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Mutants & Masterminds: Heroes United - Chapter 3c: Fight Club


Justin OOC

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Dash Carpenter was many things, Rich, yes, young, yes, restless, most definitely yes. His return to New York quickly gave him an outlet to put his newfound training to use. He'd been put on to what amounted to underground cage matches. The betting was hot and heavy on all of the matches, and the Mob was raking in the dough. More than that new drugs were being sold at the fights, highly addictive, making cocaine look like a wine cooler. The drug was said to make one more than human for a little while and commanded a high price. Some fought barechested, others fought in costumes, it was all done to stoke the betting, and the buying.

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It was this latter part that drew him there, there'd already been killings, including one of the older retired brothers of his order in Chinatown. The police had yet to put anyone onto the case undercover, they were being streched thinner and thinner, especially after so many died in the monster attack.

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Andery had seen the issue, and tasked Scout, Slither, and Gatekeeper to look into it. Paladin had quickly made new costumes for them, to allow them to go undercover, and nodded. "Gatekeeper should remain in the Oracle room, allow Slither and Scout to infiltrate the fights. You'll be their eyes and ears. Tiny cameras have been placed in your outfits, as well as microphones to record evidence. You may catch something they miss. You'll also be their trump card, should the situation get too dicey."

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"So it's not enough that people have built aerosol drugs that distort your sense of space, they have some kind of weird combat drug too? Who finances all this illegal chemistry?" Gatekeeper was visibly disgusted, it was obvious that these events stuck a kind of personal chord but he offered no explanation.

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The British spy snorted at Gatekeeper's comment. "Humans have been horrid to each other long before people like us came along; stands to reason that for every Doc Northlight on our side, there are probably ten mad geniuses out there willing to do anything for a few bloody euros." She shook her head. "Cartels, terrorist cells, Triads and the whole lot; lots of people out there would love to have their own Mo or Gabe in their back pocket. Expect they're trying to make their own now."

Izzy frowned as she held the costume provided at arm's length. "It's a bit much, isn't it?" 'It' was a one piece zip-in catsuit, mostly lightweight blood-red leather, with extra padding at the knees, shoulders and elbows, and a matching pair of calf length boots sporting two inch heels; not too crazy, but obviously a bit of showmanship was called for in this sort of thing. Finally, there was a simple red domino mask. Thankfully the overall look was more 'butch' than 'bondage', designed to be actually useful in a fight and support the intel tech; clearly, Paladin had done his homework.

"It's good work, I suppose, but can't I just-" Her own uniform warped and shifted to match the cut, color and texture of the outfit Paladin made. "Wear my own? It should be no trouble for Pal to transfer the recording equipment over to mine." She squinted at a tiny lens. "Actually, my suit can probably just integrate the tech on its own..."

She smiled at Andery as she began to efficiently strip the surveillance components from the original suit. "Not to criticize his craftsmanship, of course; I just feel more comfortable in this, plus the built-in options might be of use in the field."

Once she'd coaxed the alien material to assimilate the A/V gear, Izzy turned around a few times, admiring her new look. "Very sleek, eh? Whatcha think, Scout, should I keep it? Does wonders for me bum..."

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Learning from his previous mistakes, Gatekeeper did not say: "That ass doesn't need any help", even though it was the first thing going through his mind. No, what he said instead was, "Soo....what's the drop-off point going to be? Can't teleport into the fight club without knowing about the fight club."

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"Understood, sir," Scout replied to the orders they were given, his jaw set with determination.

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"Izzy's right, 'Keeper, there are a lot of bad people out there." Scout said as he went to retrieve his own new uniform from the shelf that Paladin had left them on.

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Once she'd coaxed the alien material to assimilate the A/V gear, Izzy turned around a few times, admiring her new look. "Very sleek, eh? Whatcha think, Scout, should I keep it? Does wonders for me bum..."

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Scout had just turned around, holding his own uniform when Izzy cast her line and went fishing for compliments. He had the misfortune to look up just as her back was turned to him and she was looking over her shoulder at him; he got a perfect view of exactly how sleek the suit was in certain areas. His face reddened, and he had to clear his throat before he managed to sputter, "Yea," he coughed slightly, politely blocking his mouth with a closed fist, "I'd say you're... I mean... it's a keeper. Oh boy..."

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Scout hid himself from her (or was it the other way around) by holding his own costume in the air between them, "Well, it's nice to see Paladin has a sense of humor," He turned the costume around and the other two members of the team gathered could see that it was a cape, a leotard, and a lucha libre mask all emblazoned with the Mexican flag, "Come on, my family is not from Mexico. I'm Cuban for crying out loud, and this is not our country's ... oh forget it." He tossed the costume onto the table near Izzy's discarded costume. "Luckily, I think I've still got some of my gym clothes in here. And there's that skin-armor he made for me the other day..." Scout pulled a ball of clothes out of his backpack and ducked behind a divider for some privacy. He came back out only seconds later wearing a pair of black boxing trunks with white trim. He'd also donned a thin grey sleeveless shirt made of skin tight fabric. It showed off his form well, but was still a modest covering. He began wrapping his forearms, wrists, hands, shins, and ankles with what looked like some kind of ACE bandages. Obviously inspired by Muay Thai fighters. He transferred the luchador suit's electronics to his current clothes, moving the camera in the mask to a silver headband which he tied tightly around his forehead, "That's much better! what do you think?" he held his arms out to the sides; it was his turn to show off.

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"It's been a while since I fought in an MMA fight, but I don't think it will take me too long to shake out the cobwebs." He spoke almost to himself.

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"I don't actually know, 'Keeper. Andrey, do we have an in with these fights already? A contact of any sort? Or do we have to start from square one? If we've got to found our way in, perhaps a set of street clothes would be better for now?" He looked hopeful that their employer might be able to provide them with more information.

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Ryujin drew up his outfit for the underground.... blood sports. Black silk pants, sleek and ready to flow with him, matching gloves - but a simple white undershirt beneath a crimson top and black vest. A full face and mask with but small precise holes for eyes and mouth. And solid durable boots, for the sordid elements.

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He dressed quietly, with solemn care and focus. Retired or not, once a brother of the Temple, always a brother of the Temple. Likely they had hoped to stem the cage matches and only wound up victims of drugged maniacs and callous criminals.

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Dash Carpenter once would have casually ignored their existence in favor of his own personal bubble of pleasure. No longer. Simple really. Sneak in, and learn what he needed to - then put these degradations of worthy martial arts in the trash bin.

