The Sponsorship
By evolution-500
Genre: Horror/Tragedy
Disclaimer: "Killer Instinct" is a property owned by Rareware and Microsoft. I do not own this game nor any of its characters.
WARNING: This story contains references to violence, coarse language, disturbing themes and imagery. Reader discretion is advised.
"For what profit is it to a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul?"
- Matthew 16:26
He had lost the fight.
Spitting out a thick glob of blood, Owen Agnès found himself sprawled out on the sidewalk, wincing as he massaged the cut on his lower lip, glaring at the retreating forms of his neighborhood bullies as they all walked away laughing.
"Pricks!" He shouted.
None of them had bothered to even look at him when he called, not even caring a single iota about him, adding to his humiliation.
Sniffling, Owen gathered all of his books and collected his backpack, slipping the latter over his shoulder.
Every time. Every fucking time he tried to leave, this shit would happen.
Never in his life had he ever felt so miserable.
Even though he was in college, even though he just turned nineteen and was living in his own apartment, he was still single and still getting beat up by the same jackasses that had bullied him since middle school, and he hated it.
He hated feeling so weak and pathetic.
He hated being unable to defend himself.
But even more, he hated the fact that he was so alone and so insignificant.
If only he was stronger!
Clenching his teeth, Owen's fingers tightened, his hand forming into a fist.
"I'll show them," he promised. "I'll show them all!"
Walking alone on the street with his hands in his pockets, Owen kept his eyes low the ground, a feeling of gloom coming over him as he tried to hide the black eye, though every so often he would let his young orbs wander, his inquisitive mind taking in the sights and smells all around him.
Street lights flashed in neon from every direction, his senses assaulted by the booming voices of various holograms advertising with all the subtlety of a jackhammer.
Asian dragons floated phantomlike three feet off the ground before exploding into fireworks that advertised the latest in hologram software.
A flickering Marilyn Monroe seductively leaned forward, offering a smooch to the various pedestrians that passed by, her form shimmering and distorted, her cleavage on full display, the latest digital companion for those lonely nights.
Blushing, Owen averted his eyes, letting his gaze drift.
Everywhere he looked, he saw promises.
Promises of happiness.
Promises of fulfilment.
Promises of wealth.
Promises of better education, investment, and career opportunities.
Promises of better medication and health services.
Promises of friendships through online apps.
Promises of bigger and better cars, homes, gaming consoles and computers.
Promises of bigger and better gene-modified pets, androids, foods, and treatments.
Promises of bigger and better movies - no, THE biggest movies of the century - with the biggest stars from Hollywood!
Promises of bigger and better bodies, with attachable parts, vibrating or not.
Promises made by potential mayoral candidates, each one sleazier looking than the last.
Promises of love and beauty.
Promises of better living.
Promises of a better and brighter future, with a bigger and cleaner city.
Everything that Owen saw and heard looked so wonderfully enticing, and more than once, he would catch himself staring longingly at something, be it a car, fancy home or a beautiful fashion model.
Every advertisement promised something, each and every single one appealing in their own right.
So caught up with the enchantment of those promises was Owen that it was only when the corporate logos for the different advertisements appeared afterward that the teenager found himself snapped coldly back to reality.
Every promise made had some corporate name attached, for better or worse - DBR, SinTEK Industries, Hephaestus Incorporated, Umbrella Corporation, Fortunado Limited, Basilisk Manufacturing, Athena Cybernetics, Pendragon Chemicals, Pyrotech, Daedalus Solutions, Gremlin Bionics, Arasaka, Militech, and Lazarus, among countless others.
One corporate logo, however, appeared more prominently than others, a capital "U" bordered by a black circle in a red triangle, the name of the company underneath in bold.
"Ultratech - Looking To The Past To Save The Future."
Upon seeing the Ultratech logo, Owen turned his attention to the grime-covered street around him, then glanced to the population surrounding his person, almost cringing in loathing. On the street, he saw all manner of people walking about, a mixture of normal and the abnormal. For every seemingly normal Joe, there would be the odd freak or twelve, many of whom all had the strangest fashion and hairstyles.
One guy he swore had a mohawk made entirely of knives fastened into his head, while another woman with dyed green hair seemed to consist entirely of piercings, with nine bolts protruding from her shaved scalp.
