by L. M. Vila
“Wait a second,” Adrian stated while tweaking a few sound dials.
The headset provided a continuous feed into the mole’s microphones but with all of the noise coming through at once in such a high volume and frequency, static was usually the only thing he could hear. Fortunately, someone had gotten through. The crowd was starting to liven up again and one agent repeated a statement that Adrian had to share with his superior.
“He did it,” the voice crackled through the speakers. “Rage beat the Korean.”
The sense of relief that swept over Nicole could have put her in a coma. She braced herself on the closest wall which was easy since this entire place made her feel like a canned sardine. Prince immediately got on the horn and phoned the S.W.A.T. Commander. He relayed fast and detailed instructions, letting them know that insertion would be imminent but not to move a muscle before he gives the order. With everything else in place, all they had to wait for was an agent inside to relay the signal.
Knowing that Michael once again prevailed over near surmountable odds gave Nicole a special tingling feeling all over. The kind a child experiences on white Christmas morning or when a woman receives a marriage proposal from her longtime boyfriend. Those callous and sentimental thoughts didn’t suit Nicole nor reflected any of her deepest desires. Her most valued possessions were the job and Michael Madison. Nicole’s only wish now was to see the look on Logan’s shocked and depressed face.
“Hold on a second. Something else is coming through. Stand by.”
Nicole did not care for Adrian’s tone. It spoke of something ominous and unwanted. He locked the source to a specific agent and turned up the volume. No one knew how just how to take the words heard next but it did clear up one thing. Their celebration had been premature.
“Wait a second,” the voice started. “Ryoo’s moving. He’s still alive.”
Reality had struck an almighty blow to Charles Logan’s kingdom. The walls started to close in all around him. Air grew dense with a decrepit chalk like texture and taste. His once undefeated champion now remained stiff and motionless, destroying the power vacuum he has literally spent billions to create, and crumbling the glorious empire in a matter of minutes.
Dreadful thoughts began to creep into the cracks of Logan’s mind. Without a champion to draw in the crowd, he might as well settle for the pittance of wealth received from the slot machines and table games upstairs. The casino at this point didn’t even register as a concern. Charles Logan had lost the key factor in obtaining and retaining his outstanding financial and political power. No one wants to watch a loser. Even if Rage showed him mercy, Ryoo was finished. An entire year of nurturing wasted and to top it all off, that bastard still got his paycheck.
Hope had seemed like a futile dream. Not that Logan could care to consider it. The only things you can rely on in this world are skill, power, and money. Logan used to have all three about a minute ago. Now he’s only stuck with one. If an underlying miracle decided to rear its magnificent head, Logan would have gladly paid any price to see it just once. Little did he know that all had not been lost. His suite truly was the worst seat in the house. Ryoo had started moving and he certainly wasn’t finished yet.
“Michael watch out!”
Heeding Meryl’s warning, Michael turned and watched a rampaging bull steaming forward. Veins popped across every visible inch of Ryoo’s skin. His face masked in a sea of burst capillaries and fire glazed the windows to his soul. The insane level of fury displayed by the Korean didn’t shock Michael in the very least but the fact that he was still alive most certainly did.
Michael planted himself by rooting his legs onto the dense rock surface. When Ryoo came in range he launched a firm and devastating side kick right to the raging beast’s temple. The snap sent shockwaves throughout the Korean’s body, none of which could be processed once anger took over. His body rolled back across the arena floor to a skidding stop.
Impossible normally didn’t have a reserved place in his dictionary, however, Michael was indeed baffled. He felt the ribs crack in Ryoo’s chest. With the amount of power Michael put behind that punch, he’s lucky his fist didn’t impale the Korean. It didn’t make sense. Kurtis died after being pierced in the heart and he was loaded with Agent M seconds before they fought. Ryoo should have suffered a similar fate.
