The doc cleared a spot for Aephus and me on the bleachers well away from the crowd, water bottles and ice packs at the ready. She picks Kwan Jang Nim as her first victim, probably focused on the shoulder to make sure I didn't break anything. I'm content to relax off to the side and nurse the various bruises I earned last round. Rather than staying with the rest of the spectators, Normandy crew has pushed their way over to us. Can't say I expected anything different.
"What happened to not getting hurt?" Tali asks partially joking, partially concerned with my safety as she leads the herd. The worry in her body language is... surprising. She's always been more than a little scared of me getting hurt, but she's more anxious than usual. Maybe it's the fact we're together now: I keep finding myself watching out for her even more since that happened. I guess the same applies to her.
I smile to try and calm her down. "It's only a few bruises. Stubbing my toe hurts more than this. Some spots will be a bit tender tomorrow, but there's nothing that won't heal in a week."
She starts wringing her hands, that nervous habit coming out again. I grab one and stroke the back of it. "I'm fine, Tali. I promise."
Finally starting to relax a bit, she nods. "Alright. At least I wasn't here when you fought the Krogan. I would've really been worried if I'd known beforehand."
"You did that?" Joker cuts in. "Damn, I would've killed to watch."
Dinara, who came over with her ex-boyfriend and the crew, nods to the pilot. "Most one-sided match I've ever seen. Didn't land a single hit on the Commander."
"He fights as well as he shoots. I'm still better at both, but..." Garrus smirks.
I just shake my head. No point in starting a war over that little comment. We'll settle it in the in the ring soon. But I do let go of Tali's hand long enough to stretch the tweaked joints. Predictably, my torso's stiff and not wanting to move, as is the left arm. I'm still in fighting shape. Just have to keep in mind certain parts of me aren't going to be real cooperative.
Aephus appears at my side, pointing to the doctor. "She is ready to examine you. You did not cause any damage, if you are curious."
"Good to know, Kwan Jang Nim. I'd feel bad if I did." I stand up and walk past him for the makeshift exam room.
He puts a hand on my shoulder, a small smile on his face. "It will take much more than that. Your Collectors must not have been worthy opponents if that is how you fought them."
"Hey, you want to lead my band of psychos back through the relay and do clean up, be my guest. I'll be here enjoying leave."
After another bottle of water and ten minutes of inspection, it's just about time for the final match to start. Garrus stays over with me for most of it, hovering close while taking care not to watch my injuries. I think he's trying to make sure he doesn't find some unfair advantage to exploit in the ring. Bruised ribs, twisted ankle, even a joint not willing to pop: all of those things can be used against you in a fight. We both have an idea of the other's injuries, but little details. Puts us on a mostly even playing field.
When Nyx nods to us that everything's ready for the main event and the doc gives me the all-clear, I stand up. Garrus snaps out of his trance, straightening his back and turning to me. "What's the human expression, mano-a-mano? Whatever it is, are you ready for it?"
"You're close, I think. Me and Spanish didn't get along in school," I chuckle. "And yeah. Ready and waiting. How about you?"
He shrugs. "Always. Just another sparring match."
"Yeah." I hold my hand out. "Let's keep it that way. No bets, no reputations or titles riding on this one. Just the two of us seeing if we can't figure out who's the best in hand-to-hand. That deal still stand?"
Rather than taking a shake, he pulls me in for a one-armed hug. "Deal still stands," he says while patting my back. "You won't hear me bragging about it."
I give him a few quick slaps too. "Had to make sure. Good luck up there, Garrus."
"You too, Aaron." With that he lets go, and we walk in the ring.
"Who... Is... Ready... For... This?!" Nyx shouts into his mic, eliciting a nice roar from the crowd. Our master of ceremonies is enjoying his time in the limelight by taking the front and center of the ring. I swear the man ran a circus in a past life.
"That's what I thought. It's time for what we've all been waiting for. In the blue corner, coming in at six-one with two hundred pounds of sexy Turian muscle, we have the king of the sniper rifle, the cop of the Citadel, the hunter of rogue Spectres, and the man with the longest reach here. Give it up for Garrus Vakarian!"
Everyone claps and cheers for my companion, who acknowledges with a small hand wave. Dinara's taken the role of corner coach behind him, Joker and Thane behind him for support. He's excited, but knows this is going to be rough fight. The light bouncing on his feet tells the story clear as day.
