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Hey everyone, so I'm still alive , still free, not cursed or mutated, all things considered better than could be expected.
I mean there is a bit of an issue, but nothing being done by my….more than average friends. At this point though I'm getting ahead of myself , might as well just pick up where we left off.
I left the lunch room to see Harold standing with his arms crossed and a mildly annoyed look on his face.
"Did you seriously just post all of that to reddit?." He said exasperated.
My heart dropped , I could feel myself blanche. I'd been careful, changed a couple names and facts to protect the innocent and all that , but I really never expected him to go searching, especially that quick.
"I thought I'd made it vague enough…" I begin to ramble sure I'm about a second away from a messy death.
He waves his hand in a 'calm down' gesture and cuts me off.
"This isn't my first rodeo kid. It happens like 8 out of ten times we bring a human in. And I read it, you wernt trying to raise an army or anything. If I were to guess you probably just wanted someone to know what happened if we ended up using you to sharpen our claws or something? Am I right?
No harm no foul, we have folks who are routing your posts to another corner of reality. No one's going to believe it, and if someone does, there is no way they can hurt us here. Feel free to vent kid, we understand this is going to be a toll on your mind.
Now, mean folks like us, they would rip off an arm and replace it with an angry snake for something like this. Me and the boys, not so much . I hope this goes to show you are in good company." He finishes.
"Saves me from buying a new pair of pants at least. So what is Syz's problem? I mean he's got some technique, as much as my opinion matters. And those hands have to do some damage when they hit. " I say trying to shift the topic of conversation.
"Well Syz, he has trouble with gore. Same reason he chooses to do this to buy his food instead of going hunting.
He has a…special diet. Spinal fluid, human spinal fluid, like all of his kind. But the sight of blood , broken bones, just freaks him out. And if he doesn't start winning a few fights, this isn't going to be a job option for him much longer.
I don't expect you to be a punching bag, but he needs someone to talk to who has done this for a while. His kind…they are not well liked. I'm not actually even his manager , just a friend, but I do not have the time to do my job and help him.
I know it's odd , training your first oponent, but it'll let you guys practice a gimmick. " Harold says, pausing for my input.
"A gimmick? Like wrestling?" I say
"A little, the fights are legitimate, but we are entertainment , we have characters, plotlines, all that good stuff. Difference being the outcome of the matches determine that, not vice versa.
It's also common if one fighter has a huge advantage to engage in some kind of staged stunt to mitigate it.
This, Syz has down pat.
Syz! Give us an entrance!" Harold yells the last bit trying to distract Syz from the spider he was climbing the wall to follow.
With a flip that makes me wonder if I should be agreeing to this he lands on the ground.
What I see next is a transformation that I've been told is essentially just acting, but I'm still having trouble accepting that.
So far he has given me kind of a 'slow loris ' vibe. Creepy but not threatening nessecarily. But apperantly he has another side.
He takes off his sweatshirt and tosses it aside, revealing a well muscled lean frame. Slowly his eyes change to the same color as his skin his posture straightens and a black mist starts to materialize around him , forming a long, trailing open jacket that leaves whips of black fog looking matter behind it.
I go to make a comment and Harold stops me.
"I feel 'whedon' coming up. Just …don't. " he says.
" I wasn't. … I just wanted to say, he is a man, that appears very slim. A slim man , if you will, if only there was a catchier way of saying that." I say with a smirk.
"Say that to his face and you get to deal with his mood. How would you feel if I said ' are you that kid from little monsters' ? Probably like I'm a bit of an idiot as you are not a character from an 80s movie. Just watch." Harold chides me.
Syz tosses his head back and a deep for biding voice echos through my skull seeming to come from inside my head.
"Denizens of the shadows , in our mist is a creature most vile, a human who seeks nothing more than to hurt and maim our plagued kind. Driven by nothing more base than the desire for coin and revenge. " Syz points at me and I feel my blood go cold. "Is he just another clueless traveler? Or is he one of the hated order of heroes? " the mist spreads around him turning the ring into a shifting hellscape.
It takes everything in me to engage. The level of fear, darkness and the unknown that Syz is exuding seems to powerful to be just an act.
Harold elbows me in the ribs "Don't just stare, play a part kid." He says snapping me out of my fear induced daze.
I shake myself off and start to mime eating a massive hamburger and walking with an oversized firearm over one shoulder. I don't really have a plan so I wing trying to be a 'heel' based on what Syz said and a collage of good guys from old horror films.
I saunter to the ring, looking disgusted toward the crowd, mime throwing the hamburger at the audience and holding the firearm at the ready.
"I don't know about any order, but I'm certainly a fucking hero there stick bug. And I'm going to make all you bastards pay for killing my sister. If I have to do it one freak at a time, guess you'll all have to take a number." I jump to the ring and mime firing the gun. Syz catches on quick and hits the ground, causing his jacket to dissipate in a violent cloud as if shot.
