what the justification, and in retrospect the justification felt thin, he could not deny the base disgust at his violence. He felt sick. 

 

Its a good thing I feel sick...he noted. Its when I don't feel sick that I should worry....

 

He felt empty and drained, as the flush of adrenaline wore off. It would take a moment to catch his breath, but right now he didn't have to fake fatigue. Slightly tremulous, he half stumbled into Gus. 

 

"So whats the damn prize then...free beer?" he asked, almost contemptuously. The anger he felt at himself was easily displaced onto Gus, who was making money out of this...

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GM

 

Jeb looked comically insulted by Synth’s suggestion, quickly grabbing onto Knuckles and dragging him upstairs, the crowd splitting to make way for the two, as the various people in it either went towards the betting booth to collect their winnings, or also upstairs, to join in with the celebration, or throw away even more money.

 

“What? No, of course not! But before we get down to talking about the prize, let’s celebrate! You have to enjoy your win, c’mon! All is good now, no need to be so tense, time to have a few drinks and be happy!”

 

Upstairs, the lights were still on, even if by now, it had to be quite late. Gus got in behind the bar, and immediately got to work, eyeing first Knuckles, then the rack of booze, then the other patrons currently coming up the stairs, and then Knuckles again.

 

“What can I get you? It’s all on the house! What’s your favourite? Are you a … Jaeger kind of person?”

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Synth (as Knuckles)

 

"Sure, I'm a Jaeger kind of person" answered Synth. Possibly it was a code word or something. Probably not. 

 

"Better than be beer anyway"

 

Perhaps he was tense but then, he had good reason to be. Perhaps he should relax. But then, he had good reason not to. Perhaps he should drink - although it took an awful lot for him to get drunk - but that was plain stupid. 

 

His breath was coming back, and that cold slimy feeling on his skin was starting to fade, replaced by a warm sheen of sweat feeling. He had to push the violence out and start focussing. Time enough for nightmares about the fight later. 

 

"I'll drink till i'm under the table. But I still want the prize!" he reiterated. 

 

 

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GM

 

And with that, Gus grabbed a bottle from behind him, and within moments, poured Knuckles a drink. Quite a large one, one probably strong enough to have quite the effect of somebody his size, at least when that person wasn’t also Synth.

 

Gus handed off the drink, and while once more tapping beer for a few people that had taken a seat next to Knuckles, kept up the conversation.

 

“That’s the spirit! We’ve got enough here to get an entire village drunk, let’s see if we can’t!”

 

The drink tasted… not that bad. It was quite strong, but still pleasant. For the first few sips that was. Then, something stood out. In both the drink’s smell and taste. Something was slightly off, barely noticeable even for Synth’s senses. It was hard to figure out just what it was, but then it dawned on Synth:

 

This smell was clearly chemical, something not part of the usual alcohol-making process, and thus also not part of the usual smell.

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Synth (as Knuckles)

 

Whatever it was, Knuckles put it down. Sure, he could probably take it. But probably wasn't good enough. 

 

What was also worrying; this faux - drink was being handed around freely. What was it? Poison?

 

"This tastes off to me" he said, voice like lead, looking at Gus. "Something funky"

 

He peered at Gus steadily. 

 

"Cut the games, Gus. No prize, but free drinks spiced up with something. If you are looking for another fight, I can easily oblige. How about I Kick your ass so hard I knock out your teeth. then I can force feed you this through a straw until your stomach ruptures and we see what you have laced it with, huh?"

 

"Or you can just give me my goddamn PRIZE!" he shouted, slamming the drink on the bar. 

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GM

 

And as quickly as the cheerful, relaxed atmosphere had come, it went. One moment to the next, everything went silent. Everything went silent, and all eyes turned towards Knuckles, part of his drink spilling across his hands and the table. A few people backed away, a few moved closer, everything got a lot more tense.

 

Gus, for his part, had taken a step back reactively, and, both hands in front of him, was looking directly at Knuckles. He didn’t look all that confident, or pleased. In fact, he seemed to be rather afraid.

 

“What? Calm down! No need to get angry! Why would I spice up the drinks? They’re straight from the bottle.”

 

He held one of his arms up to, like a magician, reveal the various bottles on the wall behind him. That much was true, Gus had poured it directly from the bottle into the glass.