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Izzy grinned at Scout's visible discomfort, clearly the effect she was going for. When it was her partner's turn to suit up, she laughed out loud at Scout's wonderful luchador costume, and actually looked a little sad when he set it aside. "Oh, but it's so colorful..." When he'd finally settled on a new look, she took a few steps around him and gave him a very thorough once-over. "All right, even I have to admit that's much better." She looked down at herself. "But now I look a bit overdressed; half a mo..." With but a thought, Izzy modified her costume one last time to make it a bit more fight worthy; the entire mid-section disappeared, exposing her taught belly as the former catsuit split in two. Now it manifested itself as a pair of tight biker style trunks and a cropped top, while the mask morphed into a skeletal visage with an angry bony brow and a row of teeth just over her lip. The padding at her joints was still present, just as separate pieces, with a pair of gauntlets protecting her hands and forearms. "There, that's it; the Red Death. Found my look." She then looked expectantly at Andery, waiting for his response to Scout's queries.

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Andery nodded, a few keystrokes later and a map of the city came up, with over a dozen "X" marks. "These are known fight arenas. the bigger the mark the bigger the arena. I'd recommend a midsized one, get in, find out what you can, and "Earn your way" into one of the big ones. Nobody gets to the grand arenas without going through the others. "I'll leave the "Which one" to you all." He set a briefcase on the table, opening it. "Entry for the fights is 500, the rest is to gamble, if you wish. You need to seem like the same sort of people who would be there." There was another twenty grand in the case, in mostly small unmarked "used" non sequential bills.

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"Hm...well I'm not fighter material at all...but perhaps I can wear some kind of disguise and proceed with the betting. We may as well make a tidy profit off of this. All proceeds can go to reconstruction of the city as well as giving some kind of compensation to the families of the people killed or injured in the battle, plus I like the irony of making these criminal bastards "contribute" to the reconstruction efforts. To that effect we need to make it look like you two have very slim odds of winning so we can maximize profits. And...you probably shouldn't widely display any of the obvious abilities you showed in the battle since one quick google search of the footage will show who you are, and who you are associated with. Even if they don't out you as the acclaimed heroes of the city and bolt, it'll mess up your odds."

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While Andrey finished briefing them, Scout had produced another bag from his stack of supplies. This bag was a Duffel bag rather than a backpack. It went with his 'fighter' outfit a little better. He'd also brought out what seemed to be a hooded robe. It was made of some rather nice material and matched the trunks he wore. He responded to the strange looks he was getting by saying, "What? It was tough getting a job when I got back to the states. I had to do a few fights just to keep my head above water. I figured I'd look the part while I was doing it." He shrugged as he listened to Gatekeeper move the conversation along. There wasn't much of any importance to dwell on in his past.

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Scout strode forward and lifted one of the paper bound stack of bills. It was the 500 for his own entry fee. He stuffed the wad of bills unceremoniously into the main pocket of his Duffel. He looked at the rest of the remaining bills set aside for bets, and frowned. He didn't like the idea of the illegal gambling, but he knew he may have to swallow that lump in his throat if he was going to bust up this ring of criminals. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea, Gatekeeper. I don't want to make this seem like you're sitting at the kids table, but I agree with Andrey. You'll be more use to us here. I may be able to go a few rounds in the ring, but I don't have super hearing, or x-ray vision like Gabriel does. While I'm fighting, my life may depend on my ability to concentrate on the match. Who knows if one of these guys is planning on pulling a knife, or worse. I'd feel much more comfortable if you were here watching my back with these cameras ready to evac us if you see something shady." Scout considered his own statement as he lifted another wad of bills and shook it like a dead fish. As the money flopped back and forth in his hand he fixed his earlier remark, "Well, shady enough to warrant an evac. I'm sure there'll be plenty of shady things there in general."

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Scout sighed, "I really don't like the betting thing. I never bet on myself when I was in the ring before, but I don't think I'll get very far with this mission unless I'm willing to make it look like I fit in, so..." He stuffed another few stacks of bills into his Duffel bag. He pushed an equal amount of money across the table toward Slither. "As for your other plan, Gatekeeper, I think it's amazing!" The soldier turned to look at their soft spoken team mate. He had a smile on his face that did wonders for Gatekeeper's mood. "I think donating the proceeds of this blood sport money to the less fortunate is a fantastic idea." There was no denying that Scout could be incredibly encouraging when he wanted to. "I think a generous, anonymous benefactor is exactly what those unfortunate, displaced families need. We'll have to keep the source of the money a secret from the general public, though. We wouldn't want anyone refusing money because they're not okay with the source it comes from. Of course, that won't stop us from telling the mobsters what wonderful things are being done with their money!" With a chuckle and a great deal of renewed confidence, he shoveled the rest of his share of the money into his bag, then threw the robe on over his shoulders.

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Scout dug a mouthpiece out of the side pouch of the Duffel, along with a pair of fingerless MMA gloves. "Don't worry about me throwing around my powers. Sorry," Scout winced, "No pun intended." He lifted the small stone that formed the core of his incredible shield from the Duffel, "I plan on keeping this baby on the shelf for this mission unless I really need it. Mouthpiece, gloves, the whole deal. I'm trying to look as much like a mundane fighter as possible on this one." He stored the mouthpiece and gloves once more for the time being.

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"Ready when you are, Slither!" Scout zipped up the Duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder.

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For her part, Slither did not appear at all fazed by the large pile of money Scout had just pushed to her side of the table; she'd been entrusted with large amounts of cash before.

"I think it might be best if we bet on each other, unless of course our cover is that we don't know each other, in which case yeah, it shows our confidence in our own abilities. And your donating idea is brilliant, 'Keeper." She looked thoughtfully at the stacks of bills and her partner's robe."Mmm, be right back!"

She scampered out of the room, at impressive speed considering the outfit she was wearing, and ran back to her quarters for some appropriate accessories. Soon she returned, wrapped in a long grey trench-coat with a nondescript gym bag over her shoulder, into which she rapidly deposited her share of the cash. Izzy flashed a grin at the rest of the group from behind her skull mask.

"Right then, we're off!"

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Gatekeeper zoomed in on a small-to-medium sized X mark in order to allow the satellite view to enhance the image and show him the entire block. Once he had the whole area in mind he selected an out of the way alley far out of view for the drop off point.

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"Alrighty then, activate the cameras and head on out. If there's any trouble I'll see it, and get you out. If we have any flash-bangs I could make it look like the precursor to a police raid by dropping them around the building."

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The portal opened looking down in the alley directly over a fire escape, hopping in placed one on the top tier of steps out of immediately observable range.