I turn to the non existent crowd with an asshole grin "Didn't say I'd be fair about it did I? " I say, tossing the mock gun away.
Syz raises on a plume of smoke to a fighting stance, I let fear and idiot surprise wash over my face. "Oh shit" I say before breaking character. "How'd I do?"
Harold laughs "No points for originality, but you pulled it off well. " he says approvingly.
I look over to Syz who has let his fog dissipate , eyes go back to normal and posture return to slightly hunched.
"Vox populai of a fine vintage it was." Syz agrees, I think.
I spend the rest of the day going over some of Syz old fights with Harold , and he was right. The guy comes out like a pro , but starts pulling his punches a couple rounds in. It shocks me, that…thing has such an aversion to doing damage.
Harold tells me we have a week and makes very clear I'm not to throw the fight. This is about a good show not a good record.
I decide to bunk at the Gym . It's easier, and honestly the thrill of seeing some new funky things walking in is still fresh.
Next morning I brew up a pot of coffee and wait for Syz.
"Flames barely kiss the horizon, but you are an early worm. " he says sleepily. It kills me eloquent urban legend is the act.
"Good call, just wanted to think about how to help your little problem without just letting you beat me to a pulp. " I say as Syz pulls out a large plastic bottle with his full name printed on the side. I won't even try to put it here, let's just say it filled one side of the jug.
He mixes this half and half with coffee and sits down.
"Was that…." I say , curious but not really wanting to know the answer.
"Ambrosia of the sweetmeats " he says offering me the cup.
"No, I'm good. So I don't know how to put this nicely , but do you understand me?" I say feeling like I'm picking on him.
"one way streets , all the way down to the butchers." He says.
I take a moment to parse the sentence.
"Your issue is output not input then?" I say and thankfully Syz just nods.
"But I saw you do that like…evil Patrick Stewart monologue." I say, doing my best to not sound like a jerk.
"We all have masks to wear." He says wistfully.
"I'm guessing this is just a 'don't question it' situation. So what's the deal with the kid gloves?" I inquire.
"Memories, misty moonlight memories. Past has passed and those that passed still hold palaver. Don't gimme that old time religion, no, not for this rosy cheeked boy. " Syz presents this word salad to me and I take my time consuming it.
"Did some bad stuff? " I say, trying to keep things simple.
"Excelsior " Syz confirms.
"Me too, used to be a bouncer, what they don't tell you is that even hemophiliacs start the odd fight if they ignore the doctor and get wasted.
Two punches is all it took, the guys face just never stopped bleeding . I was aquitted, self defense , but I still get dreams. " I'm not lying. The reason I got into my current carrer is to make sure something like that doesn't happen again.
"If I cannot surmount the hill, then I will have to climb the mountain. " Syz says sadly.
"I get that. But I'm getting paid well to avoid that. And I've got some ideas." I reply.
I won't bore you with the minutia of the training, we sparred , we lifted weights and I realized more and more how lucky I was to be doing a boxing match instead of a full contact match with syz.
How did I get him over his gore hatred? Well I haven't completely , but as you remember I had a few years on a kids show. I downloaded a bunch of episodes, and a bunch of shit old slasher flicks and spent countless hours getting him to make the connection between acting and our fights. I'm thinking it's a bit of a band aid but at least with me he can deal with passing out some pain.
Harold got me a costume consisting of a large fake gun, sleeveless flannel shirt camo pants and a couple bandoliers. He finished it off with a drippy, sloppy hamburger the size of my head.
We went through a more practiced version of our original lead in, Syz was accompanied by some kind of screeching violin music that made me feel like something was looming over my shoulder.
Me I went old school the Lagwagon cover of "mamma said knock you out" . It sounds driving, badass, until you listen to the poop based lyrics and realise it's the dumbest fucking song ever written. My persona in a nutshell really.
The ref was a tall creature with eyes dotting every random surface.
"You know the rules, body only, no abilities, powers, hexs, soul transferance, possession, low blows, biting or swearing. Let's have a good clean fight. " it says starting the bout.
There was no boring first round this time, we both knew what the other could do.
Syz keeps me at range. His cinder block sized fists providing him a lot of visual blocks. But I see this coming and let him, backing up just out of range.
The oversized fists hit like a ton of bricks but are also a lot less likely to hit on target. I'm blocking low blows with my hip, and punishing him for them with unimpeded jabs.
This is the first full strength bout we have had and I wince a little as my fist lands squarely in Syz's oversized eye. Not something I'm used to, he stumbles backward and I press in, let's call this my first mistake.
Little bastard was faking me out. He twists his torso like an owls neck and gives me a backhanded body blow that sends me to the ground.
I'm up before the count starts and starting in on him again. Half proud, half angry as my right side feels like a gigantic bruise.
I realize I need to play it smart. While Syz's wrists are muscled as he'll his arms have normal ish proportion after that. If I can keep his guard raised he will tire.
I spend the rest of the round throwing high combinations. Making him keep those ten pound hammers he humbly calls fists up in the air. I take a couple glancing blows one opening up a small cut on my cheek.