"And in the red corner, at five-eleven and a mere one-eighty keeping him from floating away, we have the best of humanity, the killer of mercs, mechs, and whatever-the-hell else gets in his way, the conqueror of death, and the commander of biggest band of badasses in the galaxy. Let's hear it for Commander Aaron Shepard!"
There's just as much noise for me as there was for the Turian. I give up a nod, but not much else. With Tali, Aephus, and Kasumi behind me, things are shaping up to interesting. Fresh blood pulses through me, ready to find some use. The familiar rush of adrenaline and endorphins hits hard, making me smile. Gotta love combat highs.
"Ladies and gentlemen, these are your fighters! They are here to settle who is better: the Commander, or his trusted sniper? Let's find out who can inflict the most damage. Boys, you are free to beat the Hell out of each other. Give us a show!"
Nyx's line is just too good of an opportunity to pass up. Ladies and Gentlemen starts building in the air, ready to grace us with loud guitar and pulsing beats. Garrus and I approach when the drums hit the first time.
When we get to the center, I give Garrus the same bow as always. He acknowledges it, though doesn't try to mimic the gesture. Probably out of fear he'll screw it up. "Rock and roll, Vakarian," I smirk at him with a knuckle tap.
He leans back into his stance. "Time to see how fast you really are."
Ladies and gentlemen, please...
We're set up nearly identically: hunched over just slightly, high guard in front of the chin, left leg leading, right angled to the side... Not weird at all.
Would you bring your attention to me?
He hunts for first blood, a quick left front kick aimed for my mid-section. I step out and around it, giving me a clear shot at his ribs from the side. Vakarian's expecting the dodge and counter though, probably from watching the first few fights. By hunching over so that his arm covers the side I was going to hit and swinging a long roundhouse at me, he kills two birds with one stone.
For a feast for your eyes to see:
I get under the leg, ending up in almost the exact same spot as when I started. He must've expected to catch me with the kick, because he's rotated to the point his back's to me. I close the distance and grab his left elbow, pulling it back to hold it in place. The flailing and struggling of his other arm makes snagging it impossible, but now I've got his back and control of one side.
An explosion of catastrophe.
Garrus comes up with a quick plan to escape. Rather than trying to hit me with the free arm, he pushes his weight against me. I didn't have a good stance to start with, so there's nothing I can do to keep from falling back-first to the mats. Half of the weight from the heavy bastard lands on my torso and almost knocks the wind out of me. He gets off and stands back up, trying to sink a good hit in while I'm dazed. I roll away as a foot aimed for my chest hits the mats a second too late. I'm back on my feet and squared up before he can try anything else.
Like nothing you've ever seen before.
Instead of backing off and giving him another chance to plan, I go in first. I try for a fake-side kick, feinting with one aimed for the thigh before the real kick at his collarbone. He takes the bait for the first, but also manages to get his hands back up to cover the follow-up. His hand catches my ankle, leaving me hanging out to dry.
Watch closely as I open this door.
Remembering how I countered it last time, he crunches in and under the captured leg so I can't do another spin kick for his head. When he gets in close for punches, I grab his head and pull it against my chest so that he can't find any room for the hits. He's still got my leg held over his shoulder, which makes things very uncomfortable.
Your jaws will be on the floor.
An idea comes to mind. I wrap my snagged leg over his back, twist to the left, and pull my supporting leg up. The new weight on his top half pulls him down and sideways. He hits the mats temple-first, head still tucked against me. I pull my trapped leg out from under and roll back to my feet. He's good on the ground, maybe even better than me, and the size advantage will help him less in stand-up.
After this, you'll be begging for more.
Vakarian gets back up quick, settling into a high stance again. We stand there in a stalemate for a moment, neither of us quite sure how to follow that up. We're playing a game of tip-for-tap, and that's got to change fast. Let's see what I can't do about that.
Welcome to the show.
I charge in again, this time looking for punches center-mass. He tosses a quick jab to try and stop me from getting in, but I get around it before he can cover up. His slightly-scaly skin takes the three quick punches better than human or Drell bodies, but there's almost no protection against my strikes.
Please come inside. (Ladies and gentlemen.)
He sinks a knee into my side out of nowhere, followed up by an elbow smash on my shoulder. The one-two hit stops me in my tracks, giving him an opportunity to get some distance between us and land a kick in my sternum. I don't collapse, but all three of the hits sting. Bastard recovered a lot faster than I thought he would.
