Watch and Learn
By Yma
NOTES:
A whole load of notes here, but all of them are important, so please read.
RATING: PG-13+
OK, that sounds odd, but trust me. This story isn't severe enough to warrant R, and thus exile to a dark corner of FFN, but it is perhaps a tad more adult than some other PG-13 fics. You have been warned. If you read this and honestly have problems with the content, then let me know and I'll move it to the R section.
Disclaimer: Not mine just borrowed to have fun with. Don't worry; I'll give it back when I'm finished, so long as I don't loose it behind the couch or something… This disclaimer not only applies to this chapter, but to all following it.
Also: This first chapter is the wonderful Scribbler's work, as it's a reply to 'Nutter's Fan-fic challenge. For details visit Nutter's site. The title of this will become clear only at the end.
PLEASE REVIEW! I CHERISH MY REVIEWS! I'll love you forever! The more reviews I get, the faster I'll post the next chapters!
Enjoy…
Chapter 1: The Mutant
The crowd roared tumultuously, and their stamping feet and pounding fists made the flimsy wooden benches shudder and creak.
Every now and then they'd stand up as a single mass of flailing bodies, and the struts holding the tiers in place let out breaths of dust that betrayed the strain being put upon them.
The object of their excitement stood sedately in the centre of the caged arena. He was, to all intents and purposes, asleep on his feet. Certainly, his eyes were closed, and he cradled one arm - clearly broken - against his bare chest like a slumbering child.
There was no outward acknowledgement of the mob, though a thin sheen of sweat veiled his brow in the close atmosphere of the tent.
Across from him another man breathed hard and glared openly. He was a bristle of muscles, hair and a pair of ripped Levis, and when he tossed his head he sent a shower of droplets onto the mesh of the cage surrounding the ring.
The crowd shouted again, becoming annoyed at the lack of action. Sprays of popcorn laced the air along with their irritated cries.
"Hey, I ain't paid five dollars to see this crap!"
"Get the lead out!"
"Beat the fucker into oblivion!"
"Pound 'im!"
"What you waitin' fer? Gold edged invitation?"
"Come on!"
Levi-man turned and waved to his public. He was greeted by a verbal surge of approval. Obviously, he was favorite to win, and he reveled in the praise received, all the time keeping one eye fixed on his strange opponent.
For his part, the other man did nothing. The only sign he was even still conscious came from the rise and fall of his chest, and the blinking red light on his restraint collar. He was well-muscled, and the copious scarring across his face and bare chest told their own story of how many fights like these he'd been in. And won. He had to have won. That was the only way he was still alive now.
Levi-man gave one last salute to his adoring public and dove right in. He left no room for hesitancy, ploughing forward with all the speed and stature of a freight train. He intended to power into his opponent and knock his off his feet while he wasn't looking, and with any other person he probably would have succeeded.
But this wasn't just any old person.
Faster than the eye could see, Levi-man switched from running across the ring to flat on his back with a hand pressed firmly to his throat. It happened so quickly he barely had chance to register the sudden change in altitude, let alone the strong grip cutting off
his airway.
The crowd went wild.
"Gettim!" one of them screamed.
"Don't let the mutie bastard win, you scmuck!" yelled another, equally outraged.
A woman in plaid stood up and threw something. It rattled against the cage mesh, revealing itself as a rock.
The rest of the mob took up the game, hurling anything that came to hand at the wire. A thousand whips cracked simultaneously as empty drink cans, pieces of brick, wood and mortar, plus an array of other, more exotic missiles bounced off the cage.
The mesh wasn't as close-knit as perhaps it could've been, so it was naturally only a matter of time before something got through. As it happened, that something was a set of keys someone had thrown in a moment of madness, and the sharp edge caught the fighter with a broken arm a glancing blow. A thin cut opened up next to his eye, and his face went wild with pain and rage.
Levi-man didn't know which emotion to swing for when the crushing pressure on his neck let up. He was grateful, sure, but also very wary of what the other fighter was now doing, and found himself breathlessly backing away into the corner.
The first few rows of audience members leaned back as the enraged fighter slammed against the mesh, a fury of snarling teeth and angry eyes. He clawed at the netting, slicing his fingers but heedless of the pain. In fact, it only served to madden him further, and he literally started climbing the cage wall in an attempt to get at the jeering crowd.
