Prologue: Below the Belt

March 12th 2045, Ultimate Pankration tournament arena, Buenos Aires, Argentina- Solomon Zafar

“Ladies and gentlemen I hope you’re ready for a bloodbath tonight!” An announcer called out in Spanish from the centre of the ring to the packed stands. Thousands of fans of Ultimate Pankration or Un-kra, the most extreme MMA championship in the world, were giving a deafening cheer of support for the warriors who would fight tonight. Well specifically for one warrior.

“Za Fist! Za Fist! Za Fist!”

Solomon Zafar, a 19 years old Turkish man, was grinning to himself as he waited in the wings. He was wearing a black gi modified with a hood, and a symbol of a fist stitched on the back. Under his hood he would wear headphones sometimes, to get himself in the right mood, but he didn’t need the music right now.

“Still calling you that weird nickname the Americans gave you?” A hand loudly slapped him on the back, as Solomon turned to see a familiar face. Chula Suparat, A thai man in his 50s dressed in a respectable suit that he was almost bursting out of due to his muscles, the man had the warped nose of someone who’d been in a few punch ups, but was grinning despite it.

“It’s cause Za Fist,” He threw a playful left-handed jab. “Is faster than ze eye can see.” He laughed while Chula groaned. “Oh, and ‘The Puppet Master’ is a better fighting name?” Solomon raised an eyebrow.

“Hey that was from a long time ago.” Chula said firmly. “The 2020s were weird.”

“You can tell me all about the old days at the retirement home with the other Millennials.” Solomon said with a laugh.

“I’ll retire once you get good enough to take my belt from me.” Chula said his eyes serious at the younger man.

“Oh trust me, I’m definitely good enough.” Solomon responded. “You trained me after all.”

“Kicking your scrawny ass around was more exercise for me, but I’m glad you learnt something.” The older man joked. He then pointed at the ring. “But first you’ve got to get through him.”

In the ring was a massive man, over 7-foot-tall, his fists looked the size of boulders, and he was snarling at the audience. His small green eyes only made his face seem more terrifying, as he shook his blonde locks like a Rockstar.

“Coming in at 265 pounds, Lucas “The Thunder” Holcroft!” The announcer shouted, to a mixture of booing and cheers from the stands, which only seemed to anger Lucas further.

“He doesn’t scare me.” Solomon noted. “Big guy is easy to predict than the weather.”

“Thing is,” Chula said sagely. “if you only watch for the Thunder, you’ll miss the lightning.”

“Wow, thanks so much Mr Miyagi.” Solomon said, as he started bounding on his toes. “Shall I wash your car next? Catch some flies?”

“Mr Miyagi? You can catch my fists you”- Chula’s roar of indignation was interrupted by a bell ringing.

“See if you can get that belt adjusted for me!” Solomon shouted as he hopped to the ring. “You might have stretched it out from all those ‘thinking beers’!”

“Little punk.” Chula shook his head and smirked as he watched his protégé and future opponent go into the ring, preening to the audience.

He then cautiously touched his gut.

“…ok maybe he’s right about the beer.” Chula frowned. “But I’ll never tell the punk.”

Looking back at things, he would have given anything for being tubby to be the worst news he got that day.

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March 14th 2045, Hospital, Buenos Aires - Chula Suparat

Chula stared at the hospital bed in front of him. It was a nice bed, first class, best the Un-kra association could provide. Flowers, gifts and cards had come from all over, livening up the decor. He tried to focus on the flowers, so he didn’t have to see the person in it.

Solomon’s head was wrapped tighter a mummy, as an IV tube was plugged into his arm providing life saving fluids. The surgery had taken hours, but the doctors said by the end the boy would not die, he just needed to rest.

Unfortunately that didn’t mean there wasn’t bad news.

“Please kid, please wake up.” Chula whispered. His body was tired and his cheeks were damp. He had never felt so helpless before. Every other situation in life he could fight or talk or outsmart his way through. But now, he felt so…

“Chula?” The whisper was so faint, the older boxer almost mistook it for the wind. But he trusted his instincts and stood up.