Do you want it? Do you need it?
He approaches slow in a guard, looking for another kickboxing blitz like he did on Mae. I decide to go on the offensive instead of turtling up and taking the beating. With two running steps, I jump to his head-level and dish out a hard flying roundhouse. He doesn't see it soon enough to get out of the way, but he manages to twist and take it in the shoulder. The impact knocks the left side of his guard down.
Let me hear it, ladies and gentlemen!
I'm already turning to kick his exposed ribs when I hit the ground again. He throws a fast jab for me, which I dodge a heartbeat before it connects. The punch does succeed in throwing off my kick, making it swing wildly in front of him.
Do you want it? Do you need it?
Realizing I'm about to give him my back, I do the first thing I can manage. I keep the rotation going and use it for a spinning side kick aimed right under his guard. Vakarian gets his arms in the way before it connects, but it pushes him back a few feet. I scramble away and square back into my guard. Son of a bitch, he's fast.
Let me hear it, ladies and gentlemen.
The spectators are feeding off our energy already. They're not at the wild cheering stage yet, but there's plenty of loud shouts and screams in the room. I can pick out the voices of each of our corner people, but it's too noisy in here to understand a single syllable of it. I can see why some fight professionally: calling this addicting doesn't even begin to describe it.
"And I thought I was quick," Garrus smirks, barely breathing heavy.
"You're making me work for it, I'll give you that much," I laugh. "Not going to keep me from kicking your scaly ass."
Ladies and gentlemen, good evening.
I walk across the mats in a loose guard, seeing if I can't confuse him. He realizes immediately something's up: I've never been this careless or slow on an approach. Any time I've left something kinda obvious open, it's been a part of a larger plan. So as expected, he crunches in on the guard, making sure I don't have anything to counter or work with.
You've seen, and seeing is believing.
Rather than something fancy, I hit him with a quick leg check. Not hard enough to really set off his stance, but enough to distract. Doing this two more times baits him into swinging a cross for my sternum. I check his wrist, knocking it to the side while countering with my own jab for his ribs. I duck back out of his range before he can try anything else on me.
Your ears and your eyes will be bleeding.
Vakarian surprises me with a lunging charge for my chest. With the little distance we've got between us, I can't do anything to stop him from picking me up and dropping me onto the mats. He doesn't follow me down though: he stays squared up over me, trying to get some strikes in without the danger of me getting a submission. I pull my left leg in close and push the foot against the mats so I can rotate while keeping the other out for kicks.
Please check to see if you're still breathing.
He sends a long range cross at center-mass, hunching over slightly to make up for the distance between us. I rotate around it and try grabbing at his elbow, hoping to pull him down to me and work him on even ground. But he counters quickly by checking the hand I had on his arm and pulling back. Looks like a ground game isn't in the cards for the moment.
Hold tight, 'cause the show is not over.
He delivers another punch, this one faster than the first. I do the same slip and snatch, taking care to block his attempt at stopping me. But instead of trying to get him to the mats, I use his weight for leverage. My heel slams into his chest, knocking the wind out of him.
If you will, please move in closer.
I roll to my feet and under Garrus, then use my shoulder to push him up and back. We end up in somewhat lazy stances and guards, his worse from the slight stun he just got in the chest. I take the opportunity to get another good hook into his ribs.
You're about to be bowled over...
He retaliates with a stiff uppercut to my stomach while pushing me back with the other hand. The former hurts more than the latter, but the push was a set up for a hard front kick in the bruise left by the punch. I stagger back a few more feet, cringing. That's twice he's gotten me with that, and I'll be damned if it's not the last.
By the wonders you're about to behold here.
Vakarian keeps pushing in, thinking now's his chance to finish me. He covers the distance between us quick and tries a hard cross to open for something else. I duck past it and step in close to his chest for a toss. My right arm goes across his chest while I twist to the left and push my hip against his. The result is more of a spin than the flip I did on Kalak, but he still ends up back-first on the mats.
Welcome to the show.
I follow him down, getting a side mount on his chest. Remembering that his left shoulder is acting off, I take pity and start working for an arm bar on the other elbow. But before I can get any serious kind of hold on it, he rolls me towards my head and over with some energy I didn't realize he had. Within a second, the positions are completely reversed. Crap.
Please come inside. (Ladies and gentlemen.)
He starts doing elbow hits on my chest instead of submission attempts, probably trying to soften me up for something later. I slink one arm through the crook of his arm, pulling the limb up to my head for leverage on him and taking one strike out of the equation.
