Chapter 10: Modern Fight Club

As if someone had stabbed him with a sword in at the center of his chest, Roger inhaled while arousing. His pulse galloped and went striding faster and faster while he sat panting with no idea over what had happened. Bob sat beside him, the little puppy bot was on the table with no light in its eyes, not even a little spark. Roger could not even take hold of his vocal cords, he kept panting until he sat facing the mirror. He splashed cold water on his face, rubbing his eyes and gently slapping his cheeks.

"Oh man, what is happening to me?" he muttered once he took control of his voice again. Bob was adjusting the trademark battery in Sylvester, locking his chest armor and adjusting the fitting parts when Roger returned to the room, seemingly recalling what had happened hours prior with the little puppy. Bob didn't beam, he just kept a stable expression while he operated on Sylvester, thinking of alternatives to the bot's armor. Roger was not near happy as well; he sat facing Bob. His hair was all around his face, covering his right eye and even some of it was sucked into his nostrils when he kept sniffing.

"How did you wake me up?"

A few seconds passed had passed before Bob turned to answer the young fellow. "I turned the bot off. Even then you took your time to wake up, it was only after I took off the little one's neural interface, only then did your control over your body returned."

Roger covered his face with his palms in shame. As he closed his eyes, mixed fragments of memory from the time the chip took control of his body and from the time he had become a literal metal dog, moving around the house in a desperate attempt to return to his body. For a split second he thought that he was still a dog, but he sensed Bob touching his right shoulder.

"So, Roger, do you care to tell me what happened?" Bob asked, fully facing the young man instead of the puppy bot.

Roger sighed, spotting the mess on the floor he and little one left during his attempt to control it. The device that was supposed to smother the neural feeding was placed on the table next to the puppy bot. Roger held the little device in his hand; his fingers penetrating its deeper parts. "After you left the apartment, I started experimenting with the puppy. My head would ache whenever I tried to override it, it just moved a lot and there was too stimuli in its neural interface. I initiated the breaking of walls. I used the device and used it consistently. With trial and error, resulting in that mess I was buried under, I managed to take control of some of its parts before I took full grasp of its mind and body. If I had to make a guess, I'd say, the chip couldn't endure two minds at once, even one that was so inferior and basic, I became the bot and left my body."

Bob's eyes met the young man's.

"You didn't understand, Roger. You never left your body, this explains why your eyes kept twitching and your fingers fidgeting. The problem was that you panicked; you didn't know how to leave the bot's mind and focus on your own instead. It is just a matter of focus, but I guess it's the way it should go for a first timer. We weren't ready for this. Isaac was wrong to do this, to rob you of your life, to entrust you with a calling bigger than you can ever imagine," Bob said. Roger craned his head; his fists were quaking in anger.

"What do you mean?"

"It means you are not ready to control Sylvester, you are not ready to go to the fight pit. You will stay here, I will go and be done with this," Bob concluded, standing up.

"But I thought there are people who may recognize you there. Isn't this too dangerous for your life?"

Bob went stiff, thinking of his family. "Yes, they're dangerous."

"Wait! I thought Owinson is the head of the organization. He knows you're involved and he knows that I am the bearer of the chip."

"Owinson is the head of the organization, yes, but he does not share all his knowledge with them. They do follow his orders, but they are free to operate on their own within the city. The only condition is that they do not interfere with Owinson's work or fiddle with his plans. If they see me there, they may go after my family. Still, I have no choice, the chip you posses is literally Pandora's Box, with it there is nothing they can't do. What were we thinking when we… nevermind," Bob said, walking closer the door. He tossed his hand into his pocket, searching for the key.

"You think you made a mistake by trusting that I can do it, that I can stop whatever Owinson is planning, that maybe… maybe… I could have done something for this city, this," Roger said, kicking the chair next to him in rage. Bob walked back to the young man.

"Listen to me, Roger, there are things bigger than you and I. Once we finish we take hold of Owinson's file, we will leave this city and stay as far as we could from its borders, hell we can even flee the bloody country. You will have to live your life without using your chip. With your death, the chip will be gone for good too. I will not rob you of your life again, I will not listen to your father's ghost again, but I will give you a way out. Now, stay here, I will get us some food and be back here," Bob said, walking away from the young Roger, leaving the young man alone in the apartment. He looked at his hands, contemplating the lines in his palms.

Why the hell do I feel like staying now? Isn't this what I wanted all along, to leave this city and seek an artistic life?

