Rick slowed his pace as crested the rise and approached an outlandish opponent player wearing only a loincloth. Ill-considered tattoos covered the entirety of his body, making him look as though he wore a multi-colored unitard with his underwear on the outside. Again, Rick tried to dispel his desire to hold the fighter in low esteem. After all, Rick himself had dressed like a bot in an attempt at subterfuge. He couldn’t have been the only person to think about trying to lull enemies into a false sense of superiority, though he’d never allow himself to look quite as ridiculous as this fighter named “DobBer_badDer.”
The tattooed man sidled up, raising only his right arm. He kept his leading left arm dropped, which made about as much sense to Rick as gangsters in old movies who held their pistols sideways. His funeral, I guess.
Rick circled, testing a jab the other player dodged. He threw two more jabs, then came up with a left knee, trying unsuccessfully to get around the other man’s dropped arm. DobBer_badDer batted it away easily, then charged in with his bared shoulder, knocking hard up and into Rick’s chin, though he spun away in time to avoid a knockout. Nonetheless, stars ringed his vision, and his balance twisted. Accepting the disorientation, he went down to the only thing in the world that wouldn’t move, the only thing that could anchor his senses: the ground.
DobBer_badDer’s footfalls trailed Rick as his sense of up and down sorted itself out. Instead of rising, Rick kicked low from the where he lay and scored a lucky hit on the man’s knee. It cracked and bent the other way, causing the man first to scream, then laugh uncontrollably as his muted pain response tipped over the threshold of what the game could ethically represent.
Rick rose and studied the wounded man, unnerved by his laughter. He’d hurt people before—even killed a man—but nothing was as unnerving as this.
Before he could determine the fastest way to put the man out of his agony-slash-hilarity, two players crashed the party—literally barreling in from each side from the dense forest undergrowth.
“Fucking told you the brush is thorny,” one of them said. The ID tag floating over his head read, “Slimpson.”
The other fighter, a tall man named “CRuk12” who was built like a bulldozer, said, “Hard to ambush anyone on the open road, man.” His tone reflected irritation. In the background, DobBer_badDer cackled.
Rick stepped forward and delivered a blunt front kick a punter would be proud of, smashing the large man’s testicles, abruptly ending the squabble. Now the large man was pain-laughing, though he’d likely recover. Rick took advantage of the shock of the unexpected crotch-shot to land a left hook on Slimpson, but the fighter deflected the follow up jab and ducked away from Rick’s right straight.
Luckily, the two men laughing in pain did so at different vocal registers, allowing him to track their readiness to fight without looking at them as he took on Slimpson.
Of medium build, Rick’s opponent dressed sensibly, and was unmarred by tribal-style tattoos. To the extent Slimpson used cosmetic loot, he’d shown restraint without stripping nearly to his underwear the way the black woman at the start of the match had. All this added up to give the impression he might be a competent fighter.
Rick rushed in for a takedown, but the other man slipped out of his grip, then ducked as he spun, causing Rick to shift his weight forward and down to where the man had been. Slimpson ended up behind him, putting Rick into a double-arm lock. The heavier man, CRuk12, had stopped laughing, and it became apparent that Slimpson and CRuk12 had a system—Slimpson was faster and had grapples and holds. Counter to type, the big man was a striker, and he approached looking pissed.
Rick pushed backward and kicked his legs far into the air above him, trying to get Slimpson to buckle under Rick’s newly unsupported weight, but the man held up, causing Rick to implement the next part of the escape attempt. He swung his legs down and shifted forward, knocking one of Slimpson’s legs wide as he did so.
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
The gangly man lurched forward, unable to disentangle himself from the lock he’d so successfully performed until he’d been pulled over Rick’s crouched form. Rick broke the lock as soon as he could to keep from injuring his shoulders, then rose after Slimpson was most of the way over, adding an extra punch of velocity to the now airborne player.
CRuk12 had already begun his kick, but Slimpson’s torso struck the big man’s leg before he’d extended his leg far enough to get much power. CRuk12 dodged backward to avoid Slimpson’s falling body, but the gangly man still knocked into his leg, tangling him up for an instant.