Do you want it? Do you need it?
I get a knee under his chest, pushing him up for breathing room between us until there's just enough to get my other foot in there. With another hard thrust while releasing his snagged arm, I knock him off me and right on his butt. I spin to the side to try getting some distance between us.
Let me hear it, ladies and gentlemen!
Vakarian decides not to let up in his assault. He launches another kick at me, a weird cross between a push and a sweep at my legs. I jump over it, barely clearing the strike and avoiding getting knocked to the mats again. But he uses the momentum to try getting another tackle by trying to grab my legs.
Do you want it? Do you need it?
I press my hands on his back while leapfrog-ing over him to escape and dodge the pin. Garrus hits the mats face first, then rolls with it back to his feet. I hop back and get into my stance again. He's breathing hard, just like I am. Assumed this was going to be an interesting match. Glad he's not disappointing.
Let me hear it!
There's a slight throbbing moving through my body. It's not pain, but excitement. I haven't had a fight this great in a decade, and my best friend is the crazy son of a bitch giving it. With a raucous crowd edging the fight on, our closest comrades trying to support us, and an epic soundtrack in the air, this sure as Hell beats my ideas for shore leave. I'm going to have a hard time letting this fight end.
"Don't tell me you're tired already," he smiles. "I'm just getting warmed up."
I shake my head. "If the song ain't over yet, I'm not done. Besides, we have to give these people a show, remember?"
"With a triumphant conclusion, the Turian proving he can out-fight his human commander." He rolls his shoulder to the side, popping a kink out of the joint.
Rising to upright and hands to my side, I do the universal come-and-get-some sign. "Better make sure your ass can cash that check, you feathered bastard."
"You're just determined to hurt my feelings, aren't you?"
Welcome to the show.
He makes the first approach again, locked in a tight guard and coming in fast. I repeat my tactic of attacking rather than covering, though with much less flash this time. The back of my left hand checks away his guarding fist, giving me a slight opening around his temple. I swing a wide ridge-hand strike at the vulnerable point. Vakarian's fast enough to get his other blocker in the way of the incoming hit, which leaves his chest an easy target.
We're glad you came along.
I get an uppercut in before he can recover, but that's all I can manage. He's already trying to counter by swinging a hook. It glances off my forehead as I lean back, barely out of the way in time. But the dodge gives him a free shot at taking my legs out, one he doesn't pass up. His shin slams into mine, knocking my balance way out of whack and forcing me to roll to the mats.
Please come inside, ladies and gentlemen.
I make sure to land gently on my back and facing Vakarian, trying to keep him from getting much from an advantage. Good thing too: he's charging to get a mount. Some reflex in my head kicks in and sticks my leg against his chest when he tries to come down. By using his momentum against him and my foot as a vaulter's pole, I pull a move right out of Resident Evil 4 and launch him over me. He hits the mats shoulder-first with a satisfying crash.
Do you want it? Do you need it?
I hurry back up and get over him in a standing guard. He's rolled with the toss surprisingly well, staying on his back and kept his one of his feet tucked like mine was earlier. A flinch-worthy right kick tries to keep me at a distance, but I check it away and move to his side. I stop just long enough to figure out which opening to kick first.
Let me hear it, ladies and gentlemen!
He elbows one of my shins one way while pushing the other the opposite direction. I land in a half-split, all of a sudden in a much worse position than him. He swings another hook for my head, probably hoping to knock me over completely. I grab the arm and tuck it in my armpit, preventing another unwanted strike.
Do you want it? Do you need it?
I spin to the left so that his trapped arm gets stuck across his chest for an improvised pin while giving the snagged limb to my hand. Using that to keep him still, I work up to get a mount on his torso. He tries hitting again, but the pin from his other arm keeps him from putting any real force into it.
Let me hear it, ladies and gentlemen!
I can't get a submission on either from a joint lock, so I move on to trying for a paper-cutter. My right forearm slides across his throat, but only sinks in partially. Because of his tucked in chin and his semi-free right arm working as a wedge, I can't get him to tap. That doesn't stop it from being really unpleasant. For him, at least.
Do you want it? Do you need it?
With a quick tug, he manages to free his trapped arm from my grip. Before I can even register I've lost it, he's slammed his elbow into my ribs and knocked me to the side. Combined with a twisting buck at his hips, I roll to the mats and lose the mount.