Roger sniffed, turning towards the numb Sylvester next to the puppy bot.

Hell no!

Minutes later, Bob's vest draped on his back while the rain clang to his suit. He could barely cover his bearded face while the rain drizzled upon him. There were nothing but bots with umbrellas on the corners. Bob was holding a bag of frozen meat and vegetables. His whole road back home was a wonder whether he had mistake by talking so harsh to the young Roger. Maybe the initial mistake was listening to a dead man instead of destroying the chip in the first place or maybe entrust it with someone more capable. There was no denying that the past had been sealed and thus nothing they could do could change what had happened. There was a slight doubt whether Roger would steal Sylvester and head for the fight pit himself. But he had to take that out of his mind since that he had been locked inside the workshop, beside the fact that Roger had no idea where the fight pit was unless he took it to heart to search for it in Bob's computer. Despite the whole of these facts, Bob believed Roger was no bold enough to take this endeavors without guidance, it was just a matter of self esteem.

Bob turned the key again and pushed the door, walking towards the kitchen as he left the bag on the table. He called for the young man a few times but there was no answer from the room. Bob had to convince himself he was asleep before curiosity propelled him to peer through his room, only to find nothing but the wind. Bob realized his second key was snatched off his vest when their argument heated. Sylvester was nowhere to be found as well. Bob analyzed the latest activity within the computer, finding out that Roger had found the location of the fight pit, a piece of intel Roger himself had deleted once he finished his search. Bob collapsed on the chair, his fingers penetrating into his hairless scalp. He held onto what was left of his hair in agony.

"Dear God! He did it! He went for the place! How the hell am I supposed to find him now? The things they'd do to him…" he paused as he started to slap his own face.

"How…" he paused, "How…"

His gaze faced the ceiling of the house before he shrilled as far as his vocal cords could give. "How are we supposed to find your weakling of a child, Isaac? Why the hell won't you answer me now? You've always had an answer for everything, always being the smart guy, why won't you be smart now and tell me how on Earth are we supposed to delay the inevitable?"

Out there in the rain, covered with a draping cloak that floated, stepping on little ponds of water on the side of the road, Roger was pushing a wheeled carrier. Its black cloth was covering Sylvester beneath. He caught the eyes of the beggars outside, calling him for a coin as he would ignore them and keep a neutral lip position. His hood covered his eyes and almost his nose as well. The bots only followed him for a time before they went back to their positions. Just around the corner as he had seen in Bob's computer, he had descended into a dim underground area through the sewers at the end of the street. The city light was furthering away as he walked deeper into the tunnel. He listened to Bob's calls to warn him over and over, but he used a bit of his energy to cover his position from Bob's chip's tracking ability.

"Roger, young man, listen to me, the odds are against you and your failure would result in grave consequences. Believe me when I tell you that they are ignorant enough to extract the chip from your mind, thus killing you in the process. Roger, hear me out, you hurt the boss, the Pacific never forgets and they sure never forgive. This time they'd go after your Uncle. Roger, get back home and let me do it! Roger! You can't do it, please come back!"

Roger was deaf to the old man's calls. Rain dripped off his hood to either fall on the tip of his nose or the ground. He could only hear water dripping as he was far enough into the sewers. The sound of the turning wheels and the young man's footsteps echoed throughout the tunnel. Soon enough, he started to hear the cheering from afar, and short lights were spotted from a distance.

Did my father really trust me with this power? Or is it just a lie both of us tried to convince ourselves as an escape from accepting the fact that Owinson's victory is unstoppable?

The light was closer and the cheering was louder . Roger sniffed, taking a deep breath before he glared at the light.

I guess we're about to find out.

There was an old lady holding a scanner, scanning each robot to confirm that it was eligible for the competition. Bob's guess was in its place, the scanner would have to identify with the bot through the trademark on its battery. Roger stood next to the bot while the old lady passed the scanner around Sylvester's chest, waiting for the scanning to finish as each line in the trademark meant a symbol and the symbols needed to be assembled, which usually took up to a minute or two.

"Aren't you too young to be here, young man?" the old lady asked, scratching her neck before she spit on the side.

"Aren't you too old to be here, lady?" Roger asked, keeping a neutral tone with a sharp look in his eyes, eyes that were kept under the hood. The old lady was amused by the young man's wit of answer. She giggled, showing the single frontal teeth remaining in her mouth.

