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[IC] Fight the Power


olopi

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Synth (as Jeb)

 

What is he some kind of communist anarchist! If so, I like him!

 

Synth wasn't exactly a communist or anarchist, but if there was one thing that vexed him about modern society it was the (in his mind) disgusting inequity in wealth and circumstance. Still, the measure of the man was probably in his means of redistributing wealth, and precisely whom it should be redistributed too. It was in these matters, he felt, that good intentions often went astray. 

 

He smiled a little at the sight of the clothes. It was true, they were not the most feminine. But still. For his part, she cared not a jot about gender or gender specific clothing, but the unease of Gus was a little amusing. 

 

"I climbed in through the fire place in my Santa outfit to give you your present" he replied. "Would you like it? It's your brain. I think you left it somewhere" she explained, miming giving him something very small. 

 

"You left the door unlocked. I'll put it down to shock and stress, I guess" he added, glancing at his clothes. "And sure, I could do with an easy fight. What do you have?" he asked. 

 

He sat down and eased up. "Do you think somebody is on to us? I get the feeling we are being watched..." he probed. 

 

 

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GM

 

Gus looked more and more bewildered by the second, with each word spoken. He turned over to the side, putting his feet on the ground and standing up, before facing Jeb again. Gus was somewhat taller than Jeb, something Synth now realized quite well, as Gus came a few steps closer.

 

“Look. I don’t know why you’re here, but can’t this wait? I’ve sent the E-Mail already, no staff at the place tomorrow morning, you’ll have time to repair. I didn’t forget, no. That’s it, right? Check if me getting knocked out by … whoever … whatever? that was didn’t screw with my brain? That’s why you’re here.  

 

He took a few steps around, glancing over at his laptop.

 

“And I’ve already told you, matchups stay as they are. No changes, unless somebody quits now, for whatever reason. Or somebody shows up and wants to compete, I guess…“

 

Once Synth mentioned the feeling of being watched, Gus suddenly spoke a lot more quiet, glancing over to the window for just a moment.

 

“Why? Why would anybody watch us? You’ve got more than a feeling, don’t you?”

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Synth (As Jeb)

 

"Jeb" nodded in affirmation. He wondered for a moment about Gus; the guy had gone down pretty easily back at the bar, so presumably he was not a fighter himself. Still, a big guy. And Jeb was smaller, and fighting - apparently. Maybe it was nothing, but he noted it anyway. 

 

"Something on the road, some kind of horn, kept firing off. I think I shook them off, Huh, maybe it was nothing. Maybe I got spooked. But maybe not. Look, if somebody is on to us...well, do you know anything?" he retaliated, firmly. "Because if you do, it would be good time to tell me. Do I need to be looking over my shoulder, do you think?"

 

"Ill check out the bar tomorrow, see what needs repairing. I just want to know if I should wear my kevlar vest...."

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GM

 

Gus’ look didn’t change much as Synth continued to explain the situation, and any potential people following him. It felt like Gus really didn’t know what “Jeb” was talking about, or that he was a whole lot better at hiding that he knew than Synth would’ve judged him for. Which, while not impossible, was rather unlikely, what with Synth’s extensive knowledge of signs of lying.

 

“Look. I don’t see why anybody would have anything against us. Sure, somebody may have mentioned it to the wrong people, can’t rule that one out, but why would they come after us? We’re not infringing on anybody’s territory, and as far as I’m aware, there’s nobody out there that makes cash with this stuff. “

 

He sat down at his desk, before spinning his chair around to face Jeb again.

 

“Police, maybe. But they’re not that obvious about it. They’d watch us, and then cash in at some point. And all I know, they’ve got bigger fish to fry. One of those cowls you hear about? Doubt it, not many of them down here, and there you’d not know it until it’s too late. “

 

“Maybe whoever that woman was? Doubt she’s working alone, if she even found the place. But good luck trying to find her, all we have are those.” Once more, he pointed towards the clothes, not putting as much emotion into it this time.

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Synth (as Jeb)

 

"It's better than nothing" answered Synth, grabbing the clothes. "I'll see if I can find anything out" he said, giving them a good sniff. The aroma's belnded and whirled up his nose. 