Let me hear it, ladies and gentlemen!
He's already scurrying across the ground to try getting on top of me. I can't do another vaulting trick, but I keep him off by sweeping his legs out. He hits the ground chest-first, trying to get his hands back under him while I try to find my feet.
Do you want it? Do you need it?
He gets back into a runner's stance faster than I can escape. He takes another leap at me, this time managing to crash into my chest with his face. As I get my feet under me to stand, he wraps his hands around my back and comes up with me. But he seems weirdly determined to keep his head where it is.
Let me hear it!
Dying guitar chords signal the end of the song while I try to figure out what's going on. Vakarian's not trying to hit or control or anything: all he seems determined to do is keep his head against me. The crowd's roaring at us becomes slightly confused, based on the disorganization of the chants. But when the speakers hush and the spectators finally shut up, I hear Garrus' muffled yells. I can't understand a word of it though. Sounds like he's got a mouthful of cotton.
He pulls his head away from me, and the problem finally reveals itself. My shirt's clinging to his face at an odd angle, but it's not sweat making it stick. It's actually snagged on him. Somehow, Garrus managed to get one of his mandibles caught on my shirt, and he can't get it unhooked. He's working desperately to fix it without tearing off the un-scarred part of his face.
"How the Hell did you pull this off!?" I laugh/shout while trying not to move too much.
"Iffs moff lifffe Ifff wafff ffffrying," he retorts, his words hilariously screwed up by the fabric caught in his mouth.
"Hold still and let me see." I pull his head in closer to get some slack in the caught shirt. Using one hand to open the side of his mouth some and the other to wiggle the clothing, I make more progress than he did. That being said, it's kinda creepy to feel him unintentionally licking me. "To everyone at home watching, Vakarian's gotten his left mandible hooked on my shirt. That's what we're trying to fix, and that's why he's kept his head glued to my chest for the last minute."
The crowd erupts in laughter like it's a bad clip show. Can't say I wouldn't do the same in their place. The ref and the doctor run up to us to help, though the extra hands in the small space does more harm than good. I push them off and keep working with my own fingers. At least they take the hint and get out of the way.
After another few seconds of struggling, I get the situation resolved. Garrus leaps back and starts working his tongue across the inside of his mandible. "Do you have any idea how badly your shirt tastes?" he complains.
"It can't be any worse than feeling your tongue rubbing on my chest and fingers," I fire back. "If you try that crap again, you'd better by me dinner first."
He points an accusing finger at me. "Post one thing about this on SpaceBook, and I will kill you."
I raise up my hands in feigned innocence. "I'll behave: scout's honor. We gonna finish this fight, or are you tired of getting your ass kicked?"
"Put the music back on, let's go. I'm not done with you until one of us passes out."
That last part gives me an idea for the next choice. Let's see, I think I still have it... The weird piano-ish intro of 'Til I Collapse starts up over the speakers again. Always been on the fence about this song: the only real rap I listen to semi-regularly.
While the song builds, I take a quick examination of my comrade. Even with all the sweat he rubbed on my shirt, he's dripping it by the gallon and breathing hard. I'm doing less of the sweating, but I'm still missing oxygen as much as he is. That first round took a lot out of us: more than I figured it would. We're a ways from tapping out of exhaustion, but we're both pretty wiped right now.
'Cause sometimes you feel tired. You feel weak, and when you feel weak, you feel like you wanna just give up. But you gotta search within you. Gotta find that inner strength, and just pull that shit out of you.
Garrus gives me an odd look. "This is... interesting. I kinda like it. Maybe more than the stuff before."
I shake my head with disappointment. "I'm going to ignore that."
And get that motivation to not give up and not be a quitter. No matter how much you wanna just fall flat on your face.
He leans back into his guard. "Ready to keep going?"
"Been ready," I smile, bringing my dukes back up. The crowd's cheering again, knowing the show's not over yet.
'Til I collapse I'm spilling these raps long as you feel 'em.'Til the day I drop you'll never say that I'm not killing them.
Garrus goes first with a short sprint at me. But rather than trying to tackle, he stops just short, gets in a tight guard, and starts a kickboxing blitz. Jab at the sternum, hook for the jaw, two body shots, rounded knee, an over-the-top ridge hand, and a good thigh check. I dodge/check away the first half, but he gets moving so fast I have to cover up and take the latter section. The only part that actually connects with the intended target is the kick.