One man had a metal jaw, another had cybernetic eyes, some with multiple, while a third had an automated leg.
One person was little more than a head attached to a white soccer ball-like wheel while a woman walking past was an entirely borged-up nightmare, a head on an entirely skeletal body with glassy black eyes.
Shivering at the latter, Owen turned his eyes away quickly as she passed by, giving her a wide berth.
God, cyborgs always freaked him out.
Granted, it wasn't so unusual for there to be the odd person to end up an amputee and sport an automated limb, but it was always the crazies out there who seemed to make it their life goal of announcing their freakishness to the rest of the public.
The worst were those that went so far as to take on even more animalistic shapes and pushed their fetishes to the utmost extremes; one man that Owen saw had his entire skin dyed green with snake-like facial feature, his body so horrifically distended, thin and wiry that he looked one part serpent and one part marionette.
Every movement the man made was gross to watch, like watching a snake trying to navigate the world with newly-formed legs.
Averting his eyes, Owen's mouth curled in disgust, trying not to vomit.
Everywhere he looked, he saw a sea of people, a mixture of humans, androids, gene-spliced punks and those that fall somewhere in-between, a constant wave where the normal and abnormal bled together, with the latter sticking out in grotesquely demented ways that bordered on parody.
Cars honked from all directions as various drivers cussed out at each other and at other pedestrians crossing the road, while bikers roared past on their motorcycles.
Overhead, Owen saw cars flying overhead, the teenager staring in dismay.
'God, those are so cool!' He wistfully thought.
Too bad he'd never be able to afford such a thing; as a part-time clerk at a video retail store, he barely made enough as it was, and with his mom being a secretary and sole provider of the household, chances of either of them making enough to buy a flying car, even a used one, was unlikely.
Some people, it seemed, were just born luckier than others.
Hearing a joyous laugh, Owen turned and spotted a blonde girl his age whooping from the passenger side of a red and purple Cadillac as it rolled past, the driver - a smug, heavily muscled bodybuilder-looking jerk - grinning widely at him, as if he were mockingly rubbing his good fortune in the youth's face.
Grinding his teeth, Owen clenched his jaw as he glared in a mixture of frustration, envy and anger, watching in impotent fury as it disappeared amongst the traffic and sped past the lights.
'That should have been me,' he bitterly thought.
It just wasn't fair! Why couldn't it have been him?! Why couldn't he be that wealthy and good-looking?! Why couldn't he have a girlfriend?! Why couldn't he be allowed to achieve his dreams?!
Moving past a restaurant, Owen felt himself wince at his own reflection, his anger and envy cooled and replaced with sorrow and insecurity.
Staring back in mockery was a gawky thin geek with crooked bucked teeth, his face round and baby-faced, his oversized grey hoody and blue jeans hanging off his skinny frame.
Scruffy long hair done in a curtains style messily draped past his shoulders, looking wild and full of dandruff.
Exhaling, Owen slipped his fingers through his hair as he attempted to fix it, only to stop when he was unable to.
Slumping, the teenager let out a dejected sigh as he crossed a street with his hands in his pockets, passing by the traffic lights.
If only there was a way out of this mess. He didn't want to be a nobody like his deadbeat dad; he wanted more out of life!
He wanted to buy the biggest house with the biggest car. He wanted to have a baseball team of his own, an island filled with busty and beautiful women...and but how?
What should he do?
It all seemed so hopeless...and yet...he wanted it all.
If only he knew how!
As he reached the other side, a holographic jumbotron flared from the top of a skyscraper, drawing his attention.
Stopping just underneath the traffic light near the curb, Owen froze, his eyes widening as silver metal text scrolled across the screen, accompanied by a single voice.
"KILLER INSTINCT."
Blinking rapidly, the teenager's face lit up as he allowed a smile to form.
Killer Instinct...of course! How could he have forgotten?!
The Killer Instinct tournament, where dreams and wishes were granted to those that won!
Staring at the jumbotron, Owen carefully studied the screen, taking note of the tournament's website and phone number, then looked forward, his pace increasing with every step as he hurried home, his heart racing with excitement.
Fortune favored the bold, and by God he was gonna do whatever it took.
Two Days Later...
The fight hadn't gone well.