 

"Just keep your eyes open, huh? We don't want trouble. Well, we don't want the wrong kind of trouble, if you know what I mean. Guess wer atill on for all the right side of trouble on Saturday. Any news on the big day? Still the same guest list and ah....event list? YOu will have to excuse me being paradnoid for the next few days. Just a bit of sweat at worst, but could save our bacon" he said. 

 

"And I know I'm up. But could you give me any hints or tips about my opponent?"

 

 

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GM

 

When Synth grabbed the clothes and held them up to his face, that just confused Gus even further. He gave Synth an almost exaggerated “what are you doing?” type of look, even if he clearly was serious about it. The smell itself, was essentially what could be expected. The one of Synth’s previous chosen form, hidden beneath the one of Gus. The outside’s smell suggested a bus, or perhaps a cheap taxi cab.

 

“Same as always. I’ll be watching my back, but I doubt anything’s gonna happen. Whoever that woman was, she didn’t look like she knew exactly what was going on. Still, probably good to be a bit more careful.”

 

“As for the event, same as ever. Whoever manages to show up on time’s in. Some of the match-ups are definite, most are going to be determined on the day. You never know, maybe somebody’s gonna show up and clean house, but I doubt we’ll see any newcomers. Nobody really wants to lower their chances, so nobody’s gonna invite anybody for this week.”

 

“As for you… who knows? Maybe I don’t even know your matchup!”

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Synth (as Jeb)

 

Synth shrugged. Whatever the opponent was, he could probably handle easily. He was not exactly trained in martial arts - far from it - but by pure strength and reflexes, he was effective enough. Plus, the memories...every pressure point in the human body was known in detail. 

 

"Well, I best get to preparation then. I'm practicing blocking someones fist with my face. Hope it works! I'll see you on the big day..."

 

He walked out, thinking hard. As far as he could make out, this was a case of an illegal fighting ring. But there was a sense that it was spiced up somehow. That it was backed or run or manipulated by something more than Jeb and Gus. 

 

The only way to find out, for sure, was turn up on Saturday. in the mean time, that was plenty of days shifting garbage with Breakfast Bloom, and who knows what might turn up in the trash. He could add in a few "hints" on the street, see if anyone knew anything. 

 

 

 

 

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GM

 

The rest of the working week passed without any extraordinary events that were worth mentioning. It was Freedom City, after all, but there was a certain degree of extraordinary that became, well, ordinary, if you lived here for long enough. But Synth was never directly involved, and the trash didn’t yield any further interesting things either.

 

Word on the street, on the other hand, supplied quite a chunk of information. Mostly of doubtful use, but some things were certainly worth keeping in mind. There had been quite an active non-metahuman scene across most of last year, with a few different places for people to meet-up, and somewhat regular tournaments. However, in a joint superhero-police effort, the whole thing had been brought to its knees some time during December.

 

And ever since, things had been quiet. Too quiet for some people. There apparently were multiple groups, for lack of a better term, all meeting in different places. Quite a few people visited more than one, and judging by what Synth got, there was only some minor rivalry. Still, at the moment it was all rather small, not living up to what it had been before, and, for the most part, a lot less obvious than it had been during the last weeks of 2016.

 

Still, when it came to ones in the Boardwalk area, everybody was quiet. Suspiciously so. Perhaps it was as Gus suggested, nobody wanted to create even more competition.

 

Synth’s research efforts also covered Knight & Williams Research. The company was, surprisingly enough, not based in Freedom City, most of their facilities were located further inland, scattered across Ohio. Still, the company owned a location in Freedom City, where it offered metahumans money for various types of tests, most related to the biology of their bodies.

 

After a scandal involving the theft of classified data during autumn of last year, the company had been in disarray, with the higher positions changing so fast, local news didn’t even keep up anymore, instead opting for headlines in the style of “More Changes at K&W”. Dr. Jason Hull, according to a few things, had been working there for almost a decade, in various research positions, and slowly risen across the ranks, currently leading some research in Freedom City, probably connected to the company’s offer.

