literature

FBOCT Round 3 - Vs. Malcolm

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"Wow! The second match of the quarterfinals has begun! Albeit a little late," the announcer's voice boomed through the hovering camera, "But things are just heating up! You can't take your eyes off this one, folks!"

Lune and Vim simply stared at the camera in response, their fight rudely interrupted. Most competitors in typical tournaments would probably try to put on the best show they could once they realized they were on television. But this wasn't a typical tournament, it was anything but. Every competitor fought for the chance to resume their life, and who knows what would happen to them if they lost.

That was the thing, nobody knew what became of the losing competitors. They were all just taken away somewhere. Some believed they were executed. Others believed they simply left the city, forging new lives from the old. But nobody knew for sure, and that made losing all the more frightening. All the more reason to win.

This camera, or rather the announcer behind it, was making it out to be some grand show. As if the tournament was nothing but gold and glory to the competitors, rather than the sick, twisted game they all knew it to be. These cameras, the fans of the tournament that they met, the "prizes" they won for winning a match, all of these were reminders. Reminders that told them help was never gonna come. Reminders that frightened them with unknown consequences for losing.

Reminders that they were all alone, no one was coming to save them.

An awkward silence loomed on the scene as the competitors continue to stare at the camera with none too pleasant expressions. Losing the audience, better get them to resume fighting. Just as the announcer was about to coax the competitors back into the fight, the feed suddenly blanked out.

"Oh great, another one!?" a technician blurted out, "That's the 13th one, I thought they would be on top of this fucker by now!" The competitors greeted Taric with stunned looks as he held the crushed camera in his hands.

"Oh, don't mind me, I'm just here to destroy the cameras," Taric explained as the bits of camera fell like sand from his cage of fingers, "Just keep on fighting, it's your fight afterall." The competitors continued their struggle while he dumped what was left of the camera into a nearby trash can.

As he continued his mission, he found that Mr. T's goons were multiplying.They were getting more and more desperate to find him, especially since he heard various threats that Mr. T made to them if they couldn't find him before he destroyed the cameras. What really made him worried was that these threats were true. He knew what Mr. T did to failing henchmen, he knew the horrors Mr. T could and would unleash, he knew what happened to the losing competitors.

He saw glimpses of it with his own eyes.

He had to finish this quickly, it was only a matter of time before they found him. Seeing a lone target, he jumped at the chance. Nobody was around, it wasn't facing him, it was perfect. "Too perfect," he thought as dumped the crushed remains of the camera.

"Thank you, Taric," shivers ran down his spine as that voice rung in his ears. He knew who it was. A smack from a whizzing green block of a hand confirmed it. Fear poured all over him as his face met concrete. He turned as quickly to face the towering hulk with an expression of pure horror. "Destroying that camera made things awfully convenient," Mr. T stated. He always loved it when he could turn someone's tactics against them. It was the ultimate demoralization.

"Your sick little game is up," Taric mustered as much courage as he could to replace his horror with spite and fury, "It's over!"

"Oh no, the game isn't over," Mr. T tsked as he crushed Taric's leg underneath his heel. The resultant scream drowned in the city of vivid lights and booming sounds.

It's only just begun...



Malcolm continued to lay in the awkward silence, the girl he just met still looking down on him. The giant camera named Lenny playing that century-old song.

"So, you're Malcolm, right?" the girl broke the silence.

"Yes," Malcolm replied, "And your name is?"

"Frankie,"

"Well, pleasure to meet you, Frankie,"

Another awkard silence fell upon the two again. They simply didn't have much to say, and they both liked listening to the music anyway.

"So, are you just gonna lie here?" Frankie wondered.

"Yeah,"

"Why?"

"I think it's pretty obvious why,"

"No. I mean, why are you sleeping here when you have a hotel room?"

"I have a hotel room?"

"You didn't know that?"

"No, nobody told me," Malcolm explained, glaring at the smaller camera.

"You didn't ask," the camera replied.

"C'mon, I'll show you to the hotel," Frankie offered as Malcolm heaved his weary body to stand. The pair tottered off, singing the lyrics as the cameras followed.



Luke let out a yawn as he sat up, the window automatically letting in some sunlight to aid his awakening. He gazed at the cityscape, focusing on the big gaping hole in it. Was that a competitor's doing?

"What an explosive end to the second round!" the television burst to life with an exploding warehouse, tearing Luke's attention from the city, "And with that, 8 competitors remain, folks. The competition is heating up as we enter the quarterfinals!"

The audience's cheering suddenly cut off. "Finally figured out how to turn the bloody thing off," Luke stated in thought, sighing in relief as the silence comforted his ears. Since the quarterfinals were already starting and Mr. T was probably sending another competitor after him, he could at least enjoy a little comfort with a typical morning ritual.