 

“Look, there was a slight issue with the prize. The delivery service lost it. It should’ve arrived yesterday, but it looks like it’s only coming in Monday. Now, how about another drink?”

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Synth (as Knuckles)

 

Straight from the bottle?...But how?

 

Unless it was not the bottle but the glass. 

 

"Well something smells off. Might even be me" he said, relaxing slightly. But not too much. Everyone should be on edge. 

 

"Gimme a glass. No, gimme two..." he asked, preparing to sniff them when handed over. 

 

"Not just the glass might be off. This racket don't smell of roses, either. Delayed mystery prizes - huh, if I wasn't such a trusting guy, I could think that meant there weren't no prizes at all. Which would mean I would have to crush some skulls and break some bones" he said, a flat out lie. Violence was no answer. 

 

"So what would happen if I made a complaint to the management. Namely, your boss?" he asked Gus. 

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GM

 

Gus’ first reaction was to laugh. It wasn’t forced, or fake, it was, as far as Synth could tell, entirely genuine. All the while, more beer was poured, and only once he’d calmed down somewhat and handed away a few more glasses, he walked over to Knuckles and replied.

 

“What boss? Why would I have a boss? We don’t have management here. No higher-ups, no shady connections. It’s the one thing that makes this place so popular. No fixed fights, no shady deals in backrooms. Just what you see. “

 

And with that, he poured and put down two more glasses. First he showed them off, they were empty, suggesting he was perhaps, just so slightly, ticked off. Then, he poured tow (small) drinks, before once again walking off to the side to serve somebody else, and returning shortly afterwards. Surely enough, this time the smell wasn’t around. It was just fairly strong alcohol.

 

“There. Everything totally normal. “

 

He leaned in slightly, and with a whisper, added something on. “I’ve seen you fight. You won’t go for total bloodshed.” With a  tone of superiority, before once again running off to serve somebody else, this time bringing them their beers directly to the table.

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Synth (as Knuckles)

 

I trust that fool not one atom. 

 

Perhaps Gus was not a fool, but he was vexing. Synth was a calm soul, for the most part. But the flush of adrenaline he had poured through his veins in the fight, often lead to a more extreme emotional soul, at least for a time. His limbic system might be as synthetic as the rest of him, but it was still there. 

 

He took a few deep breaths. 

 

Instead, he turned his attention back to Jeb. 

 

"What's going on here? I don't believe this joint is as squeaky clean as Gus claims. For one thing, I can smell something funny in the drinks" he expalined. 

 

"I'm not letting this drop, you know. One way or another, I'm going to squeeze the truth out. Before someone gets seriously hurt..."

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GM

 

Jeb had already gone back downstairs to help with the betting, so in order to get to him, Knuckles first had to surrender his spot at the bar. Much to the delight of a few other people, who now (verbally) fought about who was allowed to sit there. As he walked back downstairs, quite a few people looked at him. Some with amusement, some with disgust, a few with anger, and a few with joy.

 

By now the betting booth had cleared up somewhat, the line was a fair bit smaller. A few people were still waiting, and over in the corner, a small crowd had gathered around Cynthia, who was by now standing again, even if she still looked rather beat up. Jeb handed a guy who looked like a rather stereotypical biker his payout, then turned over to Knuckles.

 

“The drinks? No clue. They’re the same ones the place uses on a day-to-day basis. And I can assure you, those are totally fine. I am the guy who, for the most part, buys them, after all. I honestly have no idea what’s going on. The fact there’s no prize, with somebody like Gus, is … well, out of character, really. You’re probably right, there’s more to this. But I have no idea how this would connect to anything. “

 

Somebody else had stepped up, and once more Jeb handed out a fair chunk of cash.

 

“That reminds me, did you already get paid? Tournaments pay less, but there’s still a payout. “

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Synth (as Knuckles)

 

"I haven't got anything" replied Synth, who was actually pondering what to do with the money. He had to accept it to maintain the facade. A few extra coins would keep a roof under his head, and he could swallow that - but the bulk of it, he determined, would have to redistributed somehow. He would not accept blood money out of principle. 