Staring listlessly stared up at the white ceiling of the recovery room in the Ultratech facility, Owen lied on the gurney, his nose broken, his lip cut and his eyes black and bruised, watching the overhead fan is it endlessly spun, the beeping of the EKG heartrate monitor repeating the same monotonous note.
It was pitiful how quickly he had ended up knocked out; he hadn't even made it past the first match-up. One fight - hell, one punch - and the fight had been over in an instant.
And now here he was, in the recovery room, battered and bruised. He was thankful that his mom wasn't around to see him like this; he had worn a mask going in and used an alias, but explaining how he got these injuries was going to be a pain.
What a moron he was thinking that he could go up against all these skilled martial artists, and now he had the shame of returning home emptyhanded.
His body and face were sore, but nothing more than the knowledge that he had let his mom down. Feeling a tear well up, Owen closed his eyes, the tear trailing down his cheek as he lied there on the gurney, waiting for the doctor to appear.
To his disappointment, he didn't have to wait long as he heard the door open.
Footsteps filled the room as a female nurse stepped inside wearing blue scrubs.
"Hello Owen," she said pleasantly. "How are you feeling?"
Groaning, Owen shook his head, muttering, "Sore, to be honest."
"Oh dear," she clicked her tongue. "Do you want me to get you anything?"
"No thank you."
"Okay." The nurse then glanced over her shoulder, tucking some bangs behind her ear. "I just wanted to let you know that you have a visitor waiting outside."
Owen blinked. "A visitor?"
"Yes, a gentleman. Would you like to see him?"
A gentleman?
Owen swallowed. "Sure."
He watched as the nurse turned around and left, leaving him alone for a moment. Puzzled, Owen pondered over the situation when the nurse returned with a tall well-dressed man in a black double-breasted coat approached, causing the teenager to sit up in alert.
Glancing over to the nurse, the man dismissively waved. "Thank you, Melissa. That will be all."
Owen watched in growing confusion as the nurse nodded back and turned around, leaving him alone with the stranger.
Taking in his features, Owen was struck by the man's dark and olive-colored skin, his features strong and full, looking Mediterranean. With his curly brown hair, his aquiline nose and cleanshaven features, he looked more like a Greek statue.
For several minutes, the two of them were silent, staring at one another in anticipation, the man standing there with his arms folded behind his back.
Swallowing, Owen decided to break the silence. "Uhh, hi?" he said in a ponderous manner, uncertain what to make of the man. "Do I know you?"
Offering him a smile, the man shook his head. "Not at all," the former replied. "I was around at the time when I caught your fight. You have some good moves. Granted, you're a little rusty in some areas, but I think with a little training you can be something someday."
Owen raised a quizzical brow. "You a trainer or something?"
The man let out a light laugh. "Oh goodness, no!" Reaching into his pocket, he took out his wallet and opened it up, extracting something. "Oliver Crowninshield, representative of Athena Cybernetics. Here's my card."
Taking the card, Owen's brow furrowed as he studied it. On the card was the profile of golden woman holding a spear, her form bleeding into bold and fancily-designed text of the same color.
Looking back up to the man, the teenager exhaled. "Can't say that I've heard of you fellas," he shrugged, handing the card back.
"I'm sure that you have," the former replied. "Along with our state-of-the-art cyberware in the field of medicine, we have also sponsored many fighters in the Killer Instinct tournament throughout the years. One of our biggest stars before his fall from grace was T.J. Combo himself."
Owen shot up from the bed, his eyes widening in recognition instantly. "No way! T.J. Combo?!"
"Indeed!" Crowninshield grinned, his smile replaced with a thoughtful, distant look on his face, as if lost in remembrance. "A pity, that one. He had so much promise and potential, only to end up squandering it." Sighing, he shrugged. "Oh well."
Tilting his head, the teenager gave the representative a questioning look. "What does this have to do with me?"
Owen nervously watched as the latter coolly stared at him.
"Tell me something, son," Crowninshield began, "how would you feel about having another shot at the tournament?"
Blinking, Owen frowned. "How can I do that? I lost the match."
"Yes," the representative nodded, "but...a sponsorship can help get you places. We're always on the lookout for potential talent, and based on what we've seen, kid...I think you've got it."
Owen's eyes widened, his breath hitched.