Wow, it was a long time since he did that.

For most, it was nothing more than a short shower, brushing his teeth, and heading down for some breakfast. Nothing special, really. Except when you've been denied such luxuries for several years. Throughout his travels in time, he's either been somewhere before soap was invented, or where it was rendered completely irrelevant. Which was why he stuffed a bar of it in his trenchcoat.

He looked back to the window, but now focusing on the weather than the city. It was pretty warm already, and it was only going to get even warmer. And since he was still in a fighting tournament, he thought against wearing his trenchcoat. Even though it was the only thing he remembered his mentor by, he needed to leave it for now.



"That's Vegas, I guess," Luke remarked as the dealer dragged away the last of his chips. It was a sick joke, giving chips as a prize for winning the match. Oh sure, you could just trade it in for cash, but no one ever does that. No, you bet it away, captured by the excitement of winning big. Even if you did win, you'd just bet away those winnings like all the rest. There was no way to win, except if you were the house.

Not that he needed the money in the first place. In fact, money was outright useless to him. He got free room and board here anyways, so long as he was still in the tournament.

"The quarterfinals have begun!" the announcer's voice boomed forth throughout the casino, capturing everyone's attention. Just like the other times, they announced every single match. Various bouts of excitement and cheering came with every announcement like waves crashing on the rocks of a beach.

"And finally, Luke Outterridge versus Malcolm!" the announcer concluded. Attention descended upon him in response. Chatter lined the edges of his path as he swam through all the traffic. Some cheered him on, others egged him on, but every single one of them pissed him off. They treated him like he was simply there for their enjoyment, nothing but a performer for their own amusement. Each and every single one of these bastards could shove their self-entitlement right up their asses to keep their heads company.



"Wow, that was fast," Frankie remarked after seeing the match-ups, "Faster than usual, in fact. And ugh."

"What?" Malcolm asked.

"You've got that jerk as an opponent this round," Frankie explained.

"What he do?"

"Oh, he just practically killed his opponent in the first round, claiming that's what the audience wanted, he doesn't know that. I didn't want that. Aten seemed so nice and all, and he just sliced her up," Frankie divulged, now on a roll, "Plus, nobody knows what happened last round but he somehow won. He probably cheated or something."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I'll slice him up," Malcolm promised, trying his best to cheer the girl up.

"That'd be cool," she replied, noticing that Malcolm was shifting his hands like he was trying to find something on his person, "What're looking for?"

"My knife, but I've seemed to have lost it," he answered, "Oh well, this'll just make it more of a challenge."

"Oh hey, there he is!" Frankie pointed, "And, who's that with him?"

The pair saw another man wearing a similar suit to Luke's standing in front of him at the hotel's entrance.

"Hello again, Mr. Outterridge," the Man Out Of Time greeted.

"Why are you here?" Luke asked, "Don't you already have what you want?"

"I must admit, you were pretty clever to give me the slip," MOOT complimented as he took out a pocketwatch, "But unfortunately, you didn't manage to cover your tracks. Give me the real one."

"You have it,"

"What?"

"You have the real one right there. I never had a fake,"

"Oh please, the jig is up," MOOT claimed as he drew his pistol, "Now give me the real one  now."

"I can prove it to you. Gimme that," Luke said as he snatched the watch and activated the blue interface.

"What?" MOOT gasped.

"Yeah, this thing only works when I use it," Luke stated as he stuffed his time machine in his pocket, "So yeah, I have no idea what you're on about it being yours."

MOOT couldn't believe it. All this time he had been trying to steal this squirt's time machine? No, there's no way he could be mistaken to this degree. That little squirt must have changed the timeline somehow.

"What did you do!?" MOOT suddenly flared as he thrust his pistol in Luke's face.

"What are you on about now?" Luke asked as he put his hands up.

"You did something to my time machine!" MOOT answered, "What changes did you make to the timeline?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" Luke replied.

"Bulls-" MOOT snapped, but whipped his head back as he was interrupted.

"That's my opponent you have at gunpoint there," Malcolm stated as he approached.

"And that matters to me because...?"

"Well, I'll have to kill you to get to him,"

"Hah! You really think you can jus-" MOOT scoffed right before he was interrupted again, but with a punch to the face this time. Before he could react, Luke already grappled and kneed him right in the stomach. As he reeled back, Luke snatched his gun away, threw it down, and stabbed it.

"Well, that complicates things a bit," MOOT chuckled nervously, right before he was electrocuted. He unconciously slumped to the ground, revealing Winona and her trusty Taz-a-lot.

"Oh do carry on with your match, I'll take care of this guy," Winona stated in response to the dumbfounded looks on both Luke's and Malcolm's faces.

"Well, it seems two competitors want to get to their match early," the announcer's voice suddenly boomed as a crowd gathered around the pair.

