by Matt Doyle
He laughs again. He did that on purpose, the bastard, he knows full well how irritating I find it.
“We all have our roles to play Mr Ford, I just happen to have found one that serves a purpose other than to claim a hypothetical crown.”
“Yes, well,” I reply, “I’ll take the crown over whatever thanks it is you get any day of the week.”
“Of course you will,” he replies far too merrily for my liking, “because you, Connor Ford, are the sort of man that can’t rest unless he’s moving forward and reaching for the prize. Am I right?”
I turn away and give him a courtesy harrumph. He’ll be a much tougher one to break it seems. It almost makes me glad I didn’t draw him in the first round. He may well have annoyed me into defeat with his unashamed over-the-top nonsense.
“Well, I must be off,” he bellows, giving me a hearty slap on the back and bounding away. “Good luck in the first round Mr Ford.”
The bare faced bloody cheek of him to lay a hand on me like that. Oh, the rage. He’s damned lucky that I've got a match to focus on or he'd be learning to smile with broken teeth. No, to the victor goes the spoils, and to the best prepared goes the victory.
Bloody bastards.
LANA DE LA CRUZ - 13:50
Yeah, keep staring, see if I care. Stupid locals.
Damn it.
Of all the things to forget, it had to be my deck, didn't it? Stupid, stupid, stupid. I’m not normally this sloppy.
I suppose I should be happy that the cards were still there when I got back to the hotel room. There are a helluva lot of rares in this collection, and I seriously doubt the office would be happy if I lost any of them. I guess I should count myself lucky that the hotel staff aren't into petty theft. Either that or they didn't know what they were looking at.
It’s just a shame that my luck didn’t extend to the taxi making it back to the arena.
Wait, did that kid just take a photo? What is it with this place? And what the hell is that annoying buzzing?
Ah, that would be my phone. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Wake up and pay attention Lana, you don't want to be outshone by your own creation, do you? Oh look, Mr. Caller ID says that 'S. Carlston' wants to speak to me. Well isn't that wonderful?
Click.
“What?”
“Lana, it’s Sean. I don’t suppose you’re close, are you?”
“Not re … hold on … put the fucking camera away! Damn perverts. No Sean, I'm not close. Why?”
"Because I’ve already had to move advertised matches around to accommodate for the fact that no one has been able to get hold of you or find out where you are. It's less than half an hour until your match was supposed to take place Lana and you still need to register our deck, have any wardrobe touch-ups done, speak to the sound guys and update your e-poster shots. We need you back here. Now, ideally."
I’m not sure I like his tone.
“Yeah, well, now isn’t an option, Sean," I reply with a dash of added venom. "Next time you hire a driver for someone, you may want to check their car works first.”
You can almost feel the awkwardness from the other end of the phone while he tries to figure out how to respond. I’d feel sorry for him if I wasn’t so sure that that’s the third time that car’s driven past and slowed so that the spotty pricks in the back can wolf whistle me.
“They’re supposed to be a reputable firm,” he finally manages.
“Yeah? Well I’d dispute that wholeheartedly. And you know what else, Sean? Running back to the arena from the other side of the city isn’t exactly a walk in the park when you’re pretty much wearing swimwear. How many times do you think I’ve had to look over my shoulder to make sure the sleazy guy that can’t keep his eyes off me isn’t trying to get more than an eyeful, huh?”
“You didn’t have to go out in your show gear,” he says through gritted teeth. I’m guessing it’s not been the easiest day for him today. I’m not about to make it any easier either.
“Didn’t I? Now who was it that insisted I get ready the moment I arrived this morning? That was you Sean. And who said I needed to make sure that I’m ready to go as soon as I got back? Oh yes, that’s right, that was you too, Sean. And while I’m at it, given that you now seem to want me to run every errand under the sun then get out in front of the crowd the second I arrive, I think someone should be grateful that I’m already in my show gear. I wonder who that could be. Who could possibly owe me some gratitude for being ready to go upon my return, even though it's meant running through Perveville while dressed like a cheap glamour model? Could it be? Yes. Yes, I think that would be you too Sean, don’t ya think?”
His reply comes back far calmer than I expected.
“I apologise that the travel arrangements we made for you were not to your satisfaction, we shall certainly make enquiries as to alternate options should the necessity to provide last minute travel for a competitor arise again. As to the harassment you feel you have suffered as a result of our failure to secure suitable travel, we shall be happy to hold discussions with you to negotiate what level of recompense you believe would be most appropriate. However, with all due respect Miss De La Cruz, I feel that I should make two very important points here. Firstly, it is not the responsibility of Emblem or the Spark Form Championship organisers to ensure that the competitors do not neglect to bring their decks to the competition. Secondly, that you should return to your hotel room to retrieve your deck was a course of action that was insisted upon by yourself. This is an unprecedented situation for us to find ourselves in when dealing with a professional competitor and as such it has not only necessitated the need for us to seek to accommodate your needs at short notice, but also to make last minute changes to the heavily advertised programme.”