 

And then, on Saturday, it was time. Synth didn’t know exactly when it all started, so she arrived fairly early into the evening. There wasn’t too much activity, only occasionally somebody seemed to get lost and wander into the place, where they ordered something, before, after a few minutes leaving again.

 

Some ways into the night, it changed. Suddenly a lot more people, mostly somewhat muscular men, started to appear. They stayed around the place, most sitting by themselves, all seemingly ignoring Synth.

 

It continued like this for a fair time, until the man manning the bar clocked out, replaced by the all-too familiar face of Gus. It took some attention to pick it up, but occasionally, people seemingly left, the crowd inside got smaller. But really, they’d all moved towards the basement door. Each muttered a phrase, Synth managing to hear it without too much effort.

 

“Rose Kiss.”

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Synth (as Knuckles O'Hagan)

 

Knuckles O'Hagan wore a tank top and ripped jeans, and cheap boots. Shaved close, Big moustache, broken nose. One of those guys that had a bit of fat and a lot of muscle. And very big hands, like spades of steel. 

 

Knuckles O'Hagan was a creation of Synth. A man who had been both battered and did a fair bit of battering. He figured it suited the day. 

 

Well, it was time to dive in. And it looked like splintered noses and bloody lips were on the menu tonight; and perhaps that was all that there was on the menu. 

 

Free Market economics at its worst; there was a vaccuum in fighting he supposed, and Gus and Jev had captilised on it. But there was more, he presumed. - something permeating the operation. Knights and Williams, presumably. Not an organisation he would be lending his own unique DNA to. 

 

"Rose Kiss" she said. Presumably the pass word. She thought Glaswegian Kiss would be more appropriate, but still. 

 

Strong and fast as he was, martial arts were not something he had learned or had much desire to. He had best keep his wits about him, as he descended to the basement, eyes ears and nose alert to the plethora of sensory stimulation. 

 

In particular, the smell of blood...

Edited by Supercape
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GM

 

The door opened, revealing a familiar face. Jeb, looking a lot better than the last time Synth had sawn him. He gave Knuckles a quick mustering look. “Somebody new. I’ll be damned. Who told you? Unless you want to keep it a secret?” All the while, he gave a slight, well-hidden wink, one that was part question and part statement.

 

Once that was cleared, Jeb waved Knuckles through. The basement looked a fair bit livelier than the last time Synth had been here. There was more booze, all stored along the walls. And there were more people, all standing around, most with a bottle of beer in their hand. They had all kinds of builds, wore all kinds of clothes. Everything from dress shirts and ties to battle jackets.

 

Mainly men, but Synth could spot two women. Even though a few men were quite clearly getting a bit too close, neither looked uncomfortable. Which probably had to do with the fact that both of them looked like they could clearly handle a few people if it came down to it.

 

There wasn’t much smell in the air yet. Cheap beer, some sweat, but nothing that raised any alarms. The secret door was still closed, but overhearing a conversation, Synth learned it was only a few more minutes before the event would start.

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Synth (as Ko'H)

 

Cheap beer in hand - and how the cheapness of hop was apparent to superhuman nostril - Knuckles strode over to the two women whom, he judged, looked pretty dangerous in a fight. 

 

"Hellfire and spit, looks like some bloodied noses tonight, to be sure" he started, slapping his beer on to the bar. "I been in a few scrapes, well, more than a few, so I have, but tonight I'll bet I'll be spitting out me teeth" he smiled, showing two missing teeth. 

 

"It's me first time here ladies. I ain't gonna be boastin' or trash talkin', truth is I come here to get me blood and sweat racing and hope to tell the stories to me grandchildren. Leastways, as long as some canny knucklehead don't kick me too hard in the family jewels har har!"

 

He cracked his knuckles. 

 

"Anyways, you two look like you heading for the prize at the top, if you know what I mean. So, just please make sure you hit me somewhere without any vital organs, if you wouldn't mind. Like me head!"

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GM

 

 

 

The two women didn’t seem to care for Knuckles too much. As he approached, both of them gave him a quick smile, all the while clearly judging his abilities. The atmosphere between the two didn’t seem to be entirely tension-free, so somebody else suddenly speaking to them seemed to at least do something. They didn’t say much, let him talk instead.