"Ah, don't mistake my question for an intended advice. I don't care about your age any more than those who hired me care about mine. Under the ground, the only thing people care about is what can this one do," the old lady said, knocking on Sylvester's head. She washed the bot with her eyes, frowning while pouting her lips.

"I don't mean to put your hopes down boy, but this one's got no chance against the other two. Usually a bot with this equipment is the first to exit the arena, costing the likes of your boss real money," the old lady said, the screen reflected green light in her eyes. Roger took the bot off the carrier and placed it on both feet before turning it on. Roger nodded to the old lady before pushing Sylvester to the arena. Bob had already programmed the bot to fight, yet nothing could be assured since that Sylvester hadn't gone through the phase of trial and error. That part was supposed to be replaced with Roger's control over the bot. A man at the entrance of the arena was waiting for the bots.

"Halt! Only the robot can pass through this gate, you can take the stairs," the man said, gripping the bot by its metal arm as Roger nodded and then took the stairs. His ears shook once exposed to the heavy cheering inside the arena. It was a stadium around a large sand circle inside which two gigantic bots the size of an ancient gate. The one at the left was blue while the other was red. Their metal fists shook in electricity, while their eyes would make the little Sylvester tremble if he ever felt. Roger initiated the recording, the camera behind his eyes started catching multiple pictures that were compiled to form a continual video. His head ached and his fingers shook before he coiled his hands into fists, blinked a couple of times to sustain the pain of the neural feeding. He immersed himself in the middle of the crowd; a few like him wore capes while watching the fight. A sign at the top turned red, implying the beginning of the fight.

Sylvester stood clueless while the other clinking giants started trampling the sand with their might, stretching their arms while bits of electricity were sparked between their fingers. They straggled in each other, gripping each other's arms just as both of their skull clashed. The crowd raised their arms once the clash started, yet they all turned to the little Sylvester. Those at the front threw sticks and scrap at it. Up in the back row, Roger was struggling to resume the recording, an error kept occurring whenever he wanted to record the insides of the arena. He turned around, spotting the left robot walking towards Sylvester, intending to slap its skull flat with his electrified hooks.

If Sylvester loses, I'll be kicked out of the competition. I have to override him now, no time to think. Come on Roger let's go.

He initiated the contact. It was like he had a quick glimpse of the world behind the robot's eyes before his consciousness shifted back to his own body. Roger fell on his knee after having a short shock, even Sylvester started wandering in a senseless manner. Roger smothered his pain with more of it as he initiated the contact. It was like his hands turned metal and then he was himself again.

You are not ready.

Roger gripped both of his knees while enduring the pain as the current passed through the whole of his brain to his eyes, taking his senses and nerves with him to Sylvester's skull like an impersonating ghost. A second later, Roger was inside Sylvester's body. The glowing eyes were stronger. His real body fell on the wall, eyes still open yet his limbs were numb, even his facial expressions. The chip started to fix the recording process, but it would take a bit and Roger needed to fight on Sylvester's behalf. Roger, using Sylvester's body, sensed that his nerves were mingled with that of the bot, thus any hit or injury would provoke his pain sensors even though his organic body would stay safe… hopefully.

I guess I'll have to do this, no matter how painful.

He took a step back and raised both of his fists.

Bring it!

The red bot started running, each step faster than the other in Sylvester's direction before the other one clashed into it with his fist digging in its face, uncovering its eye. The bot fought back with a sharp elbow into the chest, followed by a headbutt that sent the blue one away. Roger rushed with an abrupt fist into the left bot's damaged face; the bot turned to it and spent a few seconds looking at it, scanning the whole of its appearance like a mocking bear. A striking fist pierced Roger and sent Sylvester's body flying before it hit the wall. Roger felt as if someone had ripped his own heart in front of him before tossing it back in. He stood next to the wall watching the giants fight within themselves.