'Cause when I am not, then I'ma stop penning 'em, 'cause I am not hip-hop and I'm just not Eminem.
When he goes for an uppercut, I turn the tables on him by grabbing the hand and guiding it past me. Using the newly-made hole in his guard, I slam a hook just under his shoulder. It pushes him back just enough for me to start my own close-range assault. Two to the stomach, another to the shoulder, rounded knee, roundhouse to the other side, two elbows, and a stomach kick to get him away from me.
Subliminal thoughts when I stop sending them, women are caught in webs spin 'em, hauk venom. Adrenaline shots, penicillin could not get the illing to stop. Amoxacilin's just not real enough.
Vakarian comes for seconds immediately with a long-distance haymaker. As I duck to dodge it, I realize how easily I fell for the simple trap. His right foot is just about to connect with my chest, concealed in the punch attempt and ready to do some serious damage. I slip to the outside, taking it in my hip, but avoiding most of the hit.
The criminal cop-killing hip-hop filling a minimal swap to cop millions of Pac listeners: you're coming with me, feel it or not, you're gonna fear it like I showed you the spirit of God lives in us.
As the impact sends me reeling to the side, Garrus redirects to try taking me to the mats. He does a massive leap at me, spending a little too much time in the air. I spin away from his reaching arms while lowering myself closer to the ground. When he hits the floor and rolls, I'm facing him from a runner's stance that's identical to the one he gets into.
You hear it a lot, lyrics that shock: is it a miracle, or am I just the product of pop fizzin' up? For sizzle my whizzle, this is the plot. Listen up you bizzles forgot slizzle does not give a f***.
I lead with a charge this time, hoping to slide under him and get a hit or two on his exposed chest. He surprises me again with a unique counter: when I go low and try to kick, he stands up and grabs the leg. By stepping out, twisting his shoulders, and using my momentum against me, he throws me a good yard or two across the ring. I land on my side, but roll with it and climb to my feet quick. So much for that idea.
'Til the roof comes off, till the lights go out, 'til my legs give out, can't shut my mouth.
I come in again, looking for another stand-up fight. When Garrus tries to kick at my chest, my forearm checks his shin hard. This hunches him over and takes that leg out of the equation for a few seconds so I can try getting some uppercuts in. Only one of the four gets around the tight guard he put on his chest at the last second, but it keeps him on the defensive.
'Til the smoke clears out - am I high? Perhaps. I'ma rip this shit till my bones collapse.
I try for one last hit before backing out. Big mistake: the pain was an act while he waited for an opening. My final punch gets grabbed at the wrist while he rushes. He spins around me, getting control on the arm by pinning it to my back in a classic cop takedown.
'Til the roof comes off, till the lights go out. 'Til my legs give out, can't shut my mouth.
He tries to push me down to the mats for a submission. I feel him straighten up for leverage, giving me one chance to counter. Rather than using my free arm to hit him and risk losing another limb, I slam the back of my head into his face. It surprises him enough to lose the grip and I can escape. I get my guard stance back a few feet away from him while he shakes the cobwebs out.
'Til the smoke clears out – am I high? Perhaps. I'ma rip this shit till my bones collapse.
"Va-kar-i-an-and-Shep-ard! Va-kar-i-an-and-Shep-ard! Va-kar-i-an-and-Shep-ard!" the spectators chant in four-four time, taking one beat to pause at the end. Garrus is a little too preoccupied with the bruised nose to notice it, but it doesn't stop me. Hm... That's probably the most recognition he's gotten in a while. For anything, really.
Music is like magic: there's a certain feeling you get when you're real and you spit and people are feeling your shit.
Garrus is back in the fight and now looking for revenge. The pain's not bogging him down in the slightest when he tackles me. I'm too slow to get out of the way, probably because of the thought detour, but I manage to get a guillotine around his neck and a guard around his waist.
This is your moment and every single minute you spend trying to hold onto it, 'cause you might never get it again.
He tries to sit up and fight off the different holds I have. I lose the leg guard, but only so I can get my feet under me for leverage. With one good push, I flip the positions and get a solid mount on his chest. Garrus keeps calm though: he grabs my chest and latches on so I can't get any punches in. The awkwardness of the it also makes me give up the guillotine.
So while you're in it, try to get as much shit as you can, and when your run is over, just admit that it's at its end.