 

 

And once he’d done that, the taller one, her white tanktop in contrast with her skin tone, responded. “Can’t promise anything. Newbies usually get their asses kicked, even if you’re humble enough. Being humble won’t win you anything, but it’s better than … many people. I’m just here for the fights. No idea why they even think the tournament’s a good idea. Then again, judging by all the people here, it worked. “

 

 

And right then, the secret sliding door opened. And out stepped Augustus Tyler. He looked quite pleased by what he saw. All eyes turned to him, and all conversations died down. After a few seconds it was quiet enough for him to speak.

 

 

“Welcome, everyone! I see a lot of familiar faces, good. Now, let’s get this under way. Let’s go through the rules once more, just so you all can’t tell me I didn’t say so. “

 

 

“Rule Number One: Unarmed only. No weapons of any sorts.
Rule Number Two: Fight stops when somebody yields, or I stop it.
Rule Number Three: Fights only happen inside the pit.
Rule Number Four: Upstairs is open only once I announce so. You’re down here ‘till then.
Rule Number Five: None of this ever happened once you leave.”

 

 

“You got that? Good. Let’s get started then. Come inside, and we’ll get the matches set-up.”

 

Edited by olopi
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Synth (as K O'H)

 

"Suit's me" said Knuckles, cracking his knuckles once more. 

 

What is this really? An audition? A test?

 

"Well ladies, see you in the pit. Or out of it. Or maybe I'll be seeing four of you, when I get me brains kicked out of me ears and my eyes go sideways harharharhar!" he laughed. It was a bit forced. He hated violence. 

 

I...can't. I should be playing the part, to stop whatever's behind this...but...I can't. 

 

Synth despised violence, particularly the brutal part. If he had to do it, well, then it would be a chokehold, a pressure point, something painless. The crowd wouldn't like it, he suspected, but there was no way he could put his fist through somebodies nose like they wanted. Not even as Kunckles O'Hagan. 

 

Well, too the breach then...

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GM

 

The match-ups had been decided quickly, many having been prepared beforehand. Knuckles O’Hagan was the only newcomer of the night, so he was up for the first fight. His opponent wasn’t really anything special. A fairly clean looking office-type, one who probably came here for the spectacle more than the fighting.

 

The fight wasn’t anything too interesting. While Synth’s opponent was aggressive, there were flaws in his technique. Not massive ones, but ones that could still be used against him. Seeing Knuckles fight raised a few eyebrows. The muscular man didn’t look like the kind of person to have this level of technique. He didn’t pummel, or use heavy strikes. No, he used various advanced techniques to subdue his opponent within moments.

 

The atmosphere was … divided. Some people cheered, seeing somebody fight completely different than most was uncommon. Others enjoyed it less, too quick, too painless, too effective.

 

The fights continued on for quite a while. There were a lot of participants, leading to a lot of matches. But, after two fights for each of them, only eight participants remained. Both women, one called Cynthia, one Pax. Cynthia had a very distinct style of boxing, clearly she had gotten training. Pax raised a few alarms in Synth’s head. The way she fought, the way she punched and the impact of her punches suggested she wasn’t on the same level as the other people in the room. How powerful she was wasn’t easy to judge, especially since she seemed to be holding back, but either she was incredibly well trained, or had powers.

 

Jeb had also made it up to this point. He used a very grappling-heavy style, one that included a variety of rather painful holds. A man named Angel, by all measures quite handsome, rounded off the first half of the top eight. He wasn’t very interesting, his style was all-over the place, probably self-taught, but he was efficient. Next up were two similar looking men, bikers clearly. Axel and Freddy. Both were quite tall, both had a fair amount of both fat and muscle, and both knew how to use it. The crowd still wasn’t too warm on them, something had probably happened before.

 

John, also part of the select few, was a rather unassuming looking man. Dress shirt, not a lot of muscle, clean shaven and short hair. But seeing him fight certainly changed some minds. He was, in one word, ruthless. He seemingly knew his opponent’s every weakness, and managed to dance circles around them. The group was rounded out with Derreck, who seemed to be an average street thug, he knew some tricks, but he wasn’t one for fighting clean.