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"You'd be better off with tear gas for a distraction of that type," Scout said over his shoulder as he began to step through the portal, "Flashbangs are more for disabling direct combatants."

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Once the two agents were in the alleyway near the venue, Scout peered out of the darkness and located the location they were supposed to be scoping out. "It would probably be best if we didn't come in at the same time. I'll head in and you can follow in about... Better not use round numbers... Let's say, 7 minutes." He synchronized his watch with Slither, before tucking it into his bag.

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"Good luck!" he offered her, before he rounded the corner and headed toward the venue, prepared for anything he might see on the other side of the doors.

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Once the two agents were in the alleyway near the venue, Scout peered out of the darkness and located the location they were supposed to be scoping out. "It would probably be best if we didn't come in at the same time. I'll head in and you can follow in about... Better not use round numbers... Let's say, 7 minutes." He synchronized his watch with Slither, before tucking it into his bag.

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"Good luck!" he offered her, before he rounded the corner and headed toward the venue, prepared for anything he might see on the other side of the doors.

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Slither grinned and waved to her partner as he headed out. "Cheers, Scout!" Once he was out of sight, she began to do a bit of shadow boxing to warm up, a series of rapid-fire kicks and punches to get her blood flowing. It didn't take too much; her heart rate always went up a little just before an op, and now the whole world went sharp as her focus increased. This would certainly be very interesting...

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It was easy to get inside, they were always looking for more fighters, and seemed unworried about undercover police.Still it was almost too easy to get in, after flashing the right amount of green.

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There were three cages setup inside, with a bout in each. The fighters were somewhat bloody, these fights were rough, and ended up with people getting hurt, badly.

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There were scantily clad women selling beer and snacks, and they could see money exchanging hands further in among the crowd. at one end were the bookies, taking any and all bets on the fights, and at the other end of the warehouse, were partitions, where the fighters waited between fights.

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As soon as the feed came up for the hidden cameras, Gatekeeper was studying the monitors intently. Part of having his powers meant he'd developed an ability to quickly take in the entirety of the scene. To Andery, the only other person left in the monitor room, it seemed as if he was suddenly staring off into abstract space. Gatekeeper however was applying his power in a more subtle capacity; opening a tiny gate through which he could extend his senses. If he was to perform as an escape route for his allies he had to sweep the place of any kind of dimensional disturbances.

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[spoilertag: OOC] Taking 20 on a search check for anything that could be disturbing the fabric of spacetime or recent remnants of such. He is familiar with these because they are leftover for a few minutes after repeated spatial shockwave attacks. [/spoilertag]

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"This event looks like it could have been on pay-per-view. Or even on the stages in Vegas lookin at the er...staff."

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Scout took in the crowd and the general atmosphere, relating a low whistle, impressed by the audacity of this particular criminal underground in spite of himself. "Treating testing. Gatekeeper, you seeing all this?"

Scott made his way around the main areas of the venue quickly, making sure to make note of all the notable people in attendance. He kept his eyes peeled for any of the individuals Andrey had said were local mob officers or anyone with ranking above your basic enforcer. He also paid close attention to any person who seemed to have a part in running the show.

When he was satisfied with his marks, he made his way toward the position where the fighters prepared for their fights. When he got to the bouncers, he let the green he was carrying speak for him: he was here to fight.

Soon as he was past the doors, he put on his game face and readied his best schoolyard taunts. "Time to pick a fight," he said just underneath his breath. He wasn't interested in any entry level fight that would be set up for him, he wanted to get noticed. The quickest way to do that was to find the baddest bruiser in the club and beat the every living snot out of them.

Scout scanned the room, "Okay, who's hungry?" He thought.

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Once enough time had passed, Slither started up the alley; she shifted her gait a bit, shoulders back and leading with her hips. Yes, it was over-the-top, but this wasn't just about fighting; more than half was performance.

At the front door, she adopted a thick Russian accent. "I am here for fighting." A quick flash of green got her inside; once there, Slither peeled off her trench coat and draped it casually over one arm, the gym bag with the rest of her money practically dragging along on the floor behind her. Her demeanor was bored, jaded, filled with a lazy European disgust for all things American.

After making a few turns around the room (making sure anyone who appeared to be a major player got an eyeful), she spotted Scout and made the briefest moment of eye contact, not even daring a nod. Then she sauntered over to one of the cages to watch the bout in progress; despite herself, she became transfixed by the sheer savagery on display.

Good God, people die in here. Welcome to the Colosseum, Izzy.

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Satisfied with his sweep of the area, Gatekeeper turned his attention to the fighters and any obvious VIPs. The cage matches here were nothing like what his mind had put together upon hearing they'd be busting fight clubs, these were a little more formal, like an amateur wrestling arena. The fighters, while bloody and busted up, didn't look like they'd be dragged out of here in bodybags, "probably because too many deaths means nobody to fight and no more profits," he thought to himself. Not tremendously familiar with criminal underground, he couldn't begin to pick any specific persons of interest out of the crowd. For his part, he busied himself taking wide shots through the hidden cameras whenever anyone who looked to be in charge happened to glance at Scout or Slither.

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He also tried to use his quasi-scrying power to get a look at any security systems in place around the club. The cameras hidden on the others were decent enough, but for certain out of the way areas it would look suspicious to have them wandering all over the building just to give him a better look.

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"Scout there's a cheap Zangief-ripoff that looks like he's sizing you up on the east wall. He or one of those other thugs around him may be your first fight of the day. And Slither I've lost count of the guys who've malegazed you thus far."

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The area was rife with voyeurs, casually betting on losses of great harm or life, and the worst kinds of women who pandered to it foolishly. It was an atmosphere that made Ryujin sick, but he had to blend in for now. Not that he intended to stay long. In this case, presentation was needed, access to the individuals who would be likely to know the sordid secrets that would put them away if dragged out.

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Ryujin ignored the surrounding interest, from competitors, or women or audiences. As it happened, he had a similar idea to Scout. This front entrance, itself could not be too dark and dangerous, lest it draw notice. The main focus: the transformative drugs, murders and operations, they had to be deeper in the maze of criminals.

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So yes... find the most highly 'ranked' fighters, and take them down. That shouldn't be too hard to arrange.