As he stood trying to hide any and all emotions from plain sight, a terrifying thought began to pierce Michael’s intellect and reasoning. Agent M started to spread just over a year ago. Since then, it’s been relatively quiet other than a couple of isolated incidents following the events at A.N.K.H. Pharmaceuticals. With all of that unaccounted for span of time, someone could have easily updated that formula to create something even more deadly than its predecessor. Judging by these results, it looks like the architect was shooting for immortality which begged Michael to solve a problem that didn’t appear to have a logical answer.
All of Ryoo’s logical functions ceased. Hate fueled his body while desperation nurtured his mind. He picked himself up off the ground without a hint of wavering. His opponent’s previous attack had been a distant memory at this point. The pain it carried dissipated in the dull numbness as did the rest of the wounds on his body. Ryoo had never anticipated nor experienced a feeling quite like this. It was oddly euphoric. He felt like he could do anything. From something trifle as snapping steel guardrail between his teeth to the more advanced moves of tearing a man’s soul apart with his bare hands. Ryoo didn’t have the opportunity to try the former but he most looked forward to the latter.
The beast charged forward with the speed and strength of an army of rampaging bulls. Michael remained firm and calm. With death staring right through his brown eyes, he didn’t even flinch. This new idea was certainly beyond the realm of any type of rational comprehension. Regardless of the sanity of this endeavor, Michael needed to be in grappling range in order to pull this stunt off.
Impact struck shaking the confines of this subterranean arena. Ryoo locked his arms around the target’s solid frame and drove him down to the ground with little effort locking in a full mount. In this position, Michael could offer little resistance. Each thrown fist carried the weight of speeding trains as they collided with the brick surface. The previous injury to his arm had seemed to be fully healed or outright ignored. Pillars of brown and red dust spewed from the newly created craters. Michael continued to sway his head between each blow watching the foam build up inside of the beast’s ravenous jaw.
The target area drew closer. With each thrown punch, the holes got bigger and Ryoo had to lean forward ever so slightly. Blades of wind slashed against Michael’s face. Ryoo’s determination poured through. He drew closer with every ferocious punch. The opportunity to strike would be paper thin. Michael only had one shot at this.
Ryoo lifted his right arm high and aimed to a more stationary target. An eye for an eye or in this case, a heart for a heart. This one second of hesitation screamed at Michael to act. He planted both feet on the ground and launched his hips outward, throwing Ryoo off balance, and sending that bright, yet delicious head right into Michael’s awaiting grip. Using his left arm as the vice, Michael locked the Korean’s head between his ribs and bicep. The Korean’s neck was sealed every so beautifully over his forearm and all he needed now was to hear the final pop of victory.
Every ounce of strength left in Michael’s cells pulled backwards. He roared with both fortitude and even a little trickle of frustration. If this didn’t work, Michael was convinced nothing else would. For a brief moment, he could have sworn he heard Ryoo wincing. Pain was being registered. The risk had certainly reaped an initial reward. Michael continued to pull. He wasn’t sure how strong Agent M had fortified the bones of this monster but it didn’t deter him in the slightest. A cheap copy was no match for the original. Russia had to learn that the hard way. Korea would be taught the same lesson.
Michael shouted at the top of his lungs. His adrenaline laced cry sliced through the delicat
e tissues of his lungs as he forced one last mighty pull. There was a horrifying screech of terror that followed and then went eerily silent. The large cracking sound that popped in Michael’s impenetrable grip signified a clean break.
Ryoo’s body fell eerily still. Every last fragment of anger had been immediately hushed. Michael slid his body away from his opponent after verifying his heartbeat had indeed stopped this time. He even kicked the deceased warrior’s body once more for good measure, allowing the audience to get a good look at the repulsive image of this former champion. Michael reached down toward Ryoo’s leg and untied the cloth linked to his surrogate family. There were still too many questions left unanswered. The first of which, how did Ryoo Myung-Dae come into possession of this treasured family crest?
The crowd stood in complete awe. No one had ever come close to besting Ryoo in combat and yet somehow, this underdog named Johnny Rage had pulled off the seemingly impossible. Some continued to speak among themselves while a few select others started to cheer. Apparently those select few had put their money behind the winning horse.