In other words, ‘this is your own damn fault Lana, deal with it’. Well played Sean. Maybe when this all done with I’ll recommend you to the higher ups. I do wonder if you’d have been so brazen just now if you knew who I am though.
Whatever.
I treat him to a few seconds silence to let him know he’s done well then let out an intentionally loud groan. "Fine. Whatever, Sean. I'll get back as quick as I can."
Click.
ROUND ONE: FAHRN STARCHASER VS SLADE FURY - 14:00
The arena lights have lowered and the crowd are buzzing, the light from their mobile phones creating an eerie glowing ring around the Battle Zone long before the smoke starts to spill slowly over the entrance ramp, backed by red and blue flashing lights.
The big screen flickers into life and the words ‘2916 SPARK FORM WORLD CHAMPIONSHIPS RUNNER-UP’ flash up, sending the crowd into a chorus of boos and jeers. As loud as they are, the fans are soon cut off as the words fade into static and an uncomfortable screech of guitar feedback blares out from the speakers.
Song: Came Out Bruised (But Still Breathing)
Band: Addicted to my Rut
Genre: Grunge
With the introduction of the drums and bass, the name ‘FAHRN STARCHASER’ fades onto the big screen, the text flashing in and out over intermittent shots of Fahrn at last year’s tournament. The first strains of aggressively apathetic vocals signals the entrance of the woman herself and this in turn signals an eruption of boos from the near rabid fans.
The ground level lights rotate towards the competitor, highlighting the muscle tone beneath her vest top as she soaks in the crowd’s disdain with a malicious smile. Fahrn walks from one side of the stage to the other shouting back at the fans as she goes, then comes to a stop back in front of the entrance curtain, dropping into a fighting stance. She holds the pose for all of a second before dropping low then whipping herself up into a standing position, legs together, left hand behind her back and right hand pointed skyward, fingers held like a pistol. The speed of the movement splays her hair outwards, the UV spray in each braid twinkling in the dark as she yells “To the Stars,” cueing the launch of several fireworks from behind the big screen.
The pyrotechnics burn out qui
ckly and a single spotlight falls on Fahrn, her right hand now rotated and index finger dropped to leave just her middle finger extended towards the still jeering crowd. Undeterred by the ever present hostility, she drops her arm with a smile and strides confidently forward, the spotlight following diligently as she growls along with her entrance theme. The lights and music finally fade when she makes it to her designated Competitor Area at the left of the Battle Zone.
With the arena plunged into darkness once again, the big screen cuts out with a light pop. Knowing what’s coming, the crowd start to cheer loudly, seemingly prompting the words ‘MINNIS TIRTHA QUALIFIER’ to load up, bringing a low keyboard note with it. Further synth notes soon join it, the melody leading the crowd in a brief sing-a-long until the countdown starts over the speakers.
5 – With each number, the fans chant along.
4 – With each chant, another light powers on either side of the entrance curtain.
3 – With each light, the crowd gets louder.
2 – As the crowd get louder, the synth starts to die down.
1 – The music fades out, leaving only the crowd to cut through the silence.
A familiar man appears on the big screen, smiles, and lets out a belly laugh that sends the name ‘SLADE FURY’ hurtling across the display.
Song: Never Surrender
Band: Shotgun Drive-By
Genre: Arena Rock
The guitars and pyros can’t wait any longer and kick in together, the entrance way disappearing behind the blinding flash of light. The crowd starts a rhythmic ‘Slade’ chant before the noise even dies down, giving the popular competitor a hero’s welcome as he stomps through the curtain, bellowing and laughing without any visible need to draw breath.
With the whole stage now lit, Slade bounds merrily back and forth, rallying the fans behind him as he goes. To look at him, you would think that he’d be treated like a joke. The light body armour and cape, the over the top mannerisms, his large frame and his poor results record should all add up to humiliation and non-stop jibes from the usually judgmental Spark Form fans. Somehow though, he has always managed to gain their unequivocal support.
Even now as he marches down the ramp like a soldier on parade in a made for TV movie, the crowd can’t seem to help themselves. Slade Fury may appear to be a bumbling oaf, but the fans truly love him and every single one of them want to believe that he can beat his foe tonight, even if she is one of the favourites to go all the way.
Slade reaches the Competitor Area at the right of Battle Zone just as the lights and music fade out.
The arena lights return and the camera shot switches from a long shot of the entire Battle Zone to a split screen of the two combatants. The cameras rotate around them while the Connection Team hook their spinal implants up to the main system, testing the cable movement and readings as they go.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the first of our first round shows. I’m Dirk Wylder.”
“I’m Sam North, an’ boy do we have a Helluva opening contest for y’all today.”
“We sure do Sam. First, on the left side of the field, we have last year’s runner-up, Fahrn Starchaser, and straight away you’ve got to believe she’s fighting for more than just herself tonight. With the Kieriaki native Dorian Djorkiev II taking the Offland qualification spot, Fahrn is actually the only Offlander in the competition this year.”
“An’ when ya listen to the reaction she got when she made her way out here, ya can bet a lot of people ain’t exactly happy about her being here either. Hell, the comments people been leaving on her promo pretty much sum it up.”
