CHAPTER 067: Platform fighter Tuesday, pt. 6

The two other fighters soon proved inconsequential. Heavyweight Toucan knocked one off balance with a hefty slap, before ultimately slamming him off the platform.

Cyber Dambe, by contrast, was more sporting; after deflecting a kick with his left hand, his right cracked the fighter's shin like a spear splitting a shield in twain.

"You can surrender, and get a ride down; or I toss you off, and you try to survive the fall."

"I surrender," the fighter from the pentagonal corner hastily declared.

"Things seem to be heating up," Saul mused.

"I'm not sure these two will do, either," The Running back responded.

"That cyborg knows how to put on a heroic display, at least."

"It's too rough around the edges; will kids buy toys of him, looking like a robber?"

"We can get him a new costume."

"No, where's the brand recognition then. Speaking of, did you get those videos?"

"Right here," Saul said while moving the laptop in front of his client. It showed a bloody spectacle of cyborgs disassembling each other, punch by punch, in the middle of a junkyard.

"Its called Junkyard Cyborg fighting, and is sweeping much of the developing world."

"My hunch was right, too rough! What about the big bird?"

"The announcer wasn't exactly being truthful in his introduction. Heavyweight Toucan is formerly Captain Sunbeak, a mascot on various children's TV shows."

"Why is he here, then?"

"Apparently he's going gray, which took away from his kiddy appeal."

"Ugh! Let's just go with the backup plan."

"Wait, at least wait until the end of this match. The private jet needs time to gas up, anyway."

"Fine! Drink with me, then. Waiter, 2 more champagnes!"

Back in the arena, the two fighters had finally met in the middle of the platform.

"You think you can hit me, puny half-robot? My Wingspan is far greater!"

Heavyweight Toucan spread his massive arms, for emphasis; they were each the size of one Cyber Dambe. Despite this advantage, the cyborg remained unfazed. As his metal ball warmed up to full speed rotation, he even had time to think up a retort.

"Looks like I'll have to pluck this turkey."

"Turkey!?! How dare you!"

CLANG! WHIRR! SHRED! SMACK!

The two figures traded blows with even frequency, neither side giving ground. Toucan repeatedly bore down on Dambe with the weight of a mountain, his missed strikes leaving palm prints in the concrete.

Dambe, undaunted, faced the crushing force like a lumberjack skipping uphill. His spear point spun in the direction of his punches, making every hit feel like the kiss of a chainsaw blade.

Feathers and blood mixed in mid-air, as sweat and motor oil coated their bodies.

"Ugh! What are you, a man shaped tank!?!"

Toucan retreated a step upon saying this, using the brief respite to shake his aching hands.

"Yup! And this here's my cannonball!"

He struck with the force of his whole body, the spinning ball leaving a patch of exposed flesh on Toucan's stomach. Shocked, the bird was forced to stagger back even further.

Back in the fantasy lounge, this exchange struck the Running Back like a bolt of lightning. He remembered that day, before his hair had turned gray...

...

It was a brisk winter afternoon that day in Florida. The usually rowdy crowd was much more subdued. On the field, an entire football team was turned to dust before their eyes. Now, alien conquerors wore the uniforms of the dead, intent on humiliating the human race at its own game.

It was the middle of the third quarter, and things weren't looking good. The aliens had a double digit lead, and their aggressive style of play had pacified the Cincinnati Bengals. Tyrell, a bench warmer at this point, was suddenly called by his coach.

"16! Swap in for Darryl, I think that line backer just broke his toe."

"Me? Yes, coach!"

As he got up to leave, however, the coach stopped him to whisper an additional command.

"You are clear to us that."

"Really?"

"I just got off the phone with the GM; if you can win this game, the entire league will back you against any agencies that come knocking."

"... Yes, coach!"

He ran out on the field and, within the very next snap, had begun changing the flow of the game. By today's standards, this speed power would be considered mediocre; but, back then, it was out of this world.

An alien, eating a fresh batch of his dust, couldn't help but exclaim,

"What are you, Untackleable!?!"

…

"Get me background checks on the cyborg and his handler!"

"I thought you didn't like him?"

"It's not about me; it's what the crowd wants, that matters."

Indeed, the crowd reacted exactly as the veteran hero imagined it would.

"Can...on...ball! Can...on... BALL! CANONBALL!"

As the chants continued, Cyber Dambe felt as if he'd just stepped out a refreshing spring bath. He punched with more accuracy and precision, gradually working Heavyweight Toucan to the opposite corner.

most of the bird's feathers had been stripped, by now. Thus, before pushing him off, Dambe couldn't help but quip again.

"This goose is cooked!"

SLAM!

DING! DING! DING!

"Would you look at that? No a drop of rain, the opposite of your prediction!"

Ventriloquist was ready to eat his words, but a sudden event stayed his hand. Cyber Dambe ran back to the center of the arena, and kneeled. His coach, meanwhile, hopped onto the large platform. After reaching his fighter, the coach proceeded to spray him with water. Following this, he produced a stack of cash.

"It's the traditional money rain! Ha! In your tiny mouse faces, all one hundred of them!"

"I'm convinced," the Running back declared, "set up a meeting!"