Steve touched his jaw and winced in pain.
"Only girls kick and scratch, you bloody idiot," he muttered.
It was beginning to swell, and the pain in his stomach didn't help either. His opponent, some poor unknown bastard, had been a kick boxer, and had put his skills to good use against him. He had taken the advantage by completely overtaking with kicks, leaving Steve to sway and block most of the time. But the man grew too overconfident of his prowess and began to punch. Steve took the punches without a word, now only waiting for a chance to strike back.
And it came like a dream.
The kick boxer tried to jab Steve, but moved his upper body way too forward. Steve, in one single motion, ducked underneath the man and performed an uppercut, lifting the man into the air.
Steve allowed the body fall, but to his surprise the man slowly stood up. Steve ran towards him, but was stopped short as the man kicked him in the stomach and immediately followed with a powerful kick to Steve's jaw. The force of the kick spun him around, but waking up from the impact, Steve used the created momentum to his advantage and backslapped the kick boxer, and immediately followed with a furious punch in the face, the kick boxer flying out of the ring.
The judge ran towards the kick boxer, and examined him.
He was unconscious.
"Steve Fox wins," announced the judge. The audience erupted into applause and cheers.
Steve took a deep breath and knelt on the mats, catching his breath. He knew that matches like this one would come more frequently, and as one got closer to fighting Heihachi Mishima, they would only get harder. But it was a small prize to pay to be given the privilege of living as a king. And maybe, just once, for just a moment, be able to live in peace. No fear. No need to be looking over his shoulder if anyone was following him. But if he had to go, he would go out big. They wanted to take him? Then let them. But inside the ring, and nowhere else but there.
He stood up and walked out of the arena, the crowd cheering behind him. On the floor, still, lay his opponent.
The kick boxer was young, only 23, but Steve was even younger. At 21, he was Middleweight International Boxing champion. Blond, muscular, good looking, and with the uncaring smile that youth brings along, Steve had everything any person could have ever desired. And he was proud of it. After all, what man, his age, could claim to have risen to the top of his world, by himself and no one else's help or care. Everything he had, he had earned himself, and was enjoying it by himself. His career didn't leave time for anything else. Specially now. Attaching himself to someone would mean endangering that person, and, besides, he had, for now, bigger goals than love.
And the Mishima Corporation would help him get there.
========
He sat down, heavily, resting his head against the wall. One thing he had to give to Heihachi is that he truly honored the best competitors. The main Mishima building had offices, laboratories, arenas, and, reserved for executives, diplomats and fighters, apartments furnished with the latest fashions and gadgets. And every room was fitted with a gym.
"It is heaven," thought Steve.
He closed his eyes as sleep slowly took over him, drowning, for now, the pain. He began to dream about the foster homes, the indifference, the bullies and the fights. But he could never dream about a family. How could he dream of one, if he had never known a real, or his real family? Before the foster homes, he remembered nothing. And that haunted him. Even more than the prize on his head. Even more in his dreams.
He woke up with a start. Someone was knocking at the door.
"Who is it?" Steve asked.
"Room Service," replied a man in oriental accented English.
Steve stood and groaned. Sleep had numbed his body, and he hadn't felt it. But as he moved, it came back at full strength, forcing Steve to take a breath at every step.
The door was knocked on again.
"I said I was coming," screamed Steve.
He opened the door, slightly, and peered at the man standing outside. It was an old man, very old, maybe going towards his 80's, wearing green pants and jacket. He also had a matching green beanie on.
"What is it?" Steve asked.
The old man stood for a couple of seconds, trying to say something, but it seemed he couldn't find the words to express himself. Finally, he took from a pocket a vial with some green balm.
"What the hell is that? Whatever it is, old man, I don't want it, especially if it's illegal. I'm in enough trouble as it is"
The old man opened his eyes wide.
"No, no, no!" shouted the old man, waving his hands. "Good. Hmm. Body good"
The old man started to rub his own shoulder in a circular manner, and sighed to show he was relaxing.
"Good," the old man repeated.
"You mean good like medicine? Like massage?"
The old man's face lit up.
"Yes. Medicine. Body good."
Steve opened the door, and let the old man in.
"You with Mishima Corp?"
"Mishima. Heihachi Mishima," nodded the old man. "Heihachi. Medicine. Body good."
The old man removed Steve's shirt, and pointed to the bed. He spread his arms, sighed, and again pointed to the bed.
"You want me to sleep?"
"No." Again the old man spread his arms and sighed, smiling.
Finally Steve understood.
"Oh, you want me to relax. In the bed."
"Yes," said the old man nodded and smiled.