It was difficult to believe that this eruption of rage and pure, raw animalism was the same man who, only moments ago had seemed as peaceful as a sleeping babe. Even more so when he let out a feral growl to equal that of any untamed beast.
The handlers ran forward and thrust long metal poles tipped with wicked spikes through the mesh, but he batted them away easily and continued climbing. The cage wasn't exactly made of adamantium, and the wall started the buckle outwards as he
pounded against it. Even with the restraint collar on he was strong enough to do some severe damage. The adrenaline coursing through his system from the fight made him howl and he glared openly at the crowd, gnashing his teeth.
Several people screamed, and a few even went running for the exits. Chaos was about to break out if someone didn't do something. And fast.
One of the handlers reached to his waist and withdrew an object that looked not unlike a mobile phone. Frantically he tapped at the buttons, then held it out towards the fighter gone wild like a weapon. The mutant screamed once, pawing at his throat, and then fell. He hit the ring with a dull thump and lay moaning.
A man in a suit emerged and held up his hands for silence. Martin Buckelheim chewed on the expensive brand of cigarette permanently dangling from his lips and waited for some semblance of quiet to return before speaking.
"Ladies an' Gennelman," he boomed, not needing a megaphone to be heard. "Due to unforeseen circumstances, Ah'm afraid today's fight has been postponed indefinitely." There was a chorus of boos, and he nodded grimly at them.
"If y'all just go to th' ticket office, ya can get yer money back less tax. Sorry for th' inconvenience, an' Ah hope y'all can come again some time. Ya know how much Ah like to see your smilin' faces."
"More like the faces of presidents on our money!" quipped one of the throng. Others laughed half-heartedly, but Martin said nothing. He backed down to a series of curses and insults, but the crowd grumbled away to the ticket booths to retrieve their cash, minus tax, of course. It was an odd thing to say, since mutant battles like this one weren't rare, but were most certainly illegal and so not taxed in the slightest. Usually the authorities never found out, since they only lasted until the mutant attraction in question gave up the ghost and died. Usually in a blaze of glory in the ring against some opponent or other. Then the entrepreneur who'd owned it moved on to pastures new.
Buckelheim's arena was special because his mutant just kept on kicking no matter how hard it got beat up. A real spitfire, as the posters said. The audience knew that he'd live to fight another day, and that they'd probably come back to see him do it, too. If nothing else, Buckelheim's mutant always delivered.
Martin let them all leave before finally transferring his gaze to the arena. He jerked a thumb at one of the handlers, who snapped to attention and let Levi-man out of a side opening in another, undamaged wall. He was given a precursory audience, in which time he managed to swear and curse fifteen times and in fifteen colourful different ways.
He seemed about to say more when Martin waved him away. He hadn't lost the fight, but he hadn't won either. The rules were simple. You win, you get the prize money advertised on the flyer. You lose; you most likely end in up hospital or worse. Levi-man found himself escorted out by his lapels.
Only when everyone bar himself and the two remaining handlers had gone did Martin at last ascend the creaky wooden steps and enter the ring himself. He stood, hands clasped behind his back, watching the fallen mutant with one eyebrow raised. Nothing was said, and silence reigned between them. It was a dangerous, unprotected position to be in.
Not that the mutant in question was capable of doing anything much at the moment. The inhibiting abilities of the collar were still active, and an angry red burn was clear spanning the circumference of his ample neck.
Martin cleared his throat. "Well, Ah hope you're happy wit yo'self," he drawled. "You just cost me a whole lotta money in sales, mutie. Not to mention cash for damages. That cage weren't easy to make, y'know. Things like that don't come cheap these days."
The mutant opened one eye and grunted. "Go to hell."
"Shuddup," Martin replied, drawing back a foot and kicking him squarely in the stomach. The mutant didn't try to fight back.
He'd learned a long time ago that to fight back only meant more pain later. Pain with the collar on, too, which made it ten times worse.
Martin kicked him once more, for good measure, and then stood back, brushing a few greasy strands of hair out of his face. "Ah dun' told you before. No talkin' unless Ah say so. S'bad fer business an' yo' health." He hunkered down and squinted at his bread-and-butter. "So why'd you wimp out on the fight, mutant? Not like you."
That's because I'm usually imagining that it's your neck I'm wringing. But he stayed his tongue.
