((This chapter's OC's:
Kyle "Hammer" Martel- BonkUppercut (me) ))
The tension was beginning to grow unbearable. Kyle Martel smoothed out the wrinkles in his gold-camo boxing uniform, eagerly anticipating the match that awaited him in mere seconds. He leaned casually against the ring's ropes, wearing a confident smirk as he waited for his opponent to enter the ring.
"Come on, Hammer! You got this!" came the encouraging voice of his personal trainer, Vito Ricci. Kyle snapped his head back, eyeing Vito with his trademark, alley-cat eyes. Kyle had one electric-blue eye and one amethyst eye, likely due to his biotics. Although he had the option to cover them up with contact lenses or pigment injections, he chose not to. It was an integral part of Kyle's public appeal. Kyle gave a casual shoulder shrug.
"I think I just feel off 'cause of the biotic-disabling thingamajigs." Kyle guessed, his light Boston accent dancing its way into his words. The entire stadium was protected by a biotic-disabling EMP field, which ensured all boxing matches were legitimate. It worked like a dream, but it was rumored to have side effects. And right now, Kyle had a nasty feeling the side effects weren't just a malignant rumor.
Vito mulled this over, and finally declared, "You're gonna smash this guy anyway, Hammer!" Hammer was Kyle's stage name, and it was a translation of his last name from some ancient language nobody gave a damn about. Suddenly, the crowd began roaring raucously, and his opponent was finally visible. A muscular young man with jet-black hair and acid-green eyes entered the arena wearing a Greek-style robe. Looks like my cousin Jack… Kyle remarked to himself. Nah, it can't be. Jack was way scrawnier. Paler, too. Plus, Jack wouldn't be dumb enough to wear an outfit like THAT. Kyle stood up straighter, positioning himself in a fighting stance.
From the arena's public address system, the booming voice of the male announcer echoed throughout the stadium. "In the blue corner, we have the golden legend with the fists of steel! Give it up for… HAMMER!" Deafening applause and cheering rose from the audience in response. Kyle resisted the urge to cover his ears. It would have made him look weak. The crowd was shushed as the announcer continued. "And the challenger! He's risen his way through the ranks, and his career may be made or broken by this match! Look out, because here comes… PERSEUS!" The crowd applauded once more, but it wasn't nearly as loud as before. A few tense seconds passed, but they abruptly ended as the unmistakable 'ding' of the fight bell rang out. "FIGHT!"
Perseus wasted no time in starting. He flew across the ring at an alarming speed with fists blazing like mad. Kyle bent himself backwards at an awkward angle, and Perseus' attacks whiffed past Kyle. Taking advantage of his opponent's post-attack vulnerability, Kyle forced himself up and shouted his signature phrase: "This is for Shock!" Twisting his hips, Kyle flung his full weight into a vicious right uppercut aimed straight at his opponent's chin, in his trademark move known as the Hammer Shot. Wirth the force of a runaway train, his opponent was launched headfirst into the ropes at the opposite end of the ring, rebounding off them with a resounding 'thud' as Perseus hit the floor face first. The referee began to count. "One! ...Two! … Three! ..." The crowd was holding their breath, waiting to see if the underdog would get up. "Four! ... Five! … Six! … Seven!" So far, the odds for Perseus weren't looking too good… "Eight! ... Nine! … Ten!" The referee stepped into the ring, waving his arms in the air. "Knockout! Hammer is our winner!" Not counting the countdown, the fight had taken all of seven seconds. In the audience, nearly everyone stood up and cheered their heart out. Kyle smiled. It felt good to be the champ.
In the locker room later, Kyle stood shirtless with a towel over his shoulder. Vito sauntered in, looking like he'd just won the lottery. He put an arm around Kyle's non-towel-covered shoulder. "Kid, that's the kind of hustle that's gonna make you the champ! The other guy didn't have a chance!" Vito declared jubilantly. But Kyle didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on the Scorpio standing in the doorway, beckoning him.
Kyle pushed Vito off him and stormed out without a word, his eyes blazing. The Scorpio trailed him, confirming his suspicions. It wanted him. Or needed him. For what, he didn't know. But Kyle wanted answers. He'd never seen this species before, so why did it come for him now? And why him? He spun around angrily, ready to confront the strange creature. "What the hell are you? And what the hell do you want with me?" he demanded.
The Scorpio chose to ignore his first question, but the second one it answered with relative ease. "You. Martel, Kyle Andrew. Background: Former N7 Marine, survivor of Mindoir attack. Favorite Color: Gold. Favorite Song: U Can't Touch This. Favorite Drink: Asari Elassa. Favorite Pastime: Remembering fallen squadmates, most notably deceased turian Shock Valuer. Favorite Food: Stuffed Peppers because, quote/unquote, "they taste like the noonday sun on the battlefield". Profession: Fist Fighter. Age: 27. Correct?" Kyle blinked in surprise.
"How do you know me? Where did you get that info? I don't tell people these things!" Kyle persisted.
"You. Have penchant for combat. Chosen for gladiatorial role. Will be integrated into Battle Dome. Shuttle waiting. Must board."
"Hang on a second! I didn't agree to any of this!"
"No choice in this matter." the Scorpio quipped, unhitching a tranquilizer pistol from its belt. Before Kyle had a chance to respond, a tranquilizer dart sprouted from his neck and he spiraled into unconsciousness.