I try digging my elbows in between us, use them as a wedge to pry him off. It almost works until he grabs one of the arms again, pulling on it and leaning back onto the mats. It gets my right side trapped in a crappy half-kimura that does nothing but piss me off and keep me down close to him.
'Cause I'm at the end of my wits with half the shit that gets in. I got a list: here's the order of my list that it's in.
Using my shoulder as an impromptu fist, I start slamming it into his chest to loosen his grip some. Between that and my other hand tugging at his lock, it doesn't take long for him to give it up. Then I roll away before he can try anything else clever. Back on my feet, I realize how badly I need to avoid ground work right now. Winded as I am, I can hold my own in stand up. But grappling just takes every bit of air out of me.
It goes Reggie, Jay-Z, Tupac, and Biggie, Andre from OutKast, Jada, Kurupt, Nas, and then me.
Garrus realizes I'm not coming back down to him and gets up. He's looking more tired than I am, obviously trying to come up with a way to end this quick. I'm in the same boat, but having little success.
But in this industry, I'm the cause of a lot of envy, so when I'm not put on this list, this shit does not offend me.
"You better have some gas left in the tank: I'm not through with you yet," I taunt.
He manages a tired smile while pulling his guard to his face. "Neither am I. I've got a girl to impress, remember?"
That's why you see me walk down the street like nothing's bothering me, even though half you people got a f***ing problem with me.
I decide to take the fight to him one last time. With three running steps, I try something a little more aerial than before and launch a flying side kick at him. It definitely works in surprising the poor bastard: all he can manage is a cover-up before the foot hits him. He takes it in the forearms, but it still pushes him back.
You hate it, but you know respect you've got to give to me. The press' wet dream like Bobby and Whitney. Nate, hit me.
I stumble when I land, giving him the opportunity to counter. His roundhouse connects hard with my shoulder and almost knocks me over. He follows up with another punching blitz, three or four body and head shots apiece. I can tell the exhaustion's starting to get to me, because I barely block them or even make a conscious effort to do so. My body's just reacting now, protecting itself on its own accord. Never a good sign.
'Til the roof comes off, till the lights go out, 'til my legs give out, can't shut my mouth.
I manage a kick pretty square in the stomach to get him off. But rather than following through, I back away for air. Up close to him, it's unbearably hot. A few feet outside is a different story. Three quick gasps of the sweet oxygen, and I'm functional again. Garrus is trying to square up in his guard and conceal how exhausted he is, but to little avail. Damn, this bastard knows how to keep pushing himself. Think I last longer than him, though.
'Til the smoke clears out – am I high? Perhaps. I'ma rip this shit till my bones collapse.
Everyone in the room is screaming bloody freaking murder at us to keep us going. But it's funny: I can hear more for Garrus than for me. Not much, but enough to notice. Maybe it's his race, or the fact he's kinda the underdog coming off the recent loss, or just my head playing games. But still, there's got to be at least twenty people in this room rooting for my comrade.
'Til the roof comes off, till the lights go out. 'Til my legs give out, can't shut my mouth.
I know who's gotta be the winner this time. I'm never going to hear the end of this, I swear.
'Til the smoke clears out – am I high? Perhaps. I'ma rip this shit till my bones collapse.
I raise myself to standing again. "Let's go, Big Bird! I know that's not all you've got!" Let's see if that gets his attention.
Soon as a verse starts, I eat it at MC's heart. What is he thinking? How not to go against me? Smart.
He takes the bait and comes at me. With the grace expected from a fighter in his last round, he approaches in a loose guard. The first two punches are slow and easy to dodge, but I don't counter. Not yet.
And it's absurd how many people hang on every word: I'll probably never get the props I feel I ever deserve.
A third hook goes past my head, and I duck low. The opening on his chest is too good to pass-up: I get three quick body shots in. It takes a lot of mental arguing to make myself not pull out when I know the counter's coming.
But I'll never be served, my spot is forever reserved. If I ever leave Earth, that will be the death of me first.
Sure enough, he does a hammer fist and knee for a one-two punch that hurts like Hell. I stagger back slowly while clenching the bruised ribs. He knows this is his chance, and he takes it.
'Cause in my heart of hearts, I know nothing could ever be worse. That's why I'm clever when I put together every verse.
Vakarian grabs the arm I still have up for a half-guard and spins me to the ground for another cop takedown. I kinda catch myself: enough to not slam into the mats, but I can't keep him from having the better position.