"Of course," Crowninshield continued, "you will need some finetuning in some places, but I think with the right guidance and management, you can be an even bigger star than T.J. Combo himself." He then folded his hands behind his back. "So then, what do you say, kid? Would you like to become part of the sponsorship program?"
The recovery room was filled with a stunned silence, leaving the occupant within it dazed.
Smiling widely, Owen vigorously nodded. "Hell yeah! Sign me up!"
The representative grinned. "Excellent!" Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a document and a pen. "Here's your contract. Just sign your signature at the bottom."
Taking the document, Owen carefully read it, then took the pen from Crowninshield.
For a brief second, the former hesitated, his pen wavering in uncertainty.
"...Is there a problem?" Crowinshield questioned, raising a brow.
Looking conflictedly at both the document and at the representative, Owen bit his lip in indecision.
"I...I don't know if I should do this," he admitted.
"If you don't, someone else will, son," Crowninshield replied. "The decision is yours to make, but remember, once I'm gone, I'm afraid that will be it for you. You may never get a chance like this coming your way again, and that would be a real shame. Of course, there are many out there who would give their right arm for a chance at a sponsorship."
Staring at the contract, Owen squirmed and internally wrestled with his conscience.
But then he recalled the various beatings that he had received, how he had felt tired of being weak.
Clenching tightly onto the pen, Owen's eyes narrowed.
The teenager didn't know how his story would end, but in no way in hell was he gonna fade away into obscurity - fuck that!
This was his time to shine, and by God was he going to show everyone what he was capable of!
Shifting his jaw, Owen fatefully signed his name on the dotted line, handing the document back once he was finished.
"Excellent," Crowninshield nodded, folding it up and placing it into his coat pocket. "Welcome to Athena, son! We will begin with your training once you have recovered. For now, take it easy, kid."
And with that, the representative turned on his heel and left, leaving Owen alone in the recovery room, the latter's thoughts scattered and discordant.
Swallowing, Owen lied back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, his mouth curling into a smile.
His mother had always told him that he was destined for great things, and from the look of things, she was right.
And now he was going to prove it to the rest of the world.
As he slowly closed his eyes, Owen started to dream.
The boardroom was dimly lit and still as its members sat in wait at a large customized A-shaped conference table, the insignia of the Athena Cybernetics logo peering down from a wall at the back.
On various walls were monitors and hologram images of other board members from different countries, all of them watching in growing anticipation.
Automated doors whirred open, revealing CEO Erik Angelos as he silently stepped into the room with a folder in hand, a tall Olympian of a man in his forties, his appearance rugged and clean-cut with long wavy peroxide blonde, framing his chiseled features and broad shoulders in a way that made him look like a lion.
Moving past the executives with purpose, Angelos strolled his way toward his chair at the end, his presence strong and commanding.
Settling down into his seat, his narrow green eyes glanced to the other board members. "Is everyone here?" he spoke, his voice a deep bass.
Studying the room, he carefully watched as they all nodded one by one.
"Good." Flipping open his folder, he turned his attention to his papers within. "Let us begin then. Have the R&D team managed to find any suitable candidates yet?"
One of the screens flickered, revealing a researcher, an African-American with a bald head and a thick black mustache. "We have, Mister Chairman," he answered. "Several have been recruited from homeless shelters while we have an asset in recovery from the tournament."
"How badly injured is the asset?" Angelos pressed.
"Nothing too bad. A broken nose and rib along with a cut lip, but aside from that, nothing major. According to our Ultratech sources, the asset is a healthy young nineteen-year-old male."
A holographic image of a young man appeared on screen along with his personal information, causing the CEO to frown.
"Doesn't look like much in all honesty," he muttered. "When will you begin the procedure?"
"Two of the subjects are undergoing the surgery as we speak," the doctor answered. "The others are too emaciated to do anything with at this time, while another has a venereal disease. Personally I would have preferred specimens of better quality."
"We will do what we can. What of the child?"
The doctor frowned. "As soon as the boy has recovered and is in peak physical condition, we can go ahead with the implantation of the cybernetic implants for his arms," he answered. "As he currently he is, he is underweight with little to no muscle, and to subject him to surgery at this stage would be too dangerous. Our Science Team will be giving him an experimental prescription of vitamins and steroids to help increase his muscle and bone density. Once he has achieved the optimal size and weight, we can begin and see how far we can take him."
