CHAPTER 068: Platform fighter Tuesday, pt. 7

Hundreds of feet underground, in the NHA building's third sub-basement, a large machine churned to life. It was humongous in scale, with just the batteries alone filling several rooms. At the center of everything, a pimple faced operator worked the control panel.

"Let's see... Lock on to beacon 38, complete! Now, let's complete this transfer!"

He moved to pull a lever next to him; one so large, it dwarfed him in size. Suddenly, the DING of a nearby elevator stopped him.

"Sir, you can't be in here! This is a restricted area..."

The operator interrupted himself with a nervous gulp. It was understandable, considering the Running back was standing before him.

"Do you think you can block me," he asked while producing his S class license.

"I'm so sorry, sir! I didn't realize..."

"It's fine. I just need a minute to speak with beacon 38."

"Okay... But I can't delay the other transfers!"

"That's fine; better complete this one, then."

CA-THUNK!

The lever's slamming reverberated across the room, soon becoming drowned out in the cacophony of noises the machine made when operating.

CHUUURN! WHIIR! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! POOF!

On a raised platform, visible from the operator's station, Cyber Dambe and his coach suddenly appeared.

"(I have to say, you fought a good match today, cousin.)"

"(Thanks. Something weird happened towards the end, but... Wait, where's the money!?!)"

"Shit! Hey, operator! You forgot to teleport our money!

…

"Would you look at that? This battle has become a scramble for cash, instead!"

…

"Sir! You have to teleport us back!"

The operator ignored the coach's pleas.

"No can do. Now, please leave the platform; I have other teleportations to do, after you all!"

"Perhaps I can help with your money issues," a voice said from the walkway attached to their location. Cymber Dambe and his coach turned to see the Running back.

"Who are you," Dambe asked.

"... You really don't recognize me? The Running back?"

"Oh! Cousin, remember? Old man Afamefuna talked about that sports game one summer!"

"I totally forgot about him," Dambe remarked while smacking his own forehead.

"And he made us watch it on that old betamax of his, right? Our sincere apologies then, Running back; we didn't recognize you without all the static."

"Yes, apologies," The coach added. "So, what can we do for you?"

"Coach Amobi, right? It's more about what I can do for your client. I would like to..."

CHUURN! WHIIIR! SLAM! CLANG! TOOT! POOF!

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"You've got a bee on you," Saul suddenly said.

"WHERE!?! AAH!"

Dambe flailed about, before eventually falling over. Coach Amobi looked back to the platform, where a woman now stood.

She wore a red evening gown, a white sash reading 'Prom Queen,' and a tiara nestled in her massive beehive hairdo. From said hairdo, bees constantly moved about. Her hair was their nest, and she their queen.

"What are you all doing here? Wait, the Running back!?! Are you here to recruit me?"

She squealed in excitement before charging towards the veteran hero. He only managed to get rid of her after signing many autographs.

"Well, it's no invite to the new All Stars... But, at least granma will be happy," she mused quietly while leaving.

"Now where was I?"

"You said you had something to do for us," Amobi reminded while picking Dambe off the floor.

"Right! I couldn't help but notice your team lacks a manager; this is a big problem, which I am here to fix!"

"So you want your manager to represent us?"

"What? No! Why would you think that?"

"Well, because..."

CHUUURN! WHIIR! SCREEACH! CLANG! CLANG! POOF!

"Did you catch any of that, Saul?"

"No, but he's got a mannequin behind him now."

"WHERE!?! AAAH!"

It was now Amobi's turn to flail and collapse. Behind him stood a store mannequin, dressed in a spandex unitard.

Its painted eyes stared lifelessly at the group, sending chills up the spine. Finally, it left via an awkward shuffle; the legs repeatedly growing and shrinking to facilitate a jerky type of movement.

"Can you all leave, please? You're interfering with my work," the operator chided.

"Good point; it's not like we can talk here, anyway. Where are you two staying?"

"The stables," Dambe replied, "its the cheapest place to spread out and do mechanic work."

"No can do! Saul, fix them up with a presidential suite; we can talk business on the way there."

"(These two seem like scammers, cousin,)" Dambe said to his coach in Hausa.

"(Impossible! The prince is busy in Florida, remember?)"

Dambe, unable to shake the suspicion, voiced his concerns to the veteran hero.

"Just to let you know, we don't have any money."

"Ha! I have so much money, I couldn't spend it all in 3 lifetimes! No, what I want is your time and effort."

"I'm lost."

"No, you two are the closest to finding 'it' that I've seen."

"It?"

Since the elevator ride to the surface was a long one, the Running back decided to spell things out.

"Why do you think I am Untackleable? Because the universe says I am? Because of some unknown ability awakening? In truth, it is none of those things."

"Tyrell, shouldn't we save this talk for after I get them signed up?"

"Relax, Saul; it's not like they can flee from me if they chose to blab, right?"

The freshman fighter gulped nervously, and his coach moved between the two.

"Ha! I admire your bravery... No, I am Untackleable because football fans everywhere demand I be Untackleable!"

"WHAT!?!"

"That's the same reaction Saul gave, when I told him. But you, Dambe; you understand what I mean. You've felt the power of the crowd's will!"

"How do you know about that?"

"Woah! My fighter will not believe in mindless hocus pocus! There is a scientific explanation for everything in this world!"

"How about a wager, then," the Running back said while producing a platinum credit card.

"If you can find the source of the anomaly your fighter experienced today, I'll give you this. But, if you can't, then expect me to be present at the next money rain!"

"Fine! Deal!"

DING!

The elevator opened, and the two groups separated...