My thoughts are sporadic. I act like I'm an addict. I rap like I'm addicted to smack like I'm Kim Mathers.
By placing one shin on the back of my neck and the other across the small of my back, he takes out every chance I have for retaliation against him. I still grab for his legs or chest or hands, even though I know it's already game over.
But I don't want to go forth and back in constant battles. The fact is I would rather sit back and bomb some rappers.
He moves in a well-practiced speed of getting the back of my hand against my spine and angled in a direction it's never meant to be placed. From there, all he has to do is slide my elbow higher up my back and towards the opposite shoulder for a textbook submission.
So this is like a full-blown attack I'm launching at them. The track is on some battling raps who want some static.
Not forgetting who he's got pinned under him, Garrus is nice enough to go slow when he tries getting me to tap. He goes inch by inch to give me plenty of time to give in before my shoulder starts pointing the wrong direction. That doesn't stop me from trying to fight my way out of the hold.
'Cause I don't really think that the fact that I'm Slim matters. A plaque of platinum status is whack if I'm not the baddest.
When the pain really starts to get unbearable, I submit to his dominance. An explosion of cheering and yells are triggered by my tap, everyone realizing the fight's over and the winner is known. Garrus lets my arm go and rolls to the ground beside me, laying on his back to gulp down well-deserved air.
'Til the roof comes off, till the lights go out, 'til my legs give out, can't shut my mouth.
I manage to flip myself back over so that I'm in the same position as he. We stay silent for a few moments while we let the adrenaline wear off.
'Til the smoke clears out - am I high? Perhaps. I'ma rip this shit till my bones collapse.
The first noise between us comes from him, and it's a laugh. "Speedy little bastard, aren't you?" he asks.
"I'll take that as a compliment," I chuckle. "And you're the toughest damn bird I've ever met."
'Til the roof comes off, till the lights go out. 'Til my legs give out, can't shut my mouth.
"It had better be some time before we have that rematch," he groans while laying a hand on his side. "I'll be feeling this one for a while."
I manage a nod. "Deal. Good fight, Garrus."
'Til the smoke clears out – am I high? Perhaps. I'ma rip this shit till my bones collapse.
He reaches over for a quick and kinda awkward hand hold/shake. "No. Great fight, Aaron. Thanks for giving it."
"You too. And thanks for helping make sure we got back to have it."
"If that's your way of thanking me for the Omega-4 trip, you've still got a ways to go."
I make my way to my feet, arguing with exhaustion the whole way up. "Let's see if we can't work on that." My right hand offers a way for him to get back up. He takes it and puts some effort in getting to my side, though I still take the brunt of the load. The song's over now, but the crowd's cheering a thousand times louder than it ever was. Nyx is climbing in the ring, trying to retake his role as ring master. I beat him to it.
By toying with one quick setting on my tool, I make it a mic hooked up to the speakers. Then I grab Garrus' wrist with my right. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have our champion! GARRUS VAKARIAN!" And with that last shout, I lift his arm over his head like they always do in the movies and fights. A smile grows on the Turian's face as the group below recognizes his triumph, a proud gleam in his eye. The fact that the standing ovation lasts for at least a minute or two doesn't hurt at all.
I can't look away from the grin on Garrus is sporting. Old bird-brained is happy as can be right now, his face the most obvious sign of it. That's why I let him get that last combo in. That's why I let him win. He earned it. The whole beginning of the fight, he tore me up and took the hits like a champ. He surprised me more than a couple of times, adapted in ways I didn't think he would. Up until the last verse, I went full-blast on him, and he stood his ground. Outside of the ring, he's put in just as much work as me, probably more. This crazy bird has stuck with me through everything. But he's gotten almost none of the credit. So many people know the name of Commander Shepard, not enough know Garrus Vakarian. The least I can do is make sure these people don't forget him. He deserves the recognition, the attention of people other than the ones on the crew.
When he starts getting too tired to stand, I release the arm and nudge him towards his side of the ring. "Go out there and meet your public," I order with a grin. "I'm taking a shower. You need one too before lunch. There's no way you're sitting at my table with that stink."
He punches me in the shoulder. "Aye aye, Commander." With that, he limps his way to the cheering crowd at his corner.
There's a couple people waiting for me, Tali being the most notable. I give her a quick hug and tell her that I'll be back in a few minutes. As much as I'd love to sit down and talk, there's a cool shower just beyond the door with my name on it. The sooner I rinse off, the better I'll smell later.