"Two of the most ruthless competitors face off in the quarterfinals! We have Luke Outterridge, the coate-ugh," the announcer was clearly reading from a script, but then realised that Luke wasn't wearing his coat. Some of the audience booed and asked where his coat was in response.

"What? It's bloody hot out today, gimme a break!" Luke replied. Just then, Malcolm lunged at him with razor teeth bared. "Back off!" Luke growled as he made a defensive slash, which Malcolm promptly reeled from.

"HO! These guys don't wanna wait! The match begins with explosive intensity!" the announcer exclaimed as the crowd roared.

Luke utilized his superior range by keeping Malcolm at a distance. Slashing whenever Malcolm tried to move in. Malcolm was fast, but Luke was trained, he knew how to position himself optimally so he could respond in time. So they just circled around, the crowd bating their breath and never daring to blink.

"They're in an intense stalemate. One wrong move, one little slip-up, and it's all over for Luke. How is he gonna get outta this?" the announcer commented.

And then Luke slipped up...

Emil never really like either of the competitors. Both ruthless barbarians in his mind. However, Malcolm surprised him with his rather friendly interactions with Frankie. This inhuman construct somehow managed to make a friend, whereas Luke didn't even try. He always kept to himself, always seemed to skowl at everyone he met, and was just all-around generally unpleasant. Sure, he may need to win the tournament, but so do all the other competitors. It only seemed fair to give Malcolm the edge.

As he slid his feet over, one foot slid too much, and Luke's entire stance was compromised. Malcolm seized the opening and dove in with a bite to his right shoulder. He somehow managed to get Malcolm off by shoving the pommel of his sword straight into him, but that tore off a lot of muscle from his bones, effectively rendering his right arm useless. Not to mention the sheer amount of pain and bleeding.

Malcolm stumbled back a bit with a smirk, he knew he won. He looked at a sad little human cradling his blood-soaked shoulder. The clacks of the dropped sword rang in his victory.

"Well, looks like I'm beaten," Luke weakly chuckled, "Would rather lose without my shoulder being mauled, but it ain't as bad as dying I guess."

"No, it isn't," Malcolm stated as he approached.

"Wait, I just said I'm beaten, you won," Luke said, fear creeping in his words.

"But didn't you say yourself that it's what they want?" Malcolm asked rhetorically, "Like you, I'm just a desperate to win, so I'll do anything they want so long as I get that prize."

"Malcolm, no!" Frankie cried, Malcolm caught himself facing her, "You don't have to swoop down to his level."

Acting on instinct, Luke dove for his time machine. Upon activating it, Malcolm swung over before being struck in the back of the head all of a sudden. Luke had time-shifted himself at super speed where he grabbed his sword with his left hand, went right back at Malcolm, and hammered his head with the pommel. Malcolm fell down, knocked unconcious from the blow.

"What a turnaround! Luke managed to clentch victory from the jaws of defeat! The crowd goes wild!" the announcer cried as the crowd roared.

"What was that?!" Frankie screamed, Luke could somehow hear her over the crowd.

"That was me defending myself,"

"He wasn't going to kill you!"

"Yes he was,"

"No he wasn't! He's not a heartless monster like you! He would listen!"

Luke simply glared at her in response, which Frankie matched.

"Ok children, settle down," Winona chimed snarkily, "I need you to come with me, big boy."

"Who the hell are you?"

"You don't remember?"

"Oh, you," Luke said as it donned on him, "What do you want?"

"We can't talk here, so come on, we need to go somewhere private,"

"Alright," Luke sighed as he followed the teen.
:iconfuturebattlesoct:

Meh, I'll come up with a proper title later. Anyways, this one's a bit rushed, but I got it in before the deadline so that's all good. I'm off to read up on my opponent's entry now. God, I'm so nervous.

:iconfrosttechnology: - Malcolm, Frankie :iconexcabluir: - Lune :icon1stw: - Vim :iconbritishdweeb: - Taric, Winona :icongandalfman: - Mr. T - :iconsarcausticmaster: - MOOT
© 2014 - 2024 Crapcarp
Comments4
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FrostTechnology's avatar
Neat stuff man! Really neat, in fact! I like the short but sweet deal with the fight, it gives the impression that Luke hasn't got time to muck about. And the move he made with his time machine to knock Mal unconscious was so unexpected, I loved it! You also did a nice job with the relationship between Malcolm and Frankie, despite the fact that I gave you next to nothing to work from.

Mr.T's brutality is pretty extreme. Poor Taric... Also, I liked the way that Emil chose to take matters into his own hands.

So Luke's got his time machine back now, eh? I find his interactions with MOOT really interesting too.
Regardless of who wins this dude, I'd love to keep tabs on this story of yours :D