 

"Wheres the bank? Do you handle that?" he commentated, although his mind was still on Gus who was proving a vexatious man even to him. He would try the patience of a saint. Perhaps the flush of adrenaline was driving him, but he found himself harbouring dark thoughts towards him. He cracked his knuckles - appropriately, for his assumed name. 

 

But it did feel the night was baring poor fruit. Perhaps it might be time to draw it too a close and see what Gus' prize was all about the next day. 

 

He glanced at Cynthia. Unless she had insight into the peculiarities of the evening. He might do well to keep his eyes on her...

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GM

 

By the time Knuckles had asked, Jeb had already gotten out a bundle of cash and laid it on the table in front of him. It was all in small notes, but judging by the size, it was more than just beer money. Jeb looked at the bundle, compared it with another one he’d pulled up, and then handed it to Knuckles.

 

“Should be 50 bucks. Not a lot, but as I said, tournaments don’t yield as much as the usual nights. Those are a fair chunk more. “

 

In the meantime, behind the two, Cynthia was being escorted upstairs by a few people. Looking rather annoyed at that fact, she probably preferred to do this alone. By now, the basement had cleared out a fair bit. And as Knuckles went back upstairs, he immediately was greeted by a group of people, similar in build to him, all holding a beer in hand.

 

“Come, join us for a round or two! You’re the champion now, but can you outdrink our champion?”

 

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Synth (as Knuckles)

 

"Sure I can" answered Synth, trying to drum up enthusiasm. He had none. He felt flat, deflated. The victory felt like stinging guilt in his hands. And now, to compound the misery he had inflicted on Cynthia, she seemed to be taken somewhere else for, well, therein was the mystery, but he did not imagine it was good. 

 

"Line em up, Ill knock em down" he explained, forcing a smile. Despite "winning" he felt he had lost, something had slipped by him. 

 

But there was always another angle, and if all else failed, another day. 

 

And besides, alcohol loosened tongues. 

 

He threw the money in the air for all to catch. The notes fluttered and blossomed, filling the air. 

 

"Drinks are on me!"

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GM

 

For the first time this evening, Knuckles got a purely positive reaction. The others looked at him, processed it for a second, then all simultaneously exclaimed. “Huzzah!”. Notes were gathered up, and Knuckles was dragged back to the bar by the crowd, where the drinking really started, everybody ordering quite an amount.

 

A quick scan of the room (it was smart to stay somewhat paranoid) revealed that a few groups were talking with themselves, but for the most part people were now gathered around Knuckles. Cynthia was still in the room, sitting in a corner, clearly bored out of her mind and occasionally shooting glances as various people in the room, all the while continuing to sip what clearly was soda of some sorts.

 

Things continued for a while, people ordering more drinks (sometimes on Knuckles’ donation, sometimes by themselves), until there was a fair amount of intoxication going around the room.   Not that anybody was even close to stopping. Gus did a good job of inconspicuously observing Knuckles, even if Synth managed to catch on quite quickly. Some people were starting to mumble about the tournament’s results, the fights, their lives, and so on. Mostly useless information, but if there was any time to get useful one, it was now.

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Synth (as Knuckles)

 

Easy come, easy go. Not for the first time, Synth questioned the philosophy of money. 

 

In any case, it seemed to loosen tongues. So he played along with it, throwing drinks left, right, and centre. And, to add to his part, he made a show of cracking his knuckles and laughing. It probably wasn't a good facade, but people believed what they wanted to believe. 

 

"And then I gave him a left hook, knocked him out cold. The other guy, well, I made sure I ripped his [loud cheer] from his [loud cheer[ and stuffed it up his [cheer] with a pair of golf balls!" he slurred. 

 

"What's with this joint anyway?" he asked everyone. "Where do your champions go? Up to the next league?"

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GM

 

And so, everything went smoothly. Time passed without any sorts of incidents, parts of the crowd following along with Knuckles’ stories, some sitting in their own groups, some leaving early, some being otherwise occupied. Still, Synth kept eyes on both Cynthia and Gus, the two people that, arguably, were most suspicious for different reasons. Cynthia spent essentially all her time sitting by herself and sipping soda, clearly waiting for time to pass. Still, she seemed to be eavesdropping in on nearby conversations occasionally, and paid some attention to Knuckles.