I think venturing into the fight isn't the best idea. I have to keep my distance and wait for them to…

As if they had heard him, the two bots paused the clash of fists and then stood straight as their skulls rotated towards Sylvester. Roger trembled behind his metal structure; he would gulp if he could. The robots came running like hungry dogs; the crowd's cheering was lightened as if they were on fire. Roger rolled on the ground as he evaded the first bot's swing but he was not lucky enough to evade the second bot as it gripped Sylvester's head. Roger then clutched into the hand and started kicking the bot's frontal part of his head before the other one bumped into it with its shoulder. While in the air, the red bot caught Sylvester and went running towards the wall with the intention of breaking its back structure. Roger snarled, using his elbow to break the big one's shoulder, consistently hammering his metal fist upon the senseless bot's shoulder. It was of no use as Roger would only realize it once the bot embellished the wall with cracks behind from the strike. During the lethargy, Roger's chip took control of the flow of electrify in Sylvester body, letting out sparks throughout his arms and fingers. The light inside Sylvester's eyes was blinding as he held the red bot's face in between his palms, electrifying the whole of it before the other big one tossed both of its hands under the armpits accompanied by a vicious pull that cracked the poor bot's skull open. The damaged one was still functional yet with no advantage of having a covered head. Its neural interface was in the open, one lazy pull and darkness was its eventual destination.

Roger turned around to the see the blue bot swinging towards him, willing to crush him against the wall. Still this time he squatted before rushing towards the giant's leg, gripping it with its full force while sparks crawled up his legs and hands, shaking the whole of it before the little Sylvester flipped a robot about five times its own size. During the instance when the sand was raised in the air after the fall, Sylvester took a step back as the flow of electricity disappeared and his eyes were less glowing. It was as if someone had pulled Roger away before throwing him back into the action.

What the hell just happened? It was like I slipped for a moment and let someone else take control. Was it… was it the chip? Did the chip take control?

Before he could get up, the red one went back atop the blue with fists the size of a boulder and the force of three hammers. The bot used his hooks to dig into his chest before pulling its battery up in the air with its fingers tightening on it, letting its glowing juice escape through the cracks. A second later, the battery was no better than a crumpled plastic cup? Roger wondered why he could not pull electricity again or anticipate the next move as his remaining adversary let out its own burst of electricity that lingered around its knuckles. There was no telling that two sequential punches would send Sylvester to the junk trash.

Come on, Roger, the chip wouldn't control you if it sensed your incapability to handle the situation. You are the human here, you sit on the pilot chair, not a stupid chip!

Roger looked around, seeking something to use against the robot. Using the parts of the first fallen would be stupid as Roger did not have the strength to lift them, let alone use them to swing in a fight. Still, there was a resource atop which they stood. Roger rejoiced; the crowd were bewildered at the sight of Sylvester jumping with his hands in the air as if he had already won.

The sand! Yes! I can use the sand to slow the robot's movements if I'm fast enough.

Roger squatted with both of his hands digging deep into the sand. The red one rushed into the bot with a piercing strike just when Roger dodged it and poured some of the sand into an opening between its metal layers, adding some weight to his right leg. Roger used the momentum to pick more sand before tossing into the opening in the second leg. Roger stood behind him, stretched the metal arms with a traveling flow of electricity like lightning across the sky, almost unwillingly. A rush was followed as Roger sent electric blows upon the big one, attacking the chest and shoulders before both punches crushed the skull in between, even electrifying the neural interface. The robot's legs went stiff once Roger rolled between its legs and tossed more sand into the openings. Each punch followed the other, adding more cracks to the torso with streams flowing through the trenches. The recording's auto-fix was almost complete; he only needed to buy more time.

Roger stretched his arm, extracting thrice of his energy to fill his right knuckles for a final strike. In the air, the red one's torso spun and gripped Sylvester. The big one's fist tore a hole in Sylvester; Roger felt as if someone had stabbed him with three knives at the same spot. The big one tossed his other hand before separating the parts. Roger heaved his real arm and placed it just under his chest while he snarled and groaned in pain. In fact, just behind Sylvester's eyes, Roger's screamed and sniveled, whimpering before the big one threw Sylvester's upper half away. Roger was left only with the right arm and the battery. Roger was panting in weariness, waning with every breath. If his consciousness was shifted back to his body, the impact may ruin the chip's fix of the recording. The big one used what was left of its energy to lift its gigantic feet in the air just above Sylvester's battery, one crush and he would be toast. Behind the fainting eyes, Roger was contemplating plan B.

So much for trying to avoid plan B, huh? If I execute the double path override, the consequences are undetermined. Still…

The leg was lifted to the suitable height to execute a fatal crush. Sand was dripping off its sides, covering bits of what was left of Sylvester's armor.

Come on then!