Reluctantly, the referee entered the squared arena floor. He couldn’t take his eyes off Ryoo Myung-Dae. This proud and powerful warrior had never looked so pitiful. The once undefeated champion of Charles Logan’s organization had been put to eternal rest all without spilling a single drop of blood. He knew now what he must do, even though he thought this day would never come. Out of all of the poor saps that lost their fortunes here tonight, one particular person had lost something more valuable than money. And they were not going to be happy to hear what the referee had to say next.
“The winner,” he started.
The words could barely form in his mouth as his mouth and throat had gone completely dry. Still, it had to be said. The victory was clear and decisive.
“Johnny Rage.”
A few choice members of the audience began clapping showing their utter amusement and delight. Others followed, slowly but steadily. Cheers emerged as well. They had been given the show of a lifetime and found it necessary to thank the man responsible. Although some had lost more than they cared to spend in an evening or a lifetime, at least they were entertained. Since the inception of this very concept, that’s all anyone and everyone could ever hope for. Tonight proved that anything can happen between these sacred walls and everyone, whether a little richer or poorer, was happy with the final results. Well, almost everyone.
“No!”
The eruption of this man’s voice nearly shattered every thousand dollar goblet of wine within its range. Charles Logan emerged through the confines of his sweet with an unmatched ferocity. He stood firmly on the top of the center aisle only a foot away from the main staircase and began barking his dismay.
“This wasn’t supposed to turn out like this. Ryoo was unbeatable. A lowlife like you should never have been able win.”
Logan stopped himself from saying anything further. The data and statistics gathered on Johnny Kalinowski were polar opposites of the living specimen. This whole situation reeked foul. Someone had set him up. Through all of the fight’s drama, Logan had completely lost all concentration on anything else. Electricity tickled through his brain reminding him of a few key points of interest. That foul mouth little brat alongside the victorious fighter had said every foul word imaginable and even a few key others that sprouted from her vast imagination. The most important of which was the fighter’s name and according to Logan’s newly received information, it wasn’t Johnny.
“Do not let them escape!” Logan barked calling to his machine-gun toting employees.
Meryl knew their cover was blown it before those words ever rang out of Logan’s mouth. She was actually more surprised it took this long. Uttering Michael’s name during the fight was a gut reaction and utterly stupid mistake; a very uncommon trait for Meryl. If there’s one thing she wasn’t good it, it was failing.
A lone security guard had enough brass to approach Meryl all on his own. He had jumped the six foot tall brick enclosure in near complete silence. The UMP machine gun slung over his shoulder didn’t faze her in the slightest. Meryl unleashed a hammer fist straight into the stooge’s groin and while he reeled, she finished him with a wholehearted chop right in the neck in a move that took more than this man’s breath away. Disabled and now disarmed, Meryl picked up the fallen guardsman’s weapon. The sad truth was that this might come in handy sooner much rather than later.
The sudden situation twist forced Logan to make a hard decision. Infiltrating this massive and lucrative operation insulted his intelligence. Letting two assailants ruin everything he’s worked so hard to attain get away with it all insulted his pride. The window for interrogation has passed. Action must be taken swiftly in order to achieve a proper resolution.
“What are you standing around for?” Logan beckoned at the rest of his guards. “Kill them both!”
Bullets rained from the sky. The paradox of the thought passed through Michael’s conscious quicker than the hot pieces of lead that followed. His legs moved on instinct. Meryl had already started to return fire nestled safely behind the confines of the brick exterior that divided the audience from the combatants. Only a few meters away separated Michael from his partner now. The guard’s fire drew closer with each passing step. There was no bullet proof trench coat or spider silk Kevlar shirt to fall back on. Only this flame enveloped leather outfit that did nothing more than paint a bigger target for them to aim at.
“What are you waiting for cocksucker? Jump!”