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"Malegazing her?" Scout asked under his breath. He didn't need to be very subtle. There was enough noise and testosterone in the back room that he didn't even look like he was talking to himself. He started shadowboxing near a wall, making it look like he was psyching himself up for a fight. "In that getup? You sure they're not just trying to get a chance to pet the kitty?" Scout referred to the cat suit his partner was wearing. "I've gotta say, I'm glad you're -"

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*whoomph* The dull thud of a fist hitting the wall next to his head cut him off. Scout had noticed the man approaching from the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. But he had chosen to play dumb to make himself look like a better target. However, that meant that the flying fist was the first indication that Gatekeeper got that someone else was even nearby.

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Scout bristled a little, trying his best to look spooked. A deep rumbling leapt from the throat of the 'Zangief-ripoff' as Gatekeeper had called him, "I am Kodiak." The man spat the introduction out at Scout.

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"Thanks for the Slaviva donation," Scout replied dryly as he wiped the man's spittle off his cheek, "Now get lost." His fake attempt at getting rid of the man did exactly as he'd planned it would.

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Kodaik growled at him, "Nyet! We will be fightink. I will show you why Kodiak is the largest bear in Mother Russia." He snarled once more and turned to walk toward the door.

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Scout's eyes narrowed as soon as the man was out of an earshot. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy this." He cracked his knuckles. Then, he noticed a smaller man approaching him with a clipboard. "You're the new guy, right? Van Damage, or something, right?" Scout nodded at him, "Jesus that has to be the cheesiest fake name we've had yet, but whatever floats your boat. Do you want to know what the odds are on you? One guy actually bet on how many of your bones Kodiak was going to break."

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"Never tell me the odds." Scout didn't even turn to face him. He reached into his bag, pulled out some money, and thrust five hundred dollars into the man's face. "Besides, I've had a good tip that says Kodiak's going down in the fourth."

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"That's..." The man took the money and stared at his clipboard for a moment, "356 to 1 against you," He said as he pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose. But when he looked up, Scout was already on his way out the door.

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Ryujin turned enough to hear the interplay between the Russian brute and his smaller opponent, Dash's fellow newcomer. A little smile alighted onto his expression. After the years of physical, mental and spiritual training in the confines of the Inner Spirit Court, Dash could assess the abilities of others fairly quickly...

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...And he garnered enough at a glance to tell an upset was coming. The new man would win, no doubt, but he'd better be careful. 356:1 odds, and that bet would garner him $178,000. A windfall that would bring in the sharks. Ryujin had no issue about cashing in, as he approached the stunned shrimp of a bookie, but more modest he would be. "$250 on Van Damage." Ok, $89k was arguably not modest a haul either...

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The bookie took the cash gingerly, trying to match new person to name... "Ok, I know underdogs play well, but..."

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"Kodiak will lose." Ryujin said firmly. This provoked incredulous laughter from all around. Ryujin ignored the derision. "Very well. Perhaps someone would like to put their mouth where their money is?" It was a challenge, and another fool stepped up to the occasion.

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"Fine, rookie... you're on." He was a brown haired man with ridges of bristly hair, and scaring on the left side of his face. Mediterranean cast of flesh, tough and muscled, but with enough tone for some decent agility.

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The bookie just shook his head. "....so that makes Razer versus..." He blinked. "Rose?! The fuck?" A very out of character name for here, but Ryujin shrugged. A fun jest here at them, and soon a lesson. "You'll see if it's so silly soon enough."

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Van Damage and...Kodiak?! Between those names and the Han Solo reference Gatekeeper's mind almost reeled from the sheer cheese to the point where he nearly missed the new guy taking Scout's odds. Snapping back to attention he focused, not on the hidden camera feeds but on his own vantage. He could see the new guy and the bookie he was talking to. The incredulous look on the bookie's face was the clue that someone had taken the 356 to 1 odds, that and the flurry of activity generated by some kind of comment he couldn't hear.

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"Scout you have a watcher. I think some guy just bet on you to win, which probably means he knows that troperriffic Russian is about to go down. Black pants, red shirt, black vest, looks like a King of Fighters character."

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With that he ceased his remote viewing so he could watch where Scout and Slither were going. Just because he could see almost everywhere didn't mean it wouldn't eventually give him a headache. Scout was headed to the staging area for the fighters where numerous thugs were getting ready to beat themselves senseless, Slither was in the viewing area where a fight was already in progress between two men who looked like they just got out of prison. they never bothered to clean the cages after each fight, so the fresh gore form all the days battles was still present, he guessed the room probably reeked of spilled blood and sweat.

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Slither chuckled softly at Gatekeeper's comments. "That's the whole point, love," she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for the mic to pick up. "If they think I'm just some silly bit of crumpet, they won't take me seriously in the ring, eh?"

It looked like Scout had his opponent, a great big bear who had no idea of the epic thrashing he was about to receive; Izzy hid a smile behind her skull mask, then sauntered over to the bookie and jerked her head in the direction her partner had gone.

"How much is odds on little man?"

The bookie gave her an up and down gaze that practically left oil stains on her taut belly. '356 to 1, hot stuff; you want to cheer him on ringside, maybe hold up some cards?"

If there was a slew of betting on the newcomer, Izzy was afraid it would look like a fix was on, and she didn't want to jeopardize the team's cover. As sweet as it would be to make some easy cash off these slimeballs, she decided to play it safe.

"Nyet; I am Red Death and I am here for fighting."

The sleaze shrugged and nodded. "Well alright, sister; nothing sexier than watching two kittens-"

The 'Red Death' cut him off with a sharp shake of her head. "Nyet; I am not fight girls." She let her eyes wander over the burliest of the male fighters. "I am fighting boys only this night." She extended a slender finger at a testosterone poisoning case, a long-haired Pacific Islander from the look of him. "Who is this man?"

There was raucous laugher from the gathered crowd, and the bookie was almost at the point of tears himself.

"You... you wanna to take on Krakatoa? Do you have a death wish, little lady? Look at him, sister; his neck is thicker than your thigh!"

Izzy shook her head sharply again. "This is man I am fighting." She dug out a wad of bills. "Five hundred says I win."

This was even more hilarious than any of her previous statements, but the bookie took the cash with a sad shake of her head. "Alright, 'comrade'; where do you want us to send the body?"

But Slither was already gone; she briskly strode over to the Islander, who was chatting up a pack of ladies with their hands all over his massive muscles; he wore a tiny black pair of trunks, and a black headband kept the hair out of his eyes. Brushing past his entourage, she poked him hard several times in a beefy shoulder, which prompted him to turn and appraise her, much to the other women's disgust.

"Can I help you, miss?"

"I am Red Death, and I have come for you." She jerked her back toward the cages. "We fight." And with that, she pivoted on a heel and matched off.

"Excuse me, what?"