Steve laid down on the bed, face down. The old man took some of the green balm on his hand, and started to rub it all over Steve's back and shoulders. He put a lot of pressure, so Steve's body started to warm up. He then started to apply pressure in Steve's legs, relaxing them. He then moved to Steve's arms and hands. The old man noticed the swelling on Steve's Jaw. He got some more of then balm and softly applied it. Steve just closed his eyes and relaxed, trying not to fall asleep, but he felt the old man's hand leave his body. He looked towards the old man who was wiping his hands.
"Done, old man?" Steve asked.
"Yes."
Steve got up and removed his wallet.
"No, no!" Said the old man.
"You don't want a tip?"
The old man put up his hands and imitated Steve's fighting stance. He punched air several times. He then pointed to Steve.
"Good."
"Thank you, I guess." Steve smiled.
The old man smiled, bowed, and walked towards the door. Steve followed behind.
"Body good?" The old man asked, as he stepped out into the hallway.
"Yeah, it's feeling a lot better."
The old man smiled, turned around, put his hands behind his back and walked towards the elevator.
Steve closed the door.
==========
"Operator."
"What time is the next match at?"
"It starts in 20 minutes, sir."
"Who's in it?"
"Hold on a second, please. Andres Arcila will be fighting Combot."
"Andres Arcila. Who's Combot?"
"Combot is a humanoid robot entered by Violet, another contestant."
"A robot? Can't wait to see that. Thank you, baby."
The operator laughed.
"You're welcome, Mr. Fox."
=========
The arena was one of three, all with different themes. This one had a sumo wrestling ambient to it. And like the original, it was decorated with lanterns and patterns of traditional Japanese art. The ring itself was small, but large enough to give running ground to the competitors. Seats were in levels, six in total, and they surrounded the ring, with only a space been the entrance, for both the audience and the fighters. The only strange thing about the arena is that there were 4 computers surrounding it. For what reason, no one still knew.
Steve took a seat in the front row. First row was reserved for fighters, first, so they could study their competitor's techniques, second, because it was the most uncomfortable seating in the arena. Steve cursed at the person who had thought of such a stupid design. Second row was designed for the executive class, because of its big, plush stadium seats with foot and arms rests. It was also reserved for the elite and especial guests of Heihachi Mishima. This surprised Steve, because the old man was seating there looking attentively at the ring.
There were only a few fighters in the first row, along with him. To his left, a few seat away sat a girl, young, about 20, tanned with long brown hair. She was wearing a sea green jacket, along with extremely tight shorts. People around her seemed to have lost interest in the upcoming fight, and were concentrated on her. She smiled sensually, but in her eyes there was still the stare of a child.
A man with long blond hair came walking towards the girl. He was staring hungrily at her. They started talking, the girl smiling. The man performed a couple of fancy moves, flexing his muscles underneath his black shirt and blue jeans. Finally, the man winked at her and sat back a few feet away on the arena floor. As he was leaving, the girl took her index finger and thumb and pressed them against her forehead.
"Loser," Steve saw the girl mouth.
Steve turned to another fighter, sitting in the last seat, next to the entrance. He was well built, his silver hair matching his white skin.
"Must be military or security," thought Steve by the man's wear.
He was wearing a black shirt with white and black camouflage pants. But what impressed Steve the most was the man's stare. It was cold and lacking of emotion, and yet, full of rage and hate.
"Andres Arcila!" The judge announced.
Steve turned to the person entering the arena. It was a young man, dark hair with a small built. Steve had heard of him. He was a Karate master, and had already advanced this far, not because of his strength and technique, but because of agility and stamina. Wearing people out was his strategy, but would it work against.
"Combot!"
Everyone turned to watch as a man wearing only purple entered and nodded to the audience. His whole outfit was in that peculiar color. Even his hair had been dyed in that color. He turned to the entrance and motioned to bring something out. Everyone stared in silence as 4 men ran to the computers, turned them on, and started typing. Then, from the entranced, emerged a machine. But it was a biped, and it walked out by itself, no help given at all by anyone. It's sensible and delicate circuits were covered by some kind of plastic-like shelling, but most of its extremities were bare, just simple, but apparently strong, hydraulics.
"A robot," Steve thought.
Just then Steve started to question his surroundings. A robot had been admitted into the tournament. Were there others like it? What about Violet? The man that had brought it in. Where was he from? Who were the other competitors? The girl? The blond guy? That man, who seem to be more dead than alive? The old man? And why does Heihachi risk his empire so? Because of a simple game? Was that it? Just a game? Or was there more in the tournament, than anyone else chose to say? Why?
"Why?"
"Fight!"
=========
=========
Reviews, you can put them in the Review Section, or if you have comments and questions e-mail me at
intermexdt@yahoo.com
Thanks! Tuqui-Tuqui
"Only girls kick and scratch, you bloody idiot," he muttered.
