Chương 43: Better than a Monster

Hector glanced at the woman beside him—Sass—more than a little irritated that she'd followed him up into the bleachers to sit. It wasn't so much that he was worried about talking to a future opponent; it was more that he had a lot on his mind and he'd wanted some peace. For starters, he didn't like the surge of hot anger that her grip on his arm had elicited; lately, in fact for most of this new life, he'd felt a reassuring control over that aspect of himself. Was it the Berserker archetype?

"…and when I saw you were a good sport with that guy—let go as soon as the ref called you off—I figured it wouldn't hurt to say hello." Hector nodded absently.

"So, you don't seem to have many augs." He glanced at her, noting the way she was flexing and relaxing her mechanical fingers by way of illustration. Her arms were both cybernetic, the backs of her hands plated in a shiny chrome-like alloy.

"Don't worry," he replied. She looked at him quizzically, one eyebrow raised, trying to puzzle out the meaning of his reply. After a moment, she said, "Oh! You mean, like, don't worry that it's not fair for you? Hah! Not after the way you took that other guy down. No, I was just wondering where you learned to move like that. It reminded me of how the Invicti fight." Again, Hector glanced at her sharply, surprised.

His takedown and submission hadn't been all that stylized, but he supposed it was hard to let go of the Doctrine; he'd trained in it for decades, after all. An easy lie came to mind, partially because it was true—in a twisted sort of way.

"I learned from an old vet. He served in the IG and was promoted to the Invicti." Sass's eyes got big." Seriously? Wasn't he afraid he'd get into trouble? I thought the Invicti Doctrine was, like, forbidden." Hector smirked, shaking his head.

"You've seen it, right? How many vids and reels exist showing the Invicti in action?" Hector knew the point of his comment was clear: plenty of styles in the system had been created to mimic the way the Invicti fought—at least back when he'd last been alive. He couldn't imagine things were any different.

"Well… still, you were impressive. I don't know how you got that guy's back so fast after the takedown. Couldn't follow your movements from where I was standing. I'm not ashamed to say I wish I weren't fighting you next." Hector heard the earnestness in her voice and, despite her skull-faced tattoo work, he realized she wasn't all that hard. He took a little pity on her and said, "We'll just have a good clean match. Hopefully, we'll both learn something."

The young woman's face lit up, her bright eyes shining from the depths of the black tattoo ink that made up the skull's eye sockets.

"I knew you'd be cool! Thanks, um…Hector, right?" Hector nodded.

"Yeah."

"Well, I mean, don't go easy, though, right?" He shook his head.

"Nah. That would be disrespectful." Sass grinned again, a fierce expression, and nudged his shoulder with her elbow.

"Damn right!" She shifted her gaze down toward the ring below and jumped to her feet.

"I think we're almost up!" Hector nodded, digging a water bottle out of his duffel bag. He ripped the seal off, exposing the straw, and took a long sip.

"Coming?" Sass turned to regard him, already two rows down.

"In a minute." She nodded, turned and bounded down toward the bottom of the bleachers. Hector sighed, took another long drink, then stood, stretching his neck. Poor kid. //It's a shame you were paired with her for the fight. // Hector started down the steps, his gaze drifting toward the ring furthest from him—number one. An enormous man, his skin armored with black synth-flesh, and his right arm built up like a jackhammer piston, was grappling with a similarly sized synth.

He could hear their motors in their servo joints—a high-pitched clicking whine beneath the roar of the crowd as they cheered the fighters on. Nah. Better she fights me than some monster like that. Hector found his corner of the ring and watched as a custodian mopped blood off the mat. He caught Sass's eye as she looked on from the opposite corner, and she flashed him a thumbs-up. Hector looked away.

He figured she was a decent fighter and probably pretty quick and strong with those cybernetic arms, but he'd seen how she moved; she wasn't a killer. She didn't have what it would take to pose a threat to him. Of course, he'd been wrong before, but— The same ref as before approached, interrupting his thoughts.

"You know the drill?" Hector nodded.

"Get on up here." As the ref walked over to talk to Sass, Hector climbed onto the mat. He took off his track-suit jacket and tossed it down on top of his duffel. Bouncing around on his toes, shadow boxing a little, he watched as Sass climbed into the ring. She was tall and well-muscled, and she moved gracefully, but she didn't look like a predator. She was a dancer. Hector stalked toward her—a machine that had mastered the economy of violence. This story is posted elsewhere by the author.

Help them out by reading the authentic version. As they both approached the center of the mat, the ref said, "Listen for the tone. When it sounds, you fight." Hector watched Sass. She'd expect him to react aggressively when the bell sounded. He paced to his left, circling. She crouched low, hands out. The tone sounded, and Hector stepped back. Sass sprang into an attack; she stepped forward, sprang up, spun, and sent a round-house heel straight to Hector's temple—only he wasn't there.

Her heel cut through empty air where his head had been a heartbeat earlier. Hector had slid half a step back and to the outside, the motion small and economical, the kind of adjustment that never made it into highlight reels. Sass landed lightly, already turning through the spin to keep him in front of her. She was fast and strong and committed—too committed. Hector stepped in as her weight settled. It wasn't a lunge—just a forward glide, chest over hips, shoulder brushing past her guard.