Exasperated, she stopped and called back over her shoulder. "We are fighting soon; kiss your little pack of bitches good-bye."

Izzy continued walking, grinning as she heard the turmoil she'd caused.

"You're not gonna let that Russian skank call me that, are you, Krak?"

"No baby, of course not-"

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Even though she'd issued her challenge after Scout had made his, Slither's match came up first on the card; maybe they just wanted to get her 'inevitable' vicious beating out of the way, and save the real fights for later. No matter; if she was lucky, Izzy hoped she's still be able to see her partner's bout.

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As she approached the cage, Slither took in the set-up; it was octagonal and roughly twenty feet across, , small and intimate, with some well-worn, blood-stained padding over the hard concrete floor. Going down on that was going to hurt, especially knees, elbows and faces, and the blood and sweat would make the surface slick as ice in spots. Even if she did outclass her opponent (and in her heart, Izzy knew she did), she might still walk away from this fight with broken fingers or even a broken nose. Hot lights hung from a crude framework bolted to the ceiling, low enough at points to be dangerous if you ran up the sides of the cage.

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Best to keep the fight down low, near the mats; lower center of gravity means less chance of slipping and falling on your arse.

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The Red Death tossed her bag and coat to an attendant, a sweaty, pimple-faced kid in a red track suit probably too young to drink; she jabbed a long finger at him and growled, "You have watch on my things; if even one such item is missing-" She squeezed her gloved hand into a fist so tight that it audibly creaked. "There is no more of you, da?" The lad visibly gulped and nodded vigorously, clutching her things to his chest like his life depended on it, which he clearly thought was the case.

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The ersatz Russian gave her stats to the announcer, a mustachioed dwarf with slick-backed hair in a cheap tux and bow tie; he nodded quietly as he started working on his patter, twirling his cordless mic in his hands. Slither than took her place just outside the cage, waiting for the gate to swing open; she didn't stretch or do anything other than stare down at the floor between her feet, breathing slowly and deeply. She was aware of the eyes upon her, and drank in the suspicion and dislike of the crowd. At long last, the announcer switched on his mic.

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"Ladies and gentleman, you are about to see a very unusual bout this evening! A challenger has come to us from across the ocean to face one of our very own! She hails from the frozen Siberian wastes, where she did hard time in the Soviet gulags! From a land without pity, without remorse, without a shred of human decency, she comes to challenge one of our greatest warriors! Her black heart is as cold as ice, and men whisper her name in fear! Weighing in at one hundred and twenty-eight pounds, the RED DEATH!"

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There was a hail of boos and thrown popcorn as the gate swung upon and she sprinted in to run a few laps around the cage; it was so hard not to laugh at the sheer ludicrousness of the spectacle and brilliant hyperbole of the announcer. But then a hush fell over the crowd as all eyes searched for their champion in the gloom.

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"And now, defending the honor of not only himself but this great nation of ours, comes our savior! A man who has held the lives of so many in his hand, but has chosen to spare them, that they might learn from his wisdom and fight another day! He's the mountain who walks like a man! A volcano of pure destructive power! Weighing in at two hundred and seventy-five pounds…KRAAAKATOOOOAAAA!"

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The crowd went completely mental as the massive Islander entered the cage to the screams of the onlookers; he jumped up and down, arms raised above his head as he continued to pump them up. Meanwhile, Izzy quietly chewed her lip in her corner.

,,

Maybe this wasn't the brightest idea I've ever had…

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"Defending the honor of this great nation of ours...and he's called Krakatoa? Does he realize that's a volcano out in Indonesia? I hope you scramble this ignorant jackass's scrotum Slither." The guy was clearly trained to play up to the crowd, not unlike a pro wrestler. He had a lot of muscle, which probably meant a lot of raw power in an underground fighting circuit like this one, but that much mass meant a sacrifice in speed. And he couldn't possibly be tougher than the 'magmen' they'd all fought earlier. "That much meat means focus on the vitals and end the fight quickly. He'll probably open with something cheap like a shoulder tackle." Gatekeeper's sister was into cage martial arts battles so he'd watched matches before, it never really impressed him before, but he was regretting not paying more attention to it now. He might be able to read the fighter's moves like his sister does.

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He put Slither's fight on the main screen and shifted those from Scout to other monitors so he could concentrate on the fight. His dimensional vantage he used to scrutinize Slither's opponent in case he had some kind of hidden weapon. The costume he wore was fairly tight and had no easy places to hide real weapons, but he could vaguely detect something in the band of his boxers, something like one of those tablets used to blind your opponent in a cage match!

Not happening pal, I want a good clean fight here! And with that thought he apported the tablet to his hand while Krakatoa was busy making an ass of himself in the cage.

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[spoilertag: OOC] Since we're just narrating here I've skipped the die roll he'd get to see if he'd notice this minor apportation. Not like he could say or do anything about it anyway. ;) [/spoilertag]

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Scout found himself next to a bookie, taking odds on 'The Red Death'. He almost felt sorry for the mountain of stupid that she was supposed to be fighting. If you could call it a fight.

"Izzy," He spoke into the microphone under his breath, after leaving another wad of cash with the bookie, "Just remember that move I showed you last week. This guy has nothing on you."

He took a seat near the ring and bought some popcorn from a nearby vender. Propping his feat up on the chairs in front of him, he crunched, "Oh yea, and good luck, mather rashah." He smiled, despite himself, and settled in to watch the fight, secretly hoping that his fight wouldn't start before this one was over.

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His hopes were dashed before long, though. No sooner had the bell rang in Izzy's ring than the bookie he'd placed odds on his own fight with wormed his way through the crowd to where Scout sat, "What do you think you're doing?" He asked, "You're on in five minutes. You can't be out here like this. You've got to talk to the manager about your entrance, and get prepped. This may be a cage match, but we gotta at least try and make sure our fighters aren't sneaking anything in."

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"Ah, damn. This was just starting to get good," Scout replied, before following the man to the back again, "Looks like you're on your own for now, Izzy," he reported. "Eyes peeled, 'Keeper, don't let us down now, yea?"

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After a few minutes, Scout's fight was due to start. He took cover in the shadows of the entrance runway of one of the other cages. He could hear Kodiak marching out to the Russian national anthem. He wasn't sure if it was nerves, or pure disgust, but his stomach felt as if it was beginning an acrobatic routine, with all the tumbling it was doing.

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"Get it together, soldier, he's not that big... You can do this."