It was beginning to swell, and the pain in his stomach didn't help either. His opponent, some poor unknown bastard, had been a kick boxer, and had put his skills to good use against him. He had taken the advantage by completely overtaking with kicks, leaving Steve to sway and block most of the time. But the man grew too overconfident of his prowess and began to punch. Steve took the punches without a word, now only waiting for a chance to strike back.
And it came like a dream.
The kick boxer tried to jab Steve, but moved his upper body way too forward. Steve, in one single motion, ducked underneath the man and performed an uppercut, lifting the man into the air.
Steve allowed the body fall, but to his surprise the man slowly stood up. Steve ran towards him, but was stopped short as the man kicked him in the stomach and immediately followed with a powerful kick to Steve's jaw. The force of the kick spun him around, but waking up from the impact, Steve used the created momentum to his advantage and backslapped the kick boxer, and immediately followed with a furious punch in the face, the kick boxer flying out of the ring.
The judge ran towards the kick boxer, and examined him.
He was unconscious.
"Steve Fox wins," announced the judge. The audience erupted into applause and cheers.
Steve took a deep breath and knelt on the mats, catching his breath. He knew that matches like this one would come more frequently, and as one got closer to fighting Heihachi Mishima, they would only get harder. But it was a small prize to pay to be given the privilege of living as a king. And maybe, just once, for just a moment, be able to live in peace. No fear. No need to be looking over his shoulder if anyone was following him. But if he had to go, he would go out big. They wanted to take him? Then let them. But inside the ring, and nowhere else but there.
He stood up and walked out of the arena, the crowd cheering behind him. On the floor, still, lay his opponent.
The kick boxer was young, only 23, but Steve was even younger. At 21, he was Middleweight International Boxing champion. Blond, muscular, good looking, and with the uncaring smile that youth brings along, Steve had everything any person could have ever desired. And he was proud of it. After all, what man, his age, could claim to have risen to the top of his world, by himself and no one else's help or care. Everything he had, he had earned himself, and was enjoying it by himself. His career didn't leave time for anything else. Specially now. Attaching himself to someone would mean endangering that person, and, besides, he had, for now, bigger goals than love.
And the Mishima Corporation would help him get there.
========
He sat down, heavily, resting his head against the wall. One thing he had to give to Heihachi is that he truly honored the best competitors. The main Mishima building had offices, laboratories, arenas, and, reserved for executives, diplomats and fighters, apartments furnished with the latest fashions and gadgets. And every room was fitted with a gym.
"It is heaven," thought Steve.
He closed his eyes as sleep slowly took over him, drowning, for now, the pain. He began to dream about the foster homes, the indifference, the bullies and the fights. But he could never dream about a family. How could he dream of one, if he had never known a real, or his real family? Before the foster homes, he remembered nothing. And that haunted him. Even more than the prize on his head. Even more in his dreams.
He woke up with a start. Someone was knocking at the door.
"Who is it?" Steve asked.
"Room Service," replied a man in oriental accented English.
Steve stood and groaned. Sleep had numbed his body, and he hadn't felt it. But as he moved, it came back at full strength, forcing Steve to take a breath at every step.
The door was knocked on again.
"I said I was coming," screamed Steve.
He opened the door, slightly, and peered at the man standing outside. It was an old man, very old, maybe going towards his 80's, wearing green pants and jacket. He also had a matching green beanie on.
"What is it?" Steve asked.
The old man stood for a couple of seconds, trying to say something, but it seemed he couldn't find the words to express himself. Finally, he took from a pocket a vial with some green balm.
"What the hell is that? Whatever it is, old man, I don't want it, especially if it's illegal. I'm in enough trouble as it is"
The old man opened his eyes wide.
"No, no, no!" shouted the old man, waving his hands. "Good. Hmm. Body good"
The old man started to rub his own shoulder in a circular manner, and sighed to show he was relaxing.
"Good," the old man repeated.
"You mean good like medicine? Like massage?"
The old man's face lit up.
"Yes. Medicine. Body good."
Steve opened the door, and let the old man in.
"You with Mishima Corp?"
"Mishima. Heihachi Mishima," nodded the old man. "Heihachi. Medicine. Body good."
The old man removed Steve's shirt, and pointed to the bed. He spread his arms, sighed, and again pointed to the bed.
"You want me to sleep?"
"No." Again the old man spread his arms and sighed, smiling.
Finally Steve understood.
"Oh, you want me to relax. In the bed."
"Yes," said the old man nodded and smiled.