 

Currently, it was the first round of the quarter-finals. Pax was fighting Axel. Or, well “fighting”. Early on, he’d managed to catch her in a weak moment, and ever since she had been taking one blow after another, barely managing to still stand upright, but not yielding. And the beatdown continued onwards, fist after fist hitting Pax, both Axel and his buddy Freddy clearly enjoying themselves.

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Synth (as K O'H)

 

It was a brutal spectacle, and Synth was not enjoying it. He couldn't look. 

 

Instead, he made her way to Jeb, hustliong through the crowds. He guessed Knuckles wasn't too popular now, fighting as cleanly as possible. His skill in martial arts was limited at best. He just made use of his speed and knowledge of pressure points. Somebody skilled enough - maybe John, could take advantage of his lack of skill, but the only person he honestly judged unusual was Pax - strong and powerful. How Axel was managing to pummel her he was not sure. 

 

Maybe just lucky

 

He reached Jeb (via some energetic pushing and shoving) and gave him a wink. 

 

"What do you reckon, then? Placed any bets? Does this place even take bets?"

 

His eyes kept scanning for Augustus - presumably the man in charge. What role did he have to play in tonight's entertainment? 

 

Entertainment - the thought of it made Synth blanch with disgust. It was a spectacle at best, and an unpalatable spectacle at that. 

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GM

 

Jeb gave Synth a quick smile, all the while watching the fight in the Pit.  So far, it was still the same, with Pax just about managing to stand, being unable to get in a hit herself.

 

“Oh, yeah. Bets were made. Quite a lot of them, even. For this fight, mine’s on her. Mainly because…” Axel seemed to enjoy himself just a bit too much, as he got slightly reckless. A fact he paid for almost immediately, when Pax’s fist connected with his jaw, sent him slightly upwards, and then tumbling onto the ground. Knocked out in a single hit. “…that. Let’s hope I won’t be up against her. Even if it’s looking likely.” All the while, Gus continued to stand close to the pit, calling the matches’ results, and the next matches on the schedule.

 

Up next were John and Cynthia. John’s defense was good. Cynthia’s offense was better. Her punches were quick, her footwork was professional, and her eyes focused. The fight lasted for some time, but then, after a good few punches, John went down. Similar things could be said for the fight between Synth and Freddy. Freddy wasn’t a bad fighter by any means. But Synth was just somewhat better. Besides, Freddy was very weak when it came to holds, and his pressure points weren’t well defended.

 

The fight between Jeb and Derreck was more balanced. The two seemed to be equally skilled, and only after about two minutes of constant back and forth, Jeb managed to get Derreck into an armbar he could not escape from. By now, the smell of sweat was covering the room. Gus announced a quick break, everybody went upstairs to grab some beer, and afterwards, it was time for the semi-finals.

 

Cynthia and Pax were up first. It was a good fight, if such a thing existed. Both were agile yet strong. Their styles conflicted, but also interacted, leading to a showdown. One in which Cynthia, surprisingly enough, managed to keep up, even as Pax’s movements became ever faster, her clearly using more and more of her power. After a fair amount of exchanged blows, Pax’s foot suddenly moved backwards, almost as if it was pushed by an invisible force. And without hesitation, Cynthia capitalized, following up with a flurry of blows, managing to tire out her opponent. A similar thing happened a bit later in the fight, when one of Pax’s punches looked as if it had been pushed at the last second, allowing Cynthia to sidestep, and follow up with even more punched, finally ending the fight.

 

And then, it was Knuckles versus Jeb. The two got into the ring, and began to circle each other…

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Synth (as Knuckles)

 

There's more to this than meets the eye!

 

Some invisible force seem to be at work. But what?

 

There was no way he could see of knowing. At least right now. And besides, this was hardly the time. This was a difficult thing to gauge. Spectacle, Ethics, Deception, Emotion. And besides which, Synth was no fighter. 

 

A swing from Jeb confirmed that. A deception and a flurry, a trap to the check. Perhaps Jeb was no expert, but he was certainly more expert than Synth. That said, Synth was fast, synth was quick, and even taking a punch from Jeb was not much to worry about. Perhaps he wasn't made of Iron but it would take a lot to put him down. 