"Do you foresee any complications?"
"Not at all. Along with vigorous exercises and diets in order to build up his endurance, we will also perform gene therapy in order to detect and neutralize any genetic deficiencies should we discover any. According to the subject's file, his family has had no recorded history of illnesses, so that is encouraging. That being said, it will take some time before he is ready for proper testing."
The boardroom was silent save for the hum of the CEO as he thoughtfully nodded, digesting the words.
Finally, he spoke.
"Do what you must, Doctor," Angelos rumbled, giving a dismissive wave. "Just make certain that you keep him monitored along with the other subjects."
"Yes, Mr. Chairman. I will also be sure to have my report ready for your review."
With that, the doctor's screen cut out, leaving the darkly lit boardroom in silence.
The days that followed were unlike anything Owen ever imagined.
With his release from Ultratech's recovery room, Owen was subjected to vigorous exercises, weightlifts and carefully managed diets. The first few days were hellish, with his legs feeling as if they were on fire, but over time, the pain became more tolerable.
The most challenging part, however, came from the actual training itself, all of which was overseen by a former soldier who, as far as Owen was concerned, was Satan incarnate. He was a hardnosed tough-as-nails boxer and wrestler with dark eyes and a jaw that looked capable of eating granite, and though he was far shorter than Owen himself, the instructor proved to be a capable fighter.
From this man, Owen learned how to move, grapple and fight, how to block and how to counter, and though initially he had received a lot of bruises and lost a lot of fights, over time, he started to improve.
There were many times where he felt tempted to throw in the towel, but Owen had been determined to win no matter what, and nothing was going to stop him.
Wiping the sweat off his face with a towel after an intense workout, Owen checked himself out in front of the change room mirror, staring in disbelief at the figure before him. No longer was he the feeble pushover; over time, his body began to fill out more, losing its scrawny stick-like shape as he grew muscles and a six pack. He practically looked unrecognizable to his own eyes, so much so that the teenager couldn't help wondering if it was a dream.
Tilting his head in one direction, he watched as his reflection mimicked the action.
Who would imagine that such effort would result in such substantial changes?
He had no idea what Athena Cybernetics had in store for him, but if this was what the future looked like, then as far as Owen was concerned, it was worth it, and he was excited to see where it lead to next.
As he ran an appreciative hand over his face, Owen's mouth drew open into a full-fledged smile, the happiest he had been in ages.
Several Years Later...
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! WELCOME! TO! KILLER INSTINCT!" The announcer shouted from the crackling holographic display and speakers, the arena in the background erupting into loud cheers. "Boy do we have an exciting show for you tonight! In this corner, weighing over six hundred and fifty pounds, Ultratech's pride and joy, KILGORE!"
The crowd cheered as the spotlight fell over the one fighter, revealing a tall matte dark grey mechanical figure with large shoulders, its "head" consisting of a single, glowing, vertical line with several wires protruding from the back of its head, its arms mounted with a pair of massive chainguns. Throwing a punch, it ended each "punch" with a blast before raising its "arms" to the ceiling, firing its chainguns until they overheated.
"ANNNNND in this corner comes a new challenger brought to you by the good folks of Athena Cybernetics. Ladies and gentlemen, give it up. TO! TIIIIIIIITAAAAAAAN!"
The spotlight fell over the fighter's alley at the opposite end, revealing a tall and imposing musclebound figure that looked more like an Adonis, his chest exposed for all to see, his legs and face entirely concealed by black pants and a lensed mask.
As soon as he stepped into the ring, Titan threw up his arms, basking in the cheers of the crowd, flexing his muscles.
"Don't just stand there gawking, rookie! Come on, we got a job to do already!"
Startled by the impatient voice of his coworker, Junior Custodian Tyler Russel cleared his throat and averted his eyes away from the exhibit in the Ultratech museum.
"S-Sorry, Jerry," he apologized, grabbing his mop and cleaning supplies.
Nearby, thirty-five-year-old Jerry Walters gave the video display a harrumph, watching the fighter on screen before turning away to grab his own. "What an asshole."