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After Kodiak's entrance was over, Scout, acting as his cover, Van Dammage marched out to the tune of Fight to Survive, one of his favorite 80's montage songs. The next few seconds flew by. Before he knew what was happening, the cage door was being locked behind him, and he was staring down one of the world's largest species of bear. A very large, very ill tempered bear.

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Somewhere at the edge of his consciousness a bell rang three times. The bear was foaming at the mouth as he charged across the ring. Scout was dimly aware that his opponent HAD to be on something to be this riled up. But then he lost his train of thought as his body kicked into survival mode.

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Scout met the bull rush head on with a counter takedown. Legs spread out to the sides, center of gravity low, his arms swiftly wrapped themselves around the bigger man's neck and his fingers locked the grip in place. The takedown was successfully defended, but that didn't stop him from sliding across the canvas backward when the bear kept pushing. He was losing purchase, and slipping dangerously close to the cage behind him. His adrenaline was pumping, the crowd was a low din at the edge of his consciousness. There was a low roar coming from the muzzle of the bear he had in a choke hold. But the hold wouldn't last. Scout lashed out while he still had control. Left foot planted, right leg surging through the air. Bone met bone with a dull thud as Scout's kneecap me the forehead of the Kodiak. One. Two. Three. He made the clinch count.

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Finally, the bear relented. Scout planted his feet once more. Surging forward, the threw the bear into a standing clinch, grasping him behind the head. He continued driving a kneecap into the larger man's midsection.

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The next series of moves happened very quickly. Scout never saw the counter clinch coming. Before he knew it he was in a bear hug. The Kodiak swept his feet, and the world went sideways. There was a sharp pain and a muffled crack as one of Scout's ribs shattered when the larger man drove a shoulder into his chest as Scout fell to the floor. The bigger man didn't hesitate. He didn't bother with a ground and pound either. It was too early for that. While Scout was fighting to recover his breath, Kodiak scooped him up, lifted him above his head, and sent him flailing into the mat near one of the cage walls. Scout yelped in pain. His vision swam. The edge of his blurred senses caught something moving. It was big, and it was moving straight toward him. Scout didn't process the information he simply reacted. With seemingly inhuman speed he just moved. He rolled toward the direction the shape was coming from and narrowly escaped receiving a kneecap being dropped on his face.

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Scout tumbled into a standing position, shaking his head to solidify his vision. That shot was meant to kill, he thought. Screw the fourth round. I'll never last that long in here with this guy. Super soldier or no, that blow would have ended me.

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Scout clapped his hands together, "Maybe you'd move a little quicker," Scout taunted through his mouthpiece, "If you weren't so damn hairy!"

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With a roar, Kodiak turned to face him. Scout knew the insult had found it's mark.

,,

"Right then," he added, while pulling up his guard, "One Black Forest Beat-down, coming up!"

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Gatekeeper was distracted from the first moments of Scout's match by following the bookie from Scout to Kodiak before the fight started. Even so he nearly missed the syringe full of something suspicious being administered to Kodiak by one of his followers. He was trying to follow that person when the beatdown began, which snapped his attention back to the fights as soon as the audible crack of Scout's ribs came over the communicator.

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As Kodiak roared into another charge Gatekeeper very subtly distorted the distances he was covering, adding a little more time to his charge, and giving Scout an opening. "Here's the lay-up Scout," he said into the mic.

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Realizing that discreet spying took too much effort and wasn't going to happen while the matches were going, he brought both Scout and Slither's fights up on split-screen so he could devote his full attention to assists.

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Let mortal kombat BEGIN!

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The Red Death and Krakatoa bumped gloves in the center of the ring, and then headed back to their corners, chewing on their mouth-guards and waiting for the bell, each surveying the other. Slither saw a man who was about six foot four inches tall and had a hundred and fifty pounds on her; the Islander however saw a young woman who despite having a lot of muscle on her, was still only five foot seven and a hundred and twenty-eight pounds. On the surface, the bout couldn't be more unfair.

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The bell struck, and the big man came out his corner at top speed; despite his size, Krakatoa was fast, much faster than Izzy had expected. To his credit, 'Keeper totally called his first move, but the shoulder tackle came at her so fast she didn't have time to get fully clear, and she was launched backwards into the chain link. The man was definitely using something. For the first time, Slither felt a flutter of mad panic about her chances of winning the bout, or even leaving the cage alive.

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But then a clear, calm voice echoed in her head: 'when in doubt, always fall back on your training'. That's what they taught Izzy back at MI6, and those words had kept her alive in some pretty dire situations. Along with her personal fight trainer, she'd come up with a set of twenty moves based on her build, reflexes and center of gravity; they incorporated elements of Brazilian jiu-jitsu, Judo, Wing Chun, Tai Chi, Krav Maga and traditional wrestling. They were based a two basic assumptions; most of her foes would be bigger and stronger than she was, and the quicker she could bring them down, the better. All she need to do was stay calm, and apply those lessons.

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Krakatoa was fast, but he was also very, very big; this meant he generated a tremendous amount of kinetic energy that merely needed to be redirected where she wanted it to go. She took a few hard hits at the beginning as she learned to gauge the Islander's overall speed and reaction time, but once she'd figured him out, it was time to go on the offensive.

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You are mine, Krakatoa.

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Then the thrashing began in earnest; she deflected his charges into the cage, which nearly split with each impact. She dropped low when he came straight at her, easily rolling him over her shoulder and onto the unforgiving mats. When he tried to bring her in close, she put together a string of devastating combos, fists and knees flying into his gut and chest at bewildering speed, though she did her best not to go full-on crazy superhuman.

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The longer the fight lasted, the clearer her head got and the fuzzier Krakatoa became; the crowd was going ballistic, half of them outraged and the other half ecstatic to see such an amazing upset. By the third round, it was over; Krakatoa finally dropped like a sack of cement, and the Red Death stood, dripping with blood and sweat, triumphant.

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Gatekeeper's manipulation was just enough to give Scout the time to plant his feet and regain his balance. He faced the charge. No. He stepped into it.

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Scout launched himself skyward. He arced through the air with fluid grace. The two combatants met in the center of the ring, and Scout lashed out mid-flight. He brought up his knees after leaving the ground and connected with Kodiak's face just under the nose. First with one kneecap *krak* then the second *crunch* utterly shattering the man's nose. The blow was devastating, but not deadly. As scout landed a few feet behind his bearlike opponent, Kokiak crashed to the mat alive, but unconscious.

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So much for those $500 I bet on him going down in the fourth, Scout thought to himself, That really couldn't wait any longer.

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While the din of the crowd masked his voice he made sure to thank Gatekeeper through the mic, "Thanks for the assist, 'Keeper. Any idea what made this guy so strong? Or who hooked him up? I'd like to give them a piece of my mind too."