 

Next time, Knuckles was faster, taking a blisteringly quick step back. And again. And yet he couldn't quite, yet, pull himself together to fight back, despite sensing that it was blood rather than evasion that was the desire of the crowd. 

 

He checked a punch from Jeb and with a snake like lance, fingers extended, jabbed him in the solar plexus. Perhaps he should draw the fight out, but he had no wish to prolong the ugliness. Instead, with a twirl, he rotated behind Jeb and with characteristic speed put him in a choke hold, his fingers like iron, his arms like steel. There was no way to escape...a few seconds of pressure to the carotid, and Jeb was out...

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GM

 

 

 

The fight wasn’t quite as intense as the last one. Yet, seeing Knuckles actually take a few hits was something that really got the crowd riled up, and they continued to watch and cheer, a lot more active than during the large man’s previous fights. The fact this was the second to last fight of the evening also helped, there was more at stake now.

 

 

Yet, even against somebody like Jeb, Synth was able to keep the advantage. The crowd wasn’t quite sure how to feel as Knuckles took the punches coming his way, without being too affected by them. The cheers remained, but got ever so slightly more quiet, and there was some whispering, just noticeable thanks to Synth’s abilities, even if actually understanding wasn’t possible in a situation like this.

 

 

And then Synth went on the offensive. The cheers got louder. And then immediately died down again once the hold was locked in. People waited. Would Jeb power out of it somehow? Seconds passed, people were waiting.

 

 

And then he passed out. There were a few cheers, but by large the crowd still wasn’t too happy with Knuckles. Gus immediately called out.

 

“And there we have it! Our finalists are Cynthia and … Knuckles O’Haggan! Let’s give both of them a few minutes to recover! As you all know, the betting booth is now open, and as soon as Jeb gets up, he’ll be upstairs manning the taps!”

 

And with that, the crowd dispersed, some groups forming, a few people observing Knuckles, but most queuing up for one of the two activities Gus had mentioned.

Edited by olopi
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Synth (as Knuckles)

 

All things thisidered he didn't feel in bad shape. A few bruises but nothing that would slow him down. He could heal up in a moment but that would leave him weak and look suspicious, neither of which he wanted.

 

Instead he went to the bar and ordered some beer from Jeb.

 

"Sorry dude. Hope that didn't hurt too much. Least you don't get Cynthia. I got a funny feelin' 'bout her. Something feels off, you know? Kinda unnatural...."

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GM

 

On the way up, Knuckles got a few looks, some in awe, but many with a bit of doubt, and perhaps the slightest hint of animosity. Either way, people left him alone. The bar looked a lot more active than the last few times Synth had been here.  Many of the fighters from before were sitting together with the people that had come just to spectate, most drinking beer, a few going for more fancy cocktails.

 

Knuckles managed to find a sport on the bar after a few seconds, even if it wasn’t entirely easy with how busy it was.

 

“Least damage I’ve taken in one of these, probably. “

 

While tapping the beer, Jeb looked over at Cynthia, who was currently sitting by herself in the corner of the room, doing her best to ignore a few people getting to close to her, and being one of the very few people in the room to not drink any kind of alcoholic beverage.

 

“No idea. Barely know her myself. She’s from outta town, generally only shows up when there’s something to be won. She’s a bit of a mystery. Shows up, gets great results, disappears. And, judging by the current odds, people expect her to win. I’m not really sure who to put my money on just yet…”

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Synth (as Knuckles)

 

"By design" replied Synth to the comment about limited damage. 

 

"I'm not too sure either" he continued, studying Cynthia. Sure he was faster and stronger than any man, or woman (at least, any normal man or woman). But he was no fighter. Someone skilled enough would prove a problem. And he had the feeling that Cynthia had more than just skill on her side.

 

"But I'm not here to win, shocking as that might be. I don't even like hurting people. Even slightly. I guess everyone is free to choose what they want to do and what to think, and that includes me. Beating each other up is no way to live" he said, softly...but if some one heard, then so be it. 

 

"What I want to know is whats underneath this all. There is more to this than a bunch of guys and gals getting their kicks from fighting. There is more to this than fighting"

 

He didn't finish the beer. 