“Done lazing about?” Chula said firmly, turning away from the younger MMA fighter.

“Depends.” Solomon slowly blinked his eyes, wincing from the light. “How’s the other guy look?”

“Like a schmuck who got kicked out of the MMA league.” Chula said, rubbing his nose and definitely not the damp tears that were not on his faint.

“What, for the tap on my head?” Solomon said incredulously. “Seems a bit harsh-”

“It’s not cause of what he did to your head, there’s nothing of value in there.” Chula said sharply.

“Then what?” Solomon moved his left hand to his face and found that he couldn’t.

“It’s what he did to your south paw.” Solomon slowly turned to look at his left arm.

It was wrapped up in all kinds of bandages, but even then, he could see the outline was misshaped. More importantly, he couldn’t feel it. At all.

“Za…Za fist…” Solomon mouthed slowly. “Faster than the eye…”

“When he knocked you down, he stamped on your arm so badly, in such a fury, the referee couldn’t take him off without the help of three other fighters.” Chula stared out a window as he calmly stated the facts. “By then, the bone was shattered in so many pieces the doctors contemplated amputating it.

“The didn’t, obviously, your manager Olamide made sure of that. Terrifying woman, I don’t understand why you broke up-” Chula stopped as he felt a hand grab the back of his shirt.

“…Am I going to be able to fight again?” Solomon asked softly, like he was a child once again pulling on his mother’s skirt, asking if dad had found them again.

“…yes.” Chula said firmly, not facing the young man. “Modern medicine is incredible. You won’t even need cybernetics, they can regrow the missing bone pieces from…stem cells I think? I don’t get scientist talk.”

Solomon immediately brightened up. His hope was returned, his chance to do what he wanted, to take the belt from his mentor, to prove he earned it, to prove he was his own fighter-

“In three years.”

The bright light of hope vanished, leaving Solomon in the dark.

“…three years?” Solomon said. “But you’re retiring-”

“This year.” Chula took Solomon’s hand and removed it from the back of his shirt. “Even if I push it 6 months, I’ll be too old to fight you. You’ll be humilitated if you lost to an old man, which you would have,” Chula said firmly. “And you’d be humilitated if you won, for beating up an old man, which you wouldn’t be able to.

“That’s even assuming I can keep the belt. Lot of young bucks besides you want to fight for my legacy. I can’t keep putting off challenges from the likes of Gregory Asimov Kaiser for you.”

“Chula…” Solomon was holding his head in shock with his good right hand. “The plan…we were supposed to battle! We were supposed to prove once and for all who was the best! There has to be a way!”

“Well kid,” Chula stepped towards the exit door. “It seems impossible to me.” He held the door and finally turned to look at his protégé and rival.

“But if you really want to prove your smarter than me,” Chula met Solomon’s gaze, and the younger man could have sworn he something sparkle in the old man’s eyes. “You find a possibility. Or make one I guess.”

He then left the room, leaving Solomon alone.

“Make a possibility…” Solomon muttered to himself. “It sounds like a riddle, but I really think the old man’s just getting antsy in his old age.” He turned to look at the gifts, so he wouldn’t see his arm.

“Wonder which of these is his? Probably the flowers that are already wilting, the cheapskate.” Solomon smirked before hie eyes came to a pretty big package. Looked like it could fit a soccer ball and then some, but came express delivered from an online shop.

Solomon had to stretch a bit to satisfy his curiosity, before grabbing it with his good hand and checking it out. There was a card in it.

Dear Za Fist,

Reality is a restraint.

Let this free you from limitations of the body, the mind and the society we live in.

Infinite Possibilities await.

The bottom portion of the letter, where a name might have been signed, had been ripped off.

“…This definitely sounds like a bomb. Or drugs.” Solomon noted to himself. If I wasn’t 100% sure this all got checked out by the hospital security before it got here, I would be calling security right now.

Still, he couldn’t help but open the box, which was more challenging with one less hand than expected, but he managed.

Inside was a silver VR helmet, some chargers and wires, and a disc case. Solomon held the case to examine it.

Infinite Dendrogram?

To be continued…