 

Gus, for his part, did the latter too. But in a different way. While serving drink after drink, he peered over at Knuckles a bit too often for it to just be unintentional. And the more Knuckles drank, the happier Gus seemed to be, even if he hid it. It was those moments where neither was obviously looking at each other that revealed the most crucial details.

 

Of course, Knuckles also got a response, quite a few of the people around him with tongues that, at this point in the evening, had become so loose they barely remained inside their mouthes. “No idea! You’re our … inag … inuga.. eehn… our first champion, man!”

 

At around the same time, Gus smashed two cocktail shakers together, creating just the right noise to catch everyone’s attention. “Okay everyone. You know the drill, we’re closing up in half an hour. That’s 30 minutes, everyone!” With that proclaimed, the activity picked back up, a lot of people rushing to the bar for one last drink.

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Synth (as Knuckles)

 

"The first, well how about that!" said Knuckles, raising his glass and spilling a fair bit over his somewhat soiled coothes, fill of sweat and drunk, 

 

And the last?

 

"Nobody can beat me! I am the greatest!"

 

He was sure he had heard that somewhere on TV. He didn't watch a lot of TV. But when he did, he tried to make sure it was the classics, or something like that. 

 

When the last call came, he declined a further drink. Instead, he sidled over to Cynthia, acting more drunk than he was. 

 

"What's your story? You pack the meanest punch. Fast, strong. Gave me a run for my money, that's the truth. But here you are, not drowning your sorrows in free beer, and not scuttling away to nurse your ego. Just sitting around, watching the show. Not talking, not drinking" he challenged her. Not intimidating her, but, he decided, boldly. 

 

 

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GM

 

Cynthia gave Knuckles the cold shoulder. She didn’t seem to care much, it hadn’t been the first time somebody had walked up to her this evening. The perks of being the only female person in a room filled to the brim with testosterone, one could assume. She took a sip, waited for a bit, and when it was clear Knuckles wouldn’t just walk away, responded, her mind probably focused on something else.

 

“My connection’s tomorrow. Stuck here ‘till then. And I’d rather sit in here than run around the streets. “ She signalled that that very, very clearly wasn’t an invitation, that much was easy to tell. Seeing how even that didn’t make Knuckles back off, she sighed. “Fine. Take a seat. “ And just as Knuckles had done that, his former opponent leaned in. “Look, I know a meta when I fight one. And see, you weren’t the only one. So, why’re you here? Clearly not trying to test your skills. Making a quick buck? Or does this go further?“

 

All the while, Gus continued to follow Knuckles’ movements, looking quite pleased in those moments he assumed Knuckles didn’t actually observe him.

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Synth (as Knuckles)

 

He became serious a moment. "I'm here because..." he looked around to check he was not being overheard. At least not obviously. 

 

"Because this is a filthy deal. Look, if people want to bash each others brains out, well, so be it. Stupid, if you ask me" he explained, loking down at his own Knuckles. He could almost smell the blood on them. 

 

"But this gig, it reeks of money. Bad money. And people looking for something, or somebody, they can use. I don't have any proof yet, but I've seen plenty to think the whole thing is rigged. Something funny in the drinks. Too much money. People watching the matches with eagle eyes, without cheering" he explained. 

 

"What, you think this doesn't feel off? somehow? nothing strange? tell me its all part of the scene, nothing normal, and I'll believe you. But I'm willing to bet you have seen or heard something that didn't feel right" he finished. 

 

 

 

 

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GM

 

Cynthia looked somewhat surprised at what Knuckles told her. Not shocked, but it wasn’t something she’d paid full attention to if her reaction was any indication. She pondered her words for some time, looking down at the table, then back up at Knuckles.

 

“No idea, really. Not from around here. Back home, you can be glad if you don’t end up in somebody’s trunk after one of these. Seen it happen enough. Gangs that use them to recruit, people that look for enforcers. People that look for prey, even. So no, nothing felt particularly off to me personally. Hell, it was nicer than many of the ones I’ve been to. “

 

A short pause as she let Knuckles take in the words, and took a sip of her soda.

 

“But, you know, considering what I’m used to. I imagine it works differently down here. For many reasons. I can give you some advice, I suppose. If they want to use you, they want to get you in a moment of weakness. Give them one, and you’ll see what happens. I’d say make sure you can defend yourself, but you? Still, look out for guns. “

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