Michael sprung into the air, kicking away gravity as if it were a suggestion instead of a law. He dove over the six foot tall wall of brick and tucked into a forward roll smashing aside the former dining area where the audience once sat. Luckily the one guard in their vicinity had been vanquished but the other dozen were making up for their loss. The loud popping and crackling of exploding gunpowder shocked Michael’s biologically enhanced hearing. Meryl remained ever vigilant. For every clip the guard’s poured in their direction she responded in kind making sure to mind the fleeing audience members. Spray and pray always worked in the movies but after this experience Meryl would have a hard time empathizing with those scenes.
The empty rattling clicks of the machine gun pushed Meryl back to a crouching position. She popped the empty cartridge and tossed it away.
“I’m out.”
Looking over at the knocked down but still fairly conscious guard that Meryl previously took out gave Michael an idea. The guard added a dislocated jaw to his growing list of misery. Michael’s steel fist came across swiftly and with the force of a speeding bus. Punching the doughy exterior of unenhanced flesh gave him a renewed confidence. Michael rifled through his jacket and flung out a magazine pouch carrying six extra magazines. He tossed over the find to Meryl who happily plucked a fresh mag into the weapon and started to return fire.
“Thanks.”
A quick search around the guard’s unconscious body provided Michael a weapon of his own. Granted it didn’t have the same intimidation factor as plucking five hundred rounds per minute but in terms of pure stopping power, a Beretta M9 did the job required. Michael joined Meryl’s retaliatory fire and popped off a pair of rounds. They both quickly tasted floor once their protective barrier became riddled with fresh bullet holes.
Meryl couldn’t find an inch to sneak in through. The enemy’s rate of fire was fast and continuous. Granted they were hopelessly outnumbered but it was but a minor detail. Adrenaline fueled her thoughts. She drew the weapon up and tossed a few blind fire rounds but knew it would do more harm than good with those civilians still roaming around.
“Damn it. Those assholes are relentless.” Meryl slammed another magazine into her weapon. “You’d think we’ve had U.C. support by now.”
“Impossible,” Michael replied as bullets continued to rip into the air. “They’re unarmed.”
“Well what about SWAT? They should have kicked the doors in two clips ago.”
“
Perhaps they require some vulgar motivation,” retorted Michael referring to Meryl’s many uses of colorful language in the passing few minutes.
“It worked earlier,” she said almost wanting to add a wink to it and continued to return fire.
Crowds of able bodied and elderly attendees rushed for the two sole exits. Logan could not believe this was happening in his arena. His home no less. The loathing and tiresome wealthy masses continued to push into safer confines. Some, not all. A few lone rebels stood behind and they started assaulting the unaware guards. The image finally became clear. Logan had been set up alright. Whichever government agency that had been sniffing around his extracurricular activities must have finally found enough to get a decent bite for a change. They damn well better to try and pull a stunt like this. Try as they might, with his empire in shambles, Charles Logan would rather go down swinging than with his tail between his legs.
“I think they’re letting up,” Meryl called as she peaked over the barrier.
Through thick and thin, rain or shine, her impulses always took center stage. Seeing the guards slow down their assault gave them both a chance to catch their breaths.
“What’s going on? Why are they –”
The deafening eruption silenced Meryl’s words and thoughts. She dropped to the ground clasping both ears with her hands in the hopes of avoiding another similar blow.
“What the hell was that?”
Michael took this opportunity to look up. Both exit locations were covered in black smoke. The crowd who feared the firefight inside the arena had been sent back from whence they came. Even the guards, the ones that were still standing anyways, forced themselves to look. Impending doom began to pour through both sides of the arena. Michael stood up to acknowledge his location and their presence. It was about time they showed up.
“SWAT.”
After shaking off that bastardly ringing, Meryl joined Michael’s position. She watched alongside him as multitudes of armed soldiers came through the smoke armed to the teeth. The FBI’s SWAT team came out in droves, dropping the terrified audience members to the ground, and turning the odds back into Meryl and Michael’s favor.
