6

'Your turn'

The guard stood in the doorway as Hutch stared malevolently back at him. The first injection that Matwick had given him had lasted only a short time, and thankfully he could still remember who he was and what he was doing there, in that bleak white room. He could also remember exactly what had been done to his brunette partner and the sight of Starsky reduced to the equivalent of a lab rat made his blood boil without the need of one of the doctor's adrenaline stoked injections.

What had the mad professor said? The injection was an adrenaline derivative. But instead of the original purpose, to work with the patient's fight or flight response and calm the individual, this little concoction did just the opposite. The drug injected into the curly haired cop's veins had enhanced the fight response to such an extent that the once fair minded and happy man had been transformed into a well muscled and well trained fighting machine.

And now it seemed that it was the blonde's turn to face whatever it was at the bottom of the corridor. The guards walked towards him and Hutch backed himself up until he felt the walls at his back and he could back no further. The guards advanced upon him and he felt panic rising in his chest as he saw the needle gun in their hands. As one guard pushed him back against the wall, his hand across the blond throat, the other placed hard metal cuffs around his wrists and fastened them together behind his back, affixing a length of chain from them to a broad leather collar buckled around his neck. Thus immobilised Hutch stood panting as the guard continued to use his body's weight to pin him against the wall.

The other guard pushed the needle against Hutch's bare arm and the blond detective closed his eyes and shuddered at the horror of it.

Ken Hutchinson, I'm Ken Hutchinson, not a...He leaned forward trying to ease the white hot pain lancing through his head and gasped as the guards chuckled at him.

'Thinkin' hurts, don't it, punk?'

The blond turned wild eyes on his tormentor. 'Shut it, or I'll shut it for ya' he spat out with a vengeance which startled even him. The guards backed off a step, amazed at the speed of the drug and the ferocity it had evoked in the formerly placid blond. Leering at each other, they descended on Hutch, and then took hold of his arms and propelled him towards the door and out into the corridor.

'Where are you taking me? Take your hands off of me. I'll fuckin' kill the lot of ya'. The red hot lava flowed through his veins, burning away the panic and replacing it by need. He needed to run; he needed to shout at the world; he needed to…to…to fight.

'Somewhere you'll be able to do what ya need to do' the guard said with feeling as they proceeded down the corridor.

Hutch didn't want to wait to fight, he wanted to do it now and he struggled against the two men holding him, making it hard for then to steer their ward towards the ever growing noise at the end of the corridor. The blond heard it to, and the still lucid part of his mind wondered what the hell was happening.

At the end of the corridor was a door and as they got to it, one of the guards started to unbuckle the collar from round Hutch's neck, loosening the chains. The collar was replaced by a strong hand, the fingers wrapped around the back of his neck and squeezing mercilessly until he put his head forward and ground his teeth against the pain. A small Hutch-like voice in his head snorted. Great Hu..Ke…shit, whoever. You got yourself a Spock wannabe!

As the guard continued to hold him, the other released his wrists from their metal bracelets and as he stopped to massage them, the door opened and he was pushed inside.

After the dim light of the corridor, the bright lights of the arena dazzled him and he put his hand up to his eyes to shield them from the glare. Squinting against the arc lights illuminating the theatre, Green gazed at the bank upon bank of faces staring back at him. The noise was deafening as the crowd cheered and clapped their new fighter.

Green stood by the side of the arena, back pressed against the wooden boards lining the fighting pit as he tried to acclimatise to the noises after the quiet of his cell. As he waited, words started to break through the background noise and he caught phrases and parts of sentences.

'Good chest…..'

'…..not as well muscled as red'.

'twenty against…..'

As he waited, an announcer suddenly took hold of a microphone at the edge of the arena.

'Ladies and gentlemen! Good evening and welcome to another action packed evening of bare fist fighting for your enjoyment! Tonight we have 3 fights lined up for your delectation. Later, we'll have your old favourites, Red 4 –v- Blue 3 and Yellow 1 –v- Black 5. But first, a new contender to the stable! For the first time in the fight club, we introduce Green 1.

Weighing in at 170lbs and standing 6'1" tonight he's matched against our old friend White 1. It's a knock out fight and bets are now being taken. Ladies and gentlemen, now is your chance. Green here is a prime male and spoiling for a fight, so, without further ado, lets welcome back to the ring my favourite, your favourite….Whiiiiiiite 1

The crowd erupted into cheers and claps as another door opened and a large, muscular man walked through. He had a tangle of long blond hair and a beard and moustache. His eyes glared out of an angry face and Green had the impression that if he's been a bull he would have been pawing at the ground as he waited. Ordinarily, the blond would have backed away from a fight. It was his nature to talk his way from a situation, and had always despised those men who talked with their fists. Not that he was a coward, far from it. But words saved a lot of pain and suffering, and words were easier.