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Having placed another quick $250 bet, this time on himself, Ryujin settled down to watch Van Damage against Kodiak, and the other enterprising newcomer, Red Death against Krakatoa. Both had more skill than people generally saw - but were still limiting themselves to not expose too much.

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Interesting. Van Damage also succumbed to the great mistake early on, though he corrected it when the opportunity arose. The mistake: this was far more along the lines of wrestling, weight and physical power was a traditional advantage in these cages.

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But what nearly everyone was not set to expect a swift, agile fighter - one who redirected and did not scrap. Red Death performed this to near-perfection, and Ryujin avidly clapped for both upon recognition of their victories. $89,000 secured. A nudge at his side came from one of the staff flunkies... it was him against Razer, and of course they would be holding onto the money until they were sure he wasn't dead meat.

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When it was Rose's turn to enter the cage ring, the mood was different. The announcer of course got creative to cover the remarkably setting-effeminate name Ryujin had picked, but he was making a valiant attempt. The audience was split, still skeptical, but some out there had to be considering the potential of a hat trick, and betting accordingly.

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Then Razer appeared. He didn't have the same potentially drugged excess of muscles as Kodiak or Krakatoa, but still an impressive hard-packed display, and clearly more agile enough to suggest to the laymen that Rose couldn't replicate the past upsets.

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But 'Rose' waited impassively, bored. He didn't have any troubles with holding back, and a useful fact of his training, spiritual as well as physical: he could affect their chi. The right paths aligned closest with Metal and Fire closed or obstructed would weaken Razer and seal his fate.

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At last, Razer got bored with whipping up the watchers, and offended by Rose's disregard. Charging, he swung a heavy haymaker with his right - that could crush Rose's face. If it was allowed. Ryujin neatly ducked and kept in motion under the wild thrust, and pivoted, kicking solidly and chi-focused into the very top of Razer's back, just below the neck.

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The momentum sent Razer skittering into the edge of the cage, and his already inhibited body struggled to get up.

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Ryujin did not grant him any mercy before that of unconsciousness, launching the heel of his opposite foot into Razer's face. A classic move that worked out, given the impaired opponent. Razer was down and out.

,,

The Rose had shown its thorns.

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,,

"Thanks for the assist, 'Keeper. Any idea what made this guy so strong? Or who hooked him up? I'd like to give them a piece of my mind too."

,,

"Before the fight got fully underway I saw one of Kodiak's people give him a syringe of something. I couldn't follow him, so I can only assume that he went back into the fighter's-only area. Look around in there before your next match and I'll tell you if I see that guy again."

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The bell rang for the beginning of a match between a fighter called Razor and another called Rose just as he finished his sentence. This attracted gatekeepers attention just in time to watch a precisely targeted kick to the back of Razor's neck and a follow-up kick that laid him out cold on the floor of the cage.

,,

"Holy shit! Are you two watching the ninja in cage 3?"

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"Yea, I can see it from here," Scout replied as he was released through the cage door. A few men rushed past him. He wasn't sure if they were just going to drag Kodiak out of the ring, or check to see if he was alive. He couldn't look back, though. Showing concern for his opponents would be tantamount to suicide for his cover.

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"How many, 'that's what she said,' jokes can you make about that match being over that fast?" Scout smiled despite himself. If he had to fight this ninja, he'd have his work cut out for him.

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"I'll look for your man when I'm back stage again. For now, I'm going to go see if I can set this rib..." With a grimace, Scout walked with his head held high back to the locker room.

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"Holy shit! Are you two watching the ninja in cage 3?"
,,

'The Red Death' made her way back to the frightened young man holding her belongings, who sheepishly offered her a dry towel and a bottle of water; she dumped half the water over her head, buried her face in the towel and found a bench to collapse on, which gave her a few moments to talk.

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"No, didn't get a chance, though judging by the crowd noise, everyone else did." Izzy raised her head up and crooked her neck (not too far) to get a better look. "Good Lord, how long did that last, two hits? Someone else is using, or is bit more like us..."

,,

She finished the rest of her water, eagerly slurping it down. "So what's next? To be honest, I could use a moment to clear my head."

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In a private room, a Mand sat, snifter of brandy in hand, a Cigar smoldering in the ashtray on a small intable set next to the opulently luxurious chair. In a matching chair sat Marcos Schnell. "Now those three, they have what it takes."

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The first man, a middle aged hispanic man smiled. Jesus Santos agreed, the three victors were well above the level of the dregs they now fought. "Inhuman speed, and no small amounts of skill. Either the three of them are metas, or someone has developed another for of your Catalyst, Dr. Schnell."

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Marcos scoffed. "I doubt it. Probably just some metas out to cash in quick on their powers."

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"They are winning their wagers, once the rest begin to bet for them, we will lose money..." He was clearly not happy about this prospect.

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"Let them have another fight each, against the best we have there. We'll see if it was a fluke, or if perhaps we can make use of them in the "Real" part of this enterprise."

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He nodded. "Agreed, more pawns are always showing up, we can let those who would be promoted tonight go with them, if they win they get to move up, if the newcomers win, well we'll know Catalyst needs some refinement.. And the monies they cost us will come from your percentage, since it will be the failure of your product."

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Schnell nodded. "Very well."

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A messenger was dispatched down to the locker room for the three champion fighters to ready themselves. Once he had, and fearfully made his way away, he found Scout, Slither and Ryujin. Each one was given the name of their opponent, and told no more, only that it would be their last match of the evening. Scout drew the fighter known as Thrasher, Slither drew Gorefist, and Ryujin drew the last fighter, Blade.

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okay guys, one more fun little exercise, you guys get to write these fights, and make up a fighter, of better than human means matching these names. they would be about PL 7, thanks to the catalyst, and while I expect you to win, it should not be the easy walkovers your first matches were. Have fun, and earn your way from the Circle of Stone, to the Circle of Steel.

,,
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Using the lull in combat from his teammates, Gatekeeper resumed using his power to look around the general area backstage. Amidst the locker room where Scout was still recovering he saw numerous other fighters (D-listers he guessed) giving him either looks of approval or the stink-eye. This, he supposed, was due to either fortune or failure in the betting pools. He didn’t see the fighter called “Rose” anywhere just yet, but he also wasn’t looking for him. He had to change between his own view and the spycam feeds trying to track down the specific person he’d seen administering whatever combat drug these people were using. He stopped when he saw someone give Scout and Slither a fighter assignment for their next match and decided to follow THAT guy back to wherever he came from; figuring the people in control of this underground arena would have evidence on them.