Martin frowned. "Less of the funny stuff. Now Ah'm tellin' ya to talk, mutie. You let that guy go just when you had 'im beat. Ah know you. You ain't never backed down like that 'afore. Now Ah'm askin' ya, why?"
No answer. Martin reached for the collar control device at his belt with deliberate slowness.
"I'm not a performing monkey."
The answer, apparently, didn't please Martin, and he swept to his feet with a puff at his cigarette. "That so? Seems to me yo' getting' a little too big for yo' boots, boyo. You fight when Ah say to fight, y'unnerstand?"
A growl. "Get bent."
That really didn't please him. "Ok then. Seems you need re-educatin' some. Chug, Goldo, help our friend here back into his cell. Do not deactivate the collar to let him heal until I give the say-so, and do not feed 'im. We'll see how co-operative he is after a night of that."
Chug and Goldo did as they were bid, albeit after waiting for their employer to leave. They were big, heavy men, probably with a handful of brain-cells between them. At some point or other they must have been in the military, because they clicked their heels together and saluted smartly as Martin went past as if he was some kind of general.
The mutant looked on, uninterested. He'd seen many handlers come and go in his time. None of them ever impressed him, and he closed his eyes as soon as Martin was out of sight, not for the first time wondering where he'd gone wrong to get himself lumbered with a schmuck like that.
Footsteps. Evidently Chug and Goldo weren't wasting any time following orders. He sighed. Guess he'd have to bear the pain of their manhandling. Come morning he'd be allowed to heal again, as much good as it would do him. Somehow recovery in this place was more of a curse than a blessing.
A curious sound suddenly reached his ears, dulled as they were by the collar. Like the pop of a lighted splint placed in pure oxygen. He briefly considered opening his eyes to see what it was, but simultaneously deemed it too much effort.
Probably just one of those idiots lettin' one off.
Then an even more curious noise came from nearby. It sounded like light, pattering footsteps, and the floor of the ring vibrated against his face. One of the heavies - Goldo, it sounded like - cried out, and there was the distinct sound of a smart punch and a
body falling.
What the - ?
The second handler, Chug, shouted; "What the hell....? What are you? How the hell did you get in?"
Whomever that was directed at didn't answer, and Chug yelled something else unintelligible. His feet thudded loudly on the canvas as he evidently ran forwards, and that odd 'pop' came again, closer this time.
This time, the mutant opened his eyes, and was just in time to see something small and.... blue drop from above onto his handler.
Whatever it was kicked out a foot, which caught Chug on the side of his jaw. He went flying into the wire mesh of the cage, and slid down, out for the count.
The blue thing landed delicately into a crouch that would've made a gymnast proud, and scuttle on all fours toward him. The mutant struggled slightly, instantly mistrustful and ready to fight whatever his condition or incarceration.
A heavily accented voice attempted to soothe him, and it took a moment to realise that it came from the blue shape. "Shhhh, mein Freund. I'm here to help you."
Soft hands touched his neck, brushing against the collar. The defence mechanism kicked in and gave them a sharp shock.
"Scheisse, what was that? Ach, never mind. We can deal with this thing later. Right now, the most important thing is to get you out of here."
"Who are you?" he asked.
Those same hands looped around and under his chest, hauling him up with no small amount of grunted effort to his feet. The mutant felt something long and serpentine snake around the backs of his legs, keeping them vertical. As his head flopped forward
he saw it was a spaded tail, blue, and completely covered in a fine carpet of velvety fur.
"I'm a friend. That's all you need to know at the moment," said the voice.
A lungful of air sucked through teeth, and it sighed dejectedly. "Usually I prefer not to use violence. Doesn't do our credibility much good, ne? But I couldn't just let them carry on like that."
Comprehension dawned directly. "You're a mutant."
"Catch on fast, don't we?"
He snarled, and felt the arms twitch.
"No need for that. Ja, I'm a mutant, just like you. Which is primarily the reason I'm busting you out of here. Places like this are a sick excuse for entertainment. I only go to them to liberate the attractions."
"You gonna give me your name, kid?" For a kid it was indeed. His tone was too flutely to be fully mature, and his frame was spindly and possessed a gawkiness that had nothing to do with his mutation.
"Depends. You going to give me yours, mein Freund?"
He blinked. His name? It'd been a long time since anybody asked him that.
"Logan."
"Kurt Wagner."
TO BE CONTINUED…