Rick took advantage of the other man’s distraction, springing from his crouched stance to fly over Slimpson and crash into CRuk12. The large man, unable to disentangle his feet from beneath Slimpson, crashed backward with all of Rick’s weight on him. As soon as they touched down, Rick pummeled the man until the shadow cast by Slimpson’s body rising behind Rick caught his attention and he rolled away from CRuk12 and rose to his feet as well.
Rick took some small pleasure from the wary look on Slimpson’s face as he approached. In the corner of his eye, he tracked CRuk12’s prone form. In a stroke of luck, Rick had knocked the man’s wind out when he landed on his chest. The man gasped noiselessly and frantically.
That’s why fighters tapped out. There was nothing more frightening than not being able to breathe. Even if you know you won’t die, the reptile within us doesn’t believe that.
Rick was equal parts grateful for the reptile inside. It had kept him alive, but it had also put him in prison. It had been rougher for Kristina. It was her more complicated mammalian brain that fucked her up. Weird thoughts mid-fight, same as usual.
Slimpson was taking his time, which made Rick nervous. He darted in, aiming for the gangly player’s throat, but Slimpson was too fast. CRuk12 hadn’t risen yet, so Rick figured he had time to think.
That’s when a fourth player crashed through the brush. “I got here as fast as I could, guys.”
Are you fucking kidding me?
Rick surveyed the scene. DobBer_badDer was trying to leave the area, but he couldn’t stand, so did so slowly. CRuk12 had finally begun noisily gasping for breath. Slimpson kept his distance.
The new player—“Ambergrizz”—looked like across between Slimpson and CRuk12, as if the character creator had possessed a “mediocre” option and Ambergrizz had said, “Yeah, that suits me fine.” His blond hair, blue eyes, and total lack of interesting features was truly impressive. He wore track pants, a v-neck, and sneakers. He sported two tribal style—of course—shoulder tattoos and wore a thick gold chain.
Two-vs-one, with one more on the way. Rick sighed. Can’t risk it. He searched for a path out, hopeful his stamina would let him outrun all three opponents.
As he started toward the path in an attempt to escape, yet another player crashed through the underbrush.
Really? Rick’s panic rose, then became relief. The new player was Ditto.
Rick turned back to the fight. Depending on what he had in mind, Ditto might well be good enough to finish the fight on his own, but Rick had no way of knowing what was on his mind.
He dashed in and clobbered the new guy, Ambergrizz, while the player had been distracted dodging away from Ditto. Rick pivoted away, but a shadow loomed closer from his left, so he dodged further right, barely avoiding CRuk12’s incoming kick. Next, he turned again, aiming to stomp on CRuk12’s foot. Missing it completely after the large man quickly pulled his foot away, Rick nonetheless took advantage when the rapid movement put CRuk12 off balance. With a jab-straight cross, Rick put the large man back on the ground, then scanned the field.
Ditto had just kicked Slimpson back a good ten feet, and Ambergrizz approached the kung fu from his rear blind spot. Rick followed the blandly constructed player, also from behind, but before he could reach Ambergrizz, Ditto spun and delivered a kick that caught the man in the solar plexus. Rick changed his trajectory and raised a knee just as Ditto’s kick knocked Ambergrizz into him.
“Ahh!” Ambergrizz collapsed, and Rick stomped his head as he passed over.
Victory!
He ignored the win notification as he stepped up next to Ditto, who shot him a wry grin and winked. Rick scanned the area again; CRuk12 had recovered and was approaching cautiously from the left rear.
With a nod, Rick turned to face the oncoming player who slowed further. Rick darted forward, stopped, then when CRuk12 relaxed in response, he dashed forward again, delivering another hard front kick to the man’s groin.
This guy got too used to having Slimpson do half his work.
The man dropped, and Rick finished him the same way he’d finished Slimpson.
Victory!
Ditto had Ambergrizz in a lock, and in a fun twist of roles, Rick delivered the knockout blows, punching the man’s face until he went limp.
Victory!
Next, he approached DobBer_badDer. In Rick’s peripheral vision, the countdown read 45.