"No kidding," another coworker, Phil, spoke up as he sprayed on the plexiglass of a display case with Windex and wiped it clean with a roll of paper towels.
"I take it you guys aren't big fans of him?" Tyler questioned.
"Hell naw," a third coworker, Alex, called as he soaked his mop in a bucket filled with water. "Titan was a jackass. Don't know if it's from all the steroids that he'd been takin', but he was a shit with an ego the size of New York. Gave me lip every time he came here. Mister Big Man! Thought he was on top of the world grabbing greatness by the tits! He made T.J. Combo seem like a saint, and that guy was obnoxious as hell! Yeah, I can't stand that guy for the life of me."
"You and me both," Phil drawled.
Jerry glanced over in Tyler's direction. "What about you, kid?"
Clearing his throat, the newbie bashfully rubbed the back of his head. "W-Well, yeah! I mean, he was my favorite fighter growing up! I mean, here's this guy, a nobody like me from downtown, and one day he enters the Killer Instinct tournament and made a name for himself! I used to watch all the big fights with him. I mean, he fought Big John, Max Damage, Toxin, Heatshade, Roxy Rave, Fisting Phillips..." Staring off into the distance as he reminisced, Tyler sighed. "I haven't watched his more recent fights, but he inspired me growing up. I kind of thought about joining the tournament at one point?"
"And do you?" Jerry questioned, an edge in his voice.
Exhaling, Tyler shook his head. "Nah, fighting's not really my thing."
"Wise choice."
Looking at the display case, Tyler's shoulders regretfully sagged. "It's a shame that he's retired now. I would have LOVED to have gotten his autograph!"
Nearby, Jerry scoffed. "'Retired'. Yeah. Sure."
Giving him a curious look, Tyler blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Have you seen the new exhibit at the back?"
Furrowing his brows, the rookie shook his head. "I didn't get the chance to see it."
Stopping momentarily, the older man turned to face him, staring at him for a few moments before waving in his direction. "Follow me, kid."
Looking at Phil and Alex, Tyler gave him a confused look. "Why? What's going on?"
"Just want to show you something," came the ominous reply.
Hesitating, Tyler complied with Jerry's request and followed, moving through the various corridors, occasionally taking in the various Ultratech exhibits.
The interior of the museum consisted of black reflective floors marked with two yellow and black caution strips, while all around were various dioramas and machinery on display.
Over the entrance, at the left-hand side, was a valve that rested ten feet off the ground, while concealed behind thick plexiglass display cases were a series various of old generators, prototype androids and other long defunct models and vehicles that made up Ultratech's history in the robotics industry.
Cameras whirred noisily while a red spotlight periodically scanned along the floor, leaving a long line of red.
Staring up at it, Tyler shivered underneath the red glow as it scanned his form along with Jerry's, feeling uncomfortable by its dispassionate empty red eye as it remained focused on them both.
"God that thing gives me the creeps," the former muttered.
Jerry shrugged. "It can be at times. Almost feel like we're about to be disintegrated by a death ray or somethin' from outer space."
Tyler gave a light nervous laugh, fidgeting slightly.
"Do you mind if I ask you something, Jerry?"
"Shoot."
"Why does Ultratech have this stuff?" He questioned, gesturing to some of the machinery and equipment. "I mean, isn't this Athena Cybernetics' stuff?"
"Was," Jerry replied. "Athena Cybernetics had to file for bankruptcy. I don't know all the details - somethin' about their stocks tanking because of an incident in Night City and Arasaka shenanigans, but Ultratech ended up buying some of their assets and stored them, and now here they are. Well, some of them, anyway."
Once the camera finished scanning, the light flashed green, allowing them to pass.
Taking a step forward, Tyler glanced around at the various exhibits, reading some of the labels and descriptions for each display, feeling like a kid at a candy store. At the very end of the room, mounted on display was an old Goliath mech, a towering white and black figure with glowing red eyes and a pair of massive cannons for hands.
Letting out a low whistle, the Junior Custodian nodded. "GODDAMN!"
"Real beauty, isn't he?" Jerry nodded in agreement. "I wish we had these boys in the Army."
"You were a soldier?"
"Once upon a time," Jerry admitted. "Honorable discharge. We shouldn't be far now. You might want to brace yourself, kid. It's not pretty."