“You say that, but when you hit the forums, there are a lot of people that think she may make good on her promises to take the title this year.”
“Oh, she’s talented, ya can’t deny that. It’s not what she does in the Battle Zone that rubs people up the wrong way, it’s what she says. Putting’ that aside though, she’s got a tough ol’ path to the prize.”
“Absolutely. Despite his record, Slade always qualifies strongly, and if everything clicks into place for him, he’s more than capable of giving most competitors a run for their money. Meanwhile, even if Fahrn wins today, she still has a potential semi-final showdown with the man that prevented any of her countrymen from qualifying.”
“Not to mention that if she gets all the way to the final again, the favourites to join her are the defending champion John Forrester an’ the legendary Connor Ford.”
“Both of which open up some interesting scenarios. Forrester has held the title for two years now and that first year he won it, he pretty much walked it in both the first round and the final. In fact, the only one that gave him any trouble was Fahrn in the semis, but even then he still took the win and Fahrn was left to finish third.”
“Then last year he beat her again in that classic final.”
“Oh, it was an absolutely fantastic match Sam, stunning to watch, it really was. When it comes to Forrester though, watching him over the last two years like we have, part of me wonders if anyone can beat the champ.”
“Ya never know Dirk, anything can happen, right? I mean, ya can never count out the rookies. They be hungry this year man, real hungry. An’ then there’s Ford. Ya see any of his qualifying matches? I tell ya, it was like he never left.”
“Well it looks like the Sky Controls are online, so we’re gonna hand it over to the introductions for now. Once the SF’s are up and running, we’ll be back to call the action.”
Down in the Battle Zone, the Connection Team have returned to the side-lines leaving the competitors to wait for their cue to begin. The three heavy duty cables now plugged into their implants run down their backs and into the ground, but move freely should either player wish to move about during the match.
Floating between each of the combatants and the Battle Zone are the Sky Control Systems. The large size touch screens are partially holographic and are based on the main controls used in most 2600 to 2800 era star ships. What sets them apart is that they have been modified to project over a solid, durable sheet designed to act as a safety guard should the match spill out of the Battle Zone.
Meanwhile, floating in the middle of the Battle Zone are the two Data Wicks, their sleek black casing shining beneath the arena lights while they await commands from their respective owners. To those unfamiliar with the technology, they would look like nothing more than a series of steel boxes stuck haphazardly together with a few holes drilled into each section. In truth though, they each house high end computers designed specifically to create Spark Forms by projecting pre-chosen images around themselves and using a series of deceptively long, flexible tentacles to read the surrounding area without ever leaving the confines of the hologram. For now though, the protrusions remain sheathed, hidden somewhere inside the near indestructible blocks.
“Minnis Tirtha Qualifier Slade Fury, please initialise your deck,” speaks the computerised announcement system. On command, Slade hits the initialisation key. His deck loads up in front of him on screen and the automatic shuffle begins. Meanwhile, his Data Wick seemingly explodes into a ball of flame, the sudden light blinding the audience as it quickly burns itself out, leaving behind a large, lion-like creature.
His scales, rippling gently as he breathes, glow a deep, fiery red,
Punctuated only by the curious black markings adorning his back and tail.
Dark as a starless night, they run the length of his body, forming a line of symmetry for the scimitar-like patterns that trace paths out from the spine,
First straight
Then curved
Then pointed until they reach the tail, itself as long as he, where the markings become straight and thick with pointed tips.
As the markings end, we find the first traces of hair, coarse and green like a Barium flame,
Traversing back along the vertebrae, consistently bristly with path unwavering until it reaches the shoulders, where it begins to diffuse wildly into the full, thick man
e that frames his long snout,
Twitching and tensing, as it allows a flash of razor sharp teeth to glimmer in the light then disappear again behind powerful jaws.
Slowly, his eyes open, alert and shining, yellow and untamed.
A stare.
A blink.
The stumps above his shoulders flick instinctively
As though flexing the wings that he once carried and once carried him.
Finally,
He stands and stretches, his scaled paws clicking on the floor and tail sweeping dust into the air.
The Torn has risen,
And the world shall burn.
“2916 Spark Form World Championships Runner-Up Fahrn Starchaser,” the electronic voice comes again, “please initialise your deck.” Just as her opponent had done before her, Fahrn hits the key and her deck starts the shuffling process. Unlike Slade’s, her Data Wick dissolves into a thick smoke that quickly rises and blots out the arena lights.
Behind the dark.
A flash of white.
Moving.
Then, it comes.
Rising as though one with the air itself, the great white serpent lifts her body and surveys her prey with eyes black as the shadows she calls home.
But this world was not meant to be hers,
And as the Gods promised in years gone by,
For daring to look on one of another land as though she belonged there with them,
Her eyes are naught but blood.
And now, those thick dark pools spill and overflow with each hissed defiant breathe,
Leaving her smooth, incandescent form blemished and stained
Until naught remains but two cold, empty holes.
She whips and twists then opens her mouth, not to smile, but to warn of the sharp, needle-like dangers that lie therein.
The Gods misjudged her.