Sylvester's eyes almost seemed blinding as too much light escaped the metal sockets. The crowd went dull as they heard the sound of recorded barking nearby; the big one did not react soon enough before Bob's puppy bot stretched its jaws and bit the big one's neural interface, tearing if off the bot's skull before a rain of sparks traveled across its body. Both the puppy and the big one fell to the sand; all three bots were down, Sylvester was the last to lose the light. Roger had finally managed to control two machines at the same time, executing what was known as multiple path control. Just the whole fight ended and the crowd cheered for an evenly senseless and doubtful conclusion to the fight, Roger opened his eyes and started inhaling before following it with slow panting as his hands were stuck to the floor and spit rained upon it. Even sticky mucus merged with the spit before Roger let out a short timed vomit that was spotted with a few drops of blood.

"I did it, I did it," Roger muttered, rejoicing at the sight of his recording finally back in its place, capturing all what was necessary to complete Louisa's deal.

Just as the whole crowd was busy screaming for dead junk, Roger limped out of the fight through the sewers, spotting the old lady sitting at a dark angle. His face was pale; his limbs almost seemed hard to move as his muscles would ache. Roger hoped to reach the end of the tunnel before passing out, stretching his hands to the light. There was a figure at the end, almost like a flat shadow. He seemed far but his words were like echoing whispers in Roger's eyes.

"Come on, Roger, I'm right here, just a little further," the voice spoke as the figure stretched its arms for the striding Roger.

Father…

Roger's eyes were closed as he stumbled and fell, almost collapsing on the floor before he fell into Bob's arms.

The rehearsing sound of the waves shook his eardrums as his eyes danced at the sight of a far reaching sea, a stretching sea of blue numbers. Numbers were all what he had seen; all he could do was rejoice as he felt as if the sea waves carried each of his limbs, warmly embracing him as each wave threw him to the next. He did not panic, he felt a strange sort of compassion towards the flow of numbers. Lines stretched across the corners, even branching to meet those at the other side.

As if he was put exactly in place, with white lines escaping his sides to the heaven and earth with him right in between, the sea of numbers was thrown to flat surfaces. The sound of the sea waves disappeared either disappeared or he could no longer perceive it. The world did not inspire beauty anymore, nor pure ugliness, just existence. The world did not mean anything, like a river that didn't care what it carried; it just flowed with no care for the body of the sunken or the branches of a dam. Did he turn blind? Did he turn deaf? Did He lose touch? Such questions lingered in his mind while he floated in a sea of nothingness, wondering why everything was so contradicting. Did he even exist? Or does how can anyone define existence at the first blace?

A few seconds afterwards, a bit of numbers from here and there were molded at the shape of the long haired blind old man with the black suit and the numb posture. He was smiling, even his teeth were shown as Roger struggled to step away from the devil. He felt as if he was bound like a dead lab frog. The blind one put his hand on the young man's face, passing the tips of his fingers across his eyes and nose.

"Do you see how strong you've become? Last time we met, you could barely access a bloody phone," the blind one said, raising both of his arms as numbers obeyed his call and started forming into a shape while the young one struggled to reply. Yet with every time his tongue moved something of quite the heaviness sat upon it. The numbers formed into a ball with more apparent parts than others; the whole world itself.

"Imagine if you can control not three, or four, but all the possible paths of control out there in the world. I do believe that only those with the greatest value can be cursed with such a power, such a responsibility to set everything straight," the blind one said, beaming as the whole world shrunk into a little ball that he himself had put in Roger's palm before started closing on it, pulling each finger before the other.

"I will be waiting for you, Roger. Let us hope that by the time you reach me, if you reach me, you will be mature enough to make the ultimate decision," the blind one concluded, releasing a blast that woke the young one from a dream he doubted to be real. Roger sat with his back against the wall, placing the pillow in between with a glass of water in his hand. Bob had his arms folded while he snored; his neck was upon the rail of the chair. He rubbed his eyes before yawning. It was midnight.

"You're awake, good," Bob said, smiling with his elbows rested on his knees. "I guess I underestimated you. You made me worried, but you did pull it off at the end. I managed to extract the recorded video from your virtual storage while you were asleep, and thus we have this," Bob said, holding a tall flashdrive in his hand.

"Now all we have to do is meet Louisa and be done with this," Roger said, watering his eyes with what was left inside the cup.

"I did contact the woman, but I don't think this is going to go as smooth as you think," Bob said; his face seemed to be distorted.

"Why? The whole mob's after me for hurting their boss, what's new?"

"No, the whole mob's after you for killing their boss."

Roger fell into a state of bewilderment.

"Yes, that's right, the boss is dead," Bob affirmed.