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The messenger went back to some dingy-looking hole in the wall office near the back of the arena and got on the phone to someone. Trying to get sound out of this scrying port required that he “zoom in” so to speak, so he had to position the scrying node almost in the guy’s hair. Even then it was like trying to listen through a bullethole in a wall and he could only hear snippets of conversation, and only one side of it at that.

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“Mess… deliv…” was the first chunk of speech he heard. And after a long pause where he assumed instructions were being given, “…champions…?” It was a query of some kind, from this minion to his boss. After a while longer the grunt said, “Sure boss, right away!” It was clear only because he had an excited edge to his voice that made him louder. He dissolved the scrying effect soon as the minion hung up.

,,

Champions eh?” He thought to himself. “There’s no way they’re champions after a single fight, so the management must be either thinking in the long-term or planning to feed them to the wolves right away. Given that the ones they just put down looked to be crowd faves, and given the amount they must have won betting on themselves, as well as the usual applications of Murphy’s Law, I’m guessing the screw-job is more likely.”

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Over the coms he said, “New intel suggests that your next fight is meant to test and/or eliminate you both. This suggests you’ve probably caught the eye of someone higher up the chain, great work team! I’d expect some of the worst shit imaginable in these next fights.”

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Ryujin did not get far before another messenger showed up. He was now going to face challengers from 'The Circle of Steel', the best of the best. 'Rose' brushed him off, and sat down to focus his mind a bit more. He was attracting attention - and quite possibly the two Van Damage and Red Death. Idly, he wondered if they were present for reasons similar to his, but then brushed it aside.

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Blade wasn't long in coming, first event on the list. 'Rose' waited passively at his end of the arena, as Blade entered. Tall and muscled also, wearing no shirt and camo pants.... there were a pair of things attached to his pant hips.

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Then Blade charged forward, and 'Rose' had to adjust his estimates of this man's speed. And the quick scrape of short knives drawing free in both hands. Ryujin fell back a couple steps, the knives completing an arc inches in front of his face. Clearly drugged, armed to his name, and still pressing the assault.

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Ryujin made a quick leg kick at Blade's knee - not even acknowledge. Fortunately, the force halted Blade half a step, giving Ryujin more room to prepare a defense.

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For the next few minutes, he conceded the aggression to Blade, the audience perceiving it all as if 'Rose' was almost, but just teasing enough to keep up faith, on the ropes.

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Then Blade made the mistake. A wild, frustrating swing with his left knife, and the adjoining arm was rigid flat as a board. Dash smiled, and then delivered a precise chi-powered chop to the wrist. With a crack it completely broke - and no matter how indifferent to pain, Blade was not prepared to discover the inability to make his hand function.

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A fatal mistake, as Dash repeated the previous on the other wrist. Staring into Blade's flat murky blue eyes, 'Rose' rolled out kick after kick until Blade sank down and lacked the energy to get up.

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The Red Death was still toweling herself off when she was handed the note about her new opponent; she merely nodded and grunted as she motioned the runner away.

,,

'Gorefist'? That has to be the stupidest bloody name I have ever heard.

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Over the coms he said, “New intel suggests that your next fight is meant to test and/or eliminate you both. This suggests you’ve probably caught the eye of someone higher up the chain, great work team! I’d expect some of the worst shit imaginable in these next fights.”
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Izzy chuckled and murmured into her comm, "Well that is certainly a comfort..."

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A few minutes later, they called for her, and the Red Death was escorted to a new arena, down a short sloping corridor from the main floor; this one appeared to be a bit larger than the first one, some forty feet across, and much more solidly put together, with thick steel reinforcements set right into the concrete floor. There were a lot less theatrics this time as well, at least of the WWE variety; he tone of the crowd was hushed, almost respectful. And as she was led into her corner, Izzy noticed the was a ten foot gap between the first row of seats and the heavy duty chain link.

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Suddenly all the lights went out. Then a few seconds later, there was a blood-curdling scream; the British meta's eyes went wide behind her skeletal mask

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Fuck's sake, what the hell was that?!

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The scream returned, coming from somewhere out in the darkness, now off to the left and behind her; Izzy felt pinpricks of sweat pop out all over her body as nervous giggles and yelps came from the gathered crowd. There was shuffling and was that...sniffing?

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Holy shit, what are they putting in the ring with me?

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A pair of glowing green eyes appeared in the darkness, not tweny feet away from her, drilling into her very soul. Izzy squeezed her own eyes shut, too terrified to look again

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Fuck's sake, I'm about to die!

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"I AM GOOOOOOOOREFIST!"

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And then all the house lights came up, blazing bright, to reveal a ghastly figure; corpse-white skin and taut muscle stretched over bone, naked except for a pair of tattered black jeans, stringy black hair covering much of his face. The thing dropped down on all fours, bounded across the ring AND LEAPED RIGHT AT HER.

,,

Izzy screamed.

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That first hit was hard, but even as she slammed back into the chainlink, Izzy sensed Gorefist was holding back. Not all that much, because she still felt her ribs creak, but the man...thing could have hit a lot harder if he wanted to, and for that she was thankful. Also now that the actual combat had begun, some of that mad panic was turning into more useful combat fear, which sped up your mind to match your heartrate.

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Gorefist tore about the ring a bit like a rabid dog, which gave the English spy a chance to break away from the edge of the cage as she backflipped into the middle of the ring. But the whole time, Izzy was aware of her opponent's eyes upon her, gauging her reflexes; the 'mad dog' bit was an act, to cover up a rather keen tactical intellect. They appeared to be an even match as far as speed was concerned, though Gorefist's prodigious jumping ability clearly gave him the edge there. They danced around a bit, just managing to dodge each other's swings and lunges; something about the way this 'ghoul' moved was familiar, though.

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US Special Forces, I think, or maybe a SEAL? He's no amatuer, that's for sure; this is a trained killer, slumming in this hellhole.

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Thr crowd was starting to get restless, due to the lack of contact, and Izzy kind of agreed with them; as much as she really wasn't looking forward to another hit driven by that kind of power, at this rate the fight would never end.

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So she let him get close. Big mistake.

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Izzy was airborne; she was able to control her flight somewhat through twisting her hips, but 'the Red Death' was still bounced off the roof of the cage with enough power to rattle her teeth. At least was able to land in a three-point stance facing her opponent. Under her breath, she whispered to Gatekeeper back at the Tower.

,,

"'Keeper? I'm going to need your help..."

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