His left hand checked her near wrist, redirecting the follow-up strike she was already throwing, and his right forearm slid across her collarbone, guiding her momentum past him. He felt the servos in her cybernetic arms whine as she tried to correct, but he was already behind her. He'd been trained not to waste motion—spent a lifetime practicing and drilling it into his fighting style—break balance, collapse structure, finish. His foot hooked behind her lead ankle and nudged.

At the same time, his forearm pressed forward across her upper chest, a subtle push that tipped her center of gravity just enough. Sass stumbled, caught herself on one mechanical hand, and rolled through, coming up on a knee in a show of awareness that was impressive, considering her young age. Distantly, Hector was aware of the crowd's enthusiasm; they cheered and stomped, and something in his chest woke to the sound. He inhaled deeply, grinning, enjoying himself as he stalked her.

She swung low from her kneeling position, one chrome-plated fist scything toward his ribs. Hector let it glance off his forearm and felt the dull thud reverberate up to his shoulder. She was damn strong. The hit would have broken a lesser fighter's guard; it might have broken his wrist if not for the potentia he'd been dumping into his corpus vivum. He was strong, though, stronger than he looked, and he didn't exactly look weak.

He answered her strike with a short, compact jab—not to her head, not to her throat, but to the junction where metal met meat at her shoulder. It was a precise strike, aimed to hurt like hell, but not really hurt her. He almost congratulated himself at the consideration he was showing, at the control he had over the animal growling inside the cage of his mind, pacing and rattling the bars to be let out.

Sass bared her teeth, hissing in pain as the plasteel of her arm separated from the seam of synth flesh at her shoulder. Blood oozed from the wound, and her arm clicked and wobbled as she belatedly swiped at his arm. With a surge of pain-fueled adrenaline, she came at him, trying to bully him back with sheer power. Her left arm clamped around his torso, the mechanical fingers digging into the meat of his clavicle as she tried to establish a clinch. Hector's irritation flared again, a hot flicker behind his eyes.

He tamped it down, channeling the impulse into movement instead of fury. His right hand shot under her arm, threading between her biceps and ribcage, palm sliding to the small of her back. He turned his hips and dipped his shoulder. He lifted—not with brute strength, but with momentum—and rotated, using her own forward drive to carry her over his hip. For a moment, she was weightless, suspended above the mat, eyes wide as she realized what had happened. Then she hit the mat.

The impact wasn't brutal, but it was decisive. The stiff, unforgiving surface of the mat thudded under her back, and air rushed out of her lungs in a sharp grunt. Before she could recover, Hector flowed with her, dropping his weight across her torso. His knee pinned her nearest arm; his forearm slid across her throat—not crushing, just firm enough to hold her in place. Her free mechanical hand hammered once against his shoulder, twice, searching for leverage. He shifted, trapping it against the mat with his palm.

The servos whined, straining. She twisted her hips, trying to buck him off. He leaned in slightly, enough that she felt the inevitability of it.

"Tap," he murmured, low enough that only she could hear. Sass glared up at him, pride flashing in her bright, colorful eyes. For a second, he thought she might try to power through it, try something reckless, but then the tension bled out of her. She thumped the mat twice with her heel. The ref was there instantly.

"Break!" Hector released her at once and rose, stepping back without flourish. The crowd's cheers washed over him, louder now that he wasn't focused on fighting. He turned in a slow circle, looking into the yelling faces—exuberant, wild, reveling in the second-hand release of tension the fighters provided. Sass rolled to her side, then sat up, shaking out one cybernetic arm. She caught Hector looking at her and smiled wryly, shaking her head.

"Son of a bitch, you move fast." He offered her a hand. She took it, letting him haul her to her feet.

"Whoever taught you, he was a hell of a goddamn teacher. You're too young to move like that." Hector didn't answer. His eyes were on Ring One—the bruiser with the black synth skin was stamping around in a circle, blood-drenched fists held high as the crowd over there went wild. Meanwhile, two medics were carting off the synth he'd been fighting. Yep. Better me than a monster like that.

"…guess you might be fighting him next," Sass was saying, leaning on his shoulder as they moved to the edge of the mat.

"Who's that?"

"That's Monstro. You might not face him. Might be one of the others. We should go look at the brackets—after I get some nanites on this damn joint you almost separated!" //I have the updated brackets. // A new window flashed on Hector's AUI, and as he helped Sass down from the elevated mat, he glanced at it: Mid-tier Fights: Round Four: Hector V. vs. Monstro Winner Advances to High-tier Jack S. vs. Red L. Winner Advances to High-tier Hector didn't say anything.

He picked up his duffel and jacket, then followed Sass over to her bag where she took out a black tube and pushed out a silvery ointment that she smeared into the bloody joint where her cybernetic arm met her shoulder.

"That'll do the trick." Hector nodded. As a crackling voice on the loudspeaker announced a twenty-minute break while they took down two of the rings, Sass gestured toward the judges' table and the big crystal-glass display behind them.

"Let's go look at the brackets." She led the way, and Hector followed. He already knew who he was fighting, but he was only half-present, and that present part of him figured he might as well follow Sass around for a while. The other half of him was thinking about the enormous cybernetic monster he was about to fight. He was thinking about the caged animal raging inside his skull and thinking about how he might have to let it out.