For four minutes, the pair silently wandered forward, his attention shifting from exhibit to exhibit, until finally coming upon a fifteen by eight foot display case.
Stopping a foot away, Tyler suddenly froze, his eyes widening, his mouth parted as he gasped, "My God!"
Mounted on a pedestal was a human head on a stick with various tubes protruding out from it, its skin paper thin, its eyes vacant and lifeless, its lower jaw removed.
Staring aghast at the hideous display, Tyler took a nervous step forward. "Is...is that...?"
"Yyyyyyep!" Jerry nodded.
"Jesus Christ!" Tyler breathed, staring in shock. "What happened to him?!"
Reaching into his pocket, Jerry took out a pack of cigarettes. "A long series of bad decisions," he drawled, sticking one into his mouth. "From what I heard, he had volunteered to be part of the tournament's sponsorship program. Now, sponsorships sound nice and all, but the thing is, when you get too many sponsors, weellll..."
Trailing off, the custodian lit a match and started to smoke. "Let this be a life lesson, kid. If you wanna sign up for somethin', always read the bottom line and always, ALWAYS think twice before signing a contract. He started off with cybernetics, but then he started to take on more and more sponsors. Encouraged, really. Cybernetic implants for his arms from Athena Cybernetics, gene mods from Lazarus Genetics, rocket boosters in his feet from Gremlin Bionics. Even had his entire skeleton replaced and chromed, with all sorts of nasty weapons from different manufacturers."
"And his jaw?"
Jerry shrugged. "Shattered by Tremor and replaced by Basilisk Manufacturing. He lasted a good number of years, but as you can see, fucker got too greedy for his own good, and so when he had ultimately lost, the corpos came to collect. This here? That's all that's left of Ol' Titan. I heard his mom had tried to launch a lawsuit in order to get his remains back, but she had died from the stress. Lawsuit had never even made it to the trial stage, if I recall correctly."
The two janitors stood side by side, staring at the head as it sat behind the display case on a pedestal.
Looking at the various wires, Tyler anxiously shifted. "Is he...is he still alive in there?"
"Titan? I hope not, but who knows," Jerry shrugged. "Regardless, it's not something that I would ever wish for anyone. Then again, there are worse fates I guess." He then tapped Tyler's shoulder. "Come on, kid. Let's get back to work."
Giving the disembodied head one last look, Tyler glanced over to Jerry and nodded, following him back to where they came, turning his back on his childhood hero as he left the latter behind.
As the two janitors departed, the museum fell back into silence as the vacant eyes of Titan stared flatly out from behind the display, another relic of the past now forgotten.
Author's Note: Annnd done! So, the inspiration for this story kind of came from thinking about the Killer Instinct tournament itself. For those unfamiliar with KI, the titular tournament is a televised martial arts tournament that Ultratech uses to test its highly unethical experiments and weapons, essentially the UFC mixed with the Make-A-Wish Foundation with a touch of "Resident Evil".
Those who win the tournament can get whatever they want, while those that lose end up either dead or become the next test subject for Ultratech's experiments.
In my reflections on the tournament, part of me couldn't help thinking about Ultratech and some of its competition.
In the manual, the former was made out to be the most powerful corporation in this setting, but something that I've always pondered was, what if there were actually even worse corporations in KI's universe, and Ultratech was just the lesser of even greater evils?
I also couldn't help thinking about the sorts of opportunities that would arise from the KI tournament, especially in relation to some of Ultratech's competitors. I mean, it's not unforeseeable that Ultratech would have some type of sponsorship program in place, especially one that made it possible for other corporations to have their own creations tested and involved some way somehow. One image that I couldn't help imagining while thinking about such a thing was a scenario where all these different companies owned a piece of a fighter, literally and figuratively, and their ending up at the mercy of said-companies when they didn't succeed etc.
So, I kind of figured "why not give this idea a shot?"
Eagle-eyed KI fans may be able to spot a few references here and there, and I hope you're able to catch 'em. ;)
Also, shout-out to Stuff-3 and StarAquarius for their advice and incredibly helpful suggestions - thank you both so much!
I hope you all like this story. If not, then give Stuff-3 and/or StarAquarius' stories a look - they're both excellent writers and deserve more attention.
Stay safe and healthy, everyone! :D