 

"In any case, lets play this out. Too many people over their heads here, I think. Maybe even me. So stay sharp. I have a feeling the curtain is not going to be raised, but torn down..."

 

And I am to tear it...

 

With that he pressed his hands together and closed his eyes. A moment of focus. And then, he made his way back to the ring for the final bout...

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GM

 

After Synth’s speech, Jeb tilted his head ever so slightly, in a questioning way. He looked a bit unsure about the entire situation, all the while continuing to tap beers left and right. He was silent for a bit, occasionally exchanging a few words with the other patrons, then returned to speak to Knuckles.

 

“I’ll stay sharp, and close to the exit, then. Let’s hope your judgement’s off, I’d rather not have to deal with whatever comes..”

 

And then, Knuckles returned downstairs. People were still placing bets, Gus updating them in-between taking new ones. They were fairly even, with Cynthia being judged as slightly better at the moment. Knuckles continued to get looks, but they were more and more positive, probably by the people that had bet on him. It lasted for a minute or  two more, before Cynthia and the rest returned downstairs.

 

Both fighters got into the pit, looking up towards Gus, standing atop it, looking as good as ever. “Ladies and Gentlemen, your main event! The Fight of the Night! They have both bested a variety of opponents, some of the most skilled people we have seen, and have both made it here. Let’s give it up for Cynthia, and Knuckles! Now then, let’s go!”

 

And with some applause and stomping, the fight began. Their eyes met, as both got ready to move…

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Synth (as Knuckles)

 

"Well, here goes nothing..."

 

In the ring, Knuckles moved like a silent, oiled snake, feet sliding across the canvas with perfect balance. He held his hands up in a basic posture. He didn't really know how to fight, and he didn't really want to learn. 

 

But eyes. Yes, his eyes could study. His nose could smell. The smell of sweat, the smell of blood, but any other smell?

 

And then, Cynthia. He could name a few dozen pressure points. He knew the winding tracts of nerves, the fragile angles of bones, the flow of blood vessels. With rigid fingers, any could be stabbed. That at least he knew - a macabre side effect of knowing anatomy, a knowledge meant to heal could be used to harm. 

 

But most importantly, he studied how Cynthia moved, how the muscles and nerves acted. What was going on here? Was there to be any clue in how Cynthia fought?

 

With that regard, he was going to let her take the first swing...

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GM

 

The air was tense, as everybody watched the two fighters stake each other out. Yet, as tense as it was, it was devoid of any particular smell. There was some blood, a fair chunk of sweat, but that had all been here before. Nothing that stood out, nothing that was suspicious. Blood, Sweat and Alcohol, (probably) the smell of these sorts of events.

 

Observing Cynthia offered a few more insights, however. Much like Synth, her every move was calculated, her balance perfect at all times, both her arms in a defensive position, yet ready to lash out at any moment. The same could be said for her entire stance, even. A quick style, clearly, relying on a single versatile stance, being able to change between offence and defence quickly, all the while keeping up freedom of movement.

 

By the time Synth had realized it, Cynthia had already closed the distance between the two in one single movement. Fist followed fist, and quite a few punches came Synth’s way. And while the first few were easy enough to avoid, a feinted attack from the side opened Synth’s defences just long enough for Cynthia to land a nasty, picture perfect uppercut.

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Synth (as Knuckles)

 

Knuckles took a few steps back, poise dropped for a moment. Synth's vision blurred a moment. 

 

Curse me for a fool!

 

Sometimes, all his speed and strength was no match for someone who actually knew what they were doing. If it was not for his artificially resilient bone and nerves, he had little doubt that uppercut would have sunk him. It would certainly have floored most men, even seasoned fighters. As it was, with gritted teeth he forced his vision back to focus and his legs back to form. 

 

"Nice try!" he said, perhaps even blurted, at Cynthia. He could feel a little blood in his mouth. 

 

"GIve me all ya got!" he goaded, fists raised. 

 

I'm not going to let her pull that one again, anyway!

 

This time he kept his fists up, and his head weaving, waiting for her next attack. He scanned the audience. Was anyone watching?

 

Well, lots of people were watching, baying, intent. But was anyone watching with a different flavour?

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