But now he stood panting, the fury ripping through his being. Who the hell do they think they're talking about? "Prime male". I'm no exhibit I'm a…a…I'm a…fuck! C'mon….remember! The pain in his head intensified and through the red mist he tried to decide what he should do. Fight. Yes. He needed to fight. Now, he didn't see a man looking back at him; he saw an adversary to be taken down and beaten into a pulp on the sandy floor of the arena. It was this man's fault that he had the pains in his head. If he could take him out, the pains would go and he'd be able to remember. He took another look at the crowd around him. They'd quietened now and were watching expectantly to see what the new fighter would do and how he would fair against White. They didn't have to wait long to find out.

With a roar of rage, White launched himself across the arena towards Green using his immense form as a pile driver. Head down, he aimed for Green's stomach and at the last moment and with lightening speed, Green side stepped. White caught Green on the side and ricocheted of the blond body and against the wooden boards. Shaking his head, his glared at the sweating cop and leered.

'Clever. Very clever Blondie, but not quick enough'. He pulled back his fist and launched a surprise attack against Green. Green put his hands up, protecting his face and swung at White, catching him on the cheek, leaving a bloody bruise there and skinning his own knuckles in the process. White hardly stopped. Grunting with exertion, his fists rained down on Green, accurately and with force.

The treatment Green/Hutch had taken in the past two weeks was telling on him now. Bruises from the guard's beatings stood out livid and dark across his abdomen, chest, sides and back and each movement hurt, and White was targeting each and every one of them, using the old injuries to inflict as much pain as possible. Green/Hutch was weaker than White and he staggered back against the edge of the fighting pit, fighting to control his breathing as the blows continued to connect. He felt a large cut open above his right eye, and blinked awkwardly as the blood, mingled with his sweat started to flow, threatening to blind his eye. But the pain was welcome. It allowed Green to clear his mind, thinking through the effects of the drug. What had White called him? Blondie. Another, more familiar voice sounded in his head.

Hey Blondie. Earth to the Blond Blintz.

He ducked away as he saw the fist coming back towards him and slammed his own fist into the hard belly in front of him. The force jarred his arm and sent pains shooting through his wrist, but with the pains came more clarity.

Hutchinson…Ken….Hutch. you're a cop, for Gods sake act like one. Think! Don't hurt him, just think. Hutch….Starsky. Oh my God, Starsk! Is this what you've been doing for two weeks? Shit!

Hutch shook his head to clear it just as White was coming back at him for another attack. Swiftly he grasped the passing arm and swung the big body against the wooden boards of the arena. White let out a roar of anger as he saw the solid wood come up to meet him. He'd had too much momentum behind him to be able to put his own brakes on and as the hard wood met his head, he saw stars.

As he looked up, Hutch saw a massive, bloody wound across almost the whole of White's forehead. The big fighter stood swaying dazedly and the last vestiges of the drug in Green/Hutch's system kicked in. With an explosive yell, the blond took two swift steps forwards, jumping up and landing a two-footed kick at his antagonist. White fell back against the arena wall, his eyes rolling up into his head as Hutch landed on his back on the sandy floor, the breath knocked from his body. As he lay panting, clarity returned and he looked at the unconscious man opposite him.

Hutch crawled over to the other fighter and started to check that the man was still breathing as the crowd's cheers turned to gasps and boos. They wanted fighting and action. They paid to see ruthlessness and the sight of one fighter tenderly checking another wasn't something that entertained them.

Swiftly guards piled into the arena. Hutch was hauled to his feet and pulled away from White. As he struggled against the strong arms holding him, he felt the manacles being clipped around his wrists and then secured by the chain to the collar around his neck that the hands buckled. He stared defiantly back at the crowd as he was pushed from the arena and back up the small corridor. Instead of turning left into his cell, he was walked further along and pushed into a room, which looked almost like an ER. His bonds were once again removed and the two big men pushed him back against a cold metal examination table, arms once again across his throat. His wrists and ankles were held down and immobilised with leather restraints as a male nurse started to tend to the myriad of cuts and bruises on his hands and body.

He felt, rather than saw one of the men do something to the bracelet on his right wrist. As the medic finished working on him and he was let up, weariness overtook him and he stumbled along back to his cell with the two familiar and silent guards. As they pushed him inside, he leaned weakly against the wall, feeling more tired than he'd ever done. Curiously, he raised his hand to his eyes, reading the inscription on the white metal bracelet. Slowly, and feeling sick to his stomach at what he'd been forced to do, he slipped slowly down the wall and rested his head in his hands, the words burned into his consciousness.

Designation Green 1

Wins - 1