Steve laid down on the bed, face down. The old man took some of the green balm on his hand, and started to rub it all over Steve's back and shoulders. He put a lot of pressure, so Steve's body started to warm up. He then started to apply pressure in Steve's legs, relaxing them. He then moved to Steve's arms and hands. The old man noticed the swelling on Steve's Jaw. He got some more of then balm and softly applied it. Steve just closed his eyes and relaxed, trying not to fall asleep, but he felt the old man's hand leave his body. He looked towards the old man who was wiping his hands.
"Done, old man?" Steve asked.
"Yes."
Steve got up and removed his wallet.
"No, no!" Said the old man.
"You don't want a tip?"
The old man put up his hands and imitated Steve's fighting stance. He punched air several times. He then pointed to Steve.
"Good."
"Thank you, I guess." Steve smiled.
The old man smiled, bowed, and walked towards the door. Steve followed behind.
"Body good?" The old man asked, as he stepped out into the hallway.
"Yeah, it's feeling a lot better."
The old man smiled, turned around, put his hands behind his back and walked towards the elevator.
Steve closed the door.
==========
"Operator."
"What time is the next match at?"
"It starts in 20 minutes, sir."
"Who's in it?"
"Hold on a second, please. Andres Arcila will be fighting Combot."
"Andres Arcila. Who's Combot?"
"Combot is a humanoid robot entered by Violet, another contestant."
"A robot? Can't wait to see that. Thank you, baby."
The operator laughed.
"You're welcome, Mr. Fox."
=========
The arena was one of three, all with different themes. This one had a sumo wrestling ambient to it. And like the original, it was decorated with lanterns and patterns of traditional Japanese art. The ring itself was small, but large enough to give running ground to the competitors. Seats were in levels, six in total, and they surrounded the ring, with only a space been the entrance, for both the audience and the fighters. The only strange thing about the arena is that there were 4 computers surrounding it. For what reason, no one still knew.
Steve took a seat in the front row. First row was reserved for fighters, first, so they could study their competitor's techniques, second, because it was the most uncomfortable seating in the arena. Steve cursed at the person who had thought of such a stupid design. Second row was designed for the executive class, because of its big, plush stadium seats with foot and arms rests. It was also reserved for the elite and especial guests of Heihachi Mishima. This surprised Steve, because the old man was seating there looking attentively at the ring.
There were only a few fighters in the first row, along with him. To his left, a few seat away sat a girl, young, about 20, tanned with long brown hair. She was wearing a sea green jacket, along with extremely tight shorts. People around her seemed to have lost interest in the upcoming fight, and were concentrated on her. She smiled sensually, but in her eyes there was still the stare of a child.
A man with long blond hair came walking towards the girl. He was staring hungrily at her. They started talking, the girl smiling. The man performed a couple of fancy moves, flexing his muscles underneath his black shirt and blue jeans. Finally, the man winked at her and sat back a few feet away on the arena floor. As he was leaving, the girl took her index finger and thumb and pressed them against her forehead.
"Loser," Steve saw the girl mouth.
Steve turned to another fighter, sitting in the last seat, next to the entrance. He was well built, his silver hair matching his white skin.
"Must be military or security," thought Steve by the man's wear.
He was wearing a black shirt with white and black camouflage pants. But what impressed Steve the most was the man's stare. It was cold and lacking of emotion, and yet, full of rage and hate.
"Andres Arcila!" The judge announced.
Steve turned to the person entering the arena. It was a young man, dark hair with a small built. Steve had heard of him. He was a Karate master, and had already advanced this far, not because of his strength and technique, but because of agility and stamina. Wearing people out was his strategy, but would it work against.
"Combot!"
Everyone turned to watch as a man wearing only purple entered and nodded to the audience. His whole outfit was in that peculiar color. Even his hair had been dyed in that color. He turned to the entrance and motioned to bring something out. Everyone stared in silence as 4 men ran to the computers, turned them on, and started typing. Then, from the entranced, emerged a machine. But it was a biped, and it walked out by itself, no help given at all by anyone. It's sensible and delicate circuits were covered by some kind of plastic-like shelling, but most of its extremities were bare, just simple, but apparently strong, hydraulics.
"A robot," Steve thought.
Just then Steve started to question his surroundings. A robot had been admitted into the tournament. Were there others like it? What about Violet? The man that had brought it in. Where was he from? Who were the other competitors? The girl? The blond guy? That man, who seem to be more dead than alive? The old man? And why does Heihachi risk his empire so? Because of a simple game? Was that it? Just a game? Or was there more in the tournament, than anyone else chose to say? Why?
"Why?"
"Fight!"
=========
=========
Reviews, you can put them in the Review Section, or if you have comments and questions e-mail me at
intermexdt@yahoo.com
Thanks! Tuqui-Tuqui