Moment of truth.
As the bell rings Syz throws me and the ref a wink and stalks over to me, a long black tongue slips from his mouth and laps the blood from my face. He grins a predatory smile at me "Thank you so much for the amuse bouche. " he says before returning to his corner.
My provided cut man, a purple skinny thing with fingers like deep sea creatures antenae, ices me and sets me back out for round 2.
Syz may be weird but he isn't dumb. He comes out with no guard, daring me to overcommit. Now in a regular mma fight this tactic fails 100 per cent of the time. But with the way Syz is built he can launch a low punch without trying.
I start by trying to bide my time, but I realise all I'm doing is giving him a rest. I try to go in low but hitting him in the gut has as much effect as punching foam. Guys muscles are like rubber in some places.
I try to go for some rib shots, but get a punishing combo to my stomach that flares up the damage from the backhand blow.
In desparation, I put up my guard, lower my body and try to bullrush my way in. I have him on the ropes, inside his guard but I take two full force punches for the effort. Even hitting my arms in a perfect guard I feel the shock.
I go all out, no style just as many rabbit punches as I can get in. His body starts to droop, and I get ready to launch an uppercut and end this, but the bell stops my assault.
"Good job " I whisper before returning to my corner.
At this point we are both feeling it. I'm bruised , I'm cut and Syz has one eye that won't stay open.
As we start the third round I come out, hands down, mocking his previous stance. He looks confused for a moment as this isn't something that actually gives me an advantage. He takes his shot, a roundhouse right, aimed straight at my head.
I bank on being faster, and it actually works out.
I launch my own blow, but not at his body or head, but his forearm. I connect and it shatters, leaving the massive attached fist dangling and Syz looking quizzically at the limb.
I'd feel worse but in like 24 hours he will be fine.
I take advantage of the shock and go in with style , not rage. I bounce, keeping on his left and throwing anything he can't block. I frustrate him and his swings become wild.
I start to work his ribs trying to set him up for the uppercut I couldn't before. When the sneaky bugger pulls out another trick.
His body instantly folds just under his ribs, my finishing blow hits collarbone before I can generate any force and I'm essentially in a clinch with a creature that has folded it's body into a 7 shape.
I have just enough time to wonder how and why as he unfolds himself, a devestating uppercut fueled by more muscles than I knew he had puts my lights out before I hit the mat.
The crowd went nuts, we made sure we were okay in the locker room and I congratulated Syz on not being a wuss about blood.
I have a tradition after I lose a fight, I usually find the shadiest diner and order the greasiest thing on the menu. And that is exactly what I did that night.
As I waited for my deep fried meatloaf and mashed potatoes a massive guy plopped himself in my booth.
He was about 6 foot 3, dark skinned , with facial tattoos that I know I've seen before. Maori I think? But what gives me pause is his outfit.
He is wearing a nice pair of dress pants and a suit coat, but a wife beater underneath and with the telltale bulges of weapons showing. My bouncing days showed me how to spot a casual ( guys who like to cause havoc but want to blend in beforehand.) And this guy fit the bill.
" We need to have a conversation." The man says staring a hole through me. I'm getting the worst possible vibes, but I'm also not willing to let this guy intimidate me.
"Listen, I'm flattered , but the fact you're trying to pick up a beat up guy that looks homeless at 2 am in a shady diner tells me you are creepy as fuck. So take that substitute for fight experience on your face and get the hell out of my booth" I say matching his glare.
A smile that scares me more than anything I've seen in the past week spreads across his face. His hands are under the table and I hear the telltale click of a gun being cocked. I then feel a deep stabbing pain in my calf. I feel blood begin to run down my leg.
"Now that I've got your attention, mate, you make one more fucking sound and I shoot you, the rest of this sad shit little place and get back to Oz before your cops wash the donut frosting from their hands." Another bust of pain in my leg punctuates his point. I'm guessing a knife tipped shoe? "I represent a group of people that truly understand the dangers of the filth you choose to work with. Our goal, as it's been since the start of history is to wipe their Stan from the world.
And you, Terry you are in a unique position to help us. See we have been following them following you. We know about the fighting pits, and we know the depravity within. We just don't have access. And that is where you come in.
We want you to make friends, we want you to get in a position to help us. For now, just keep consorting with your demons. When you become truly useful we will let you know. If you are thinking of going to your friends, or simply ignoring us I just want you to know.
Bonita Gilmore 55 mother 398 walnut st. Rachel Dacosta ex girlfriend 24 apt 12 royal apartments. Juan Gilmore 13 398 walnut st
And those are just the top 3. Fucking with us , mate, and we will skin every person that has bumped into you on the street, in front of you, one by bloody 1. " he finishes , smirking and taking his leave.
So here I sit, 6 stitches in my leg, in my apartment stuck between two groups that I have no power over. And beyond that, who's to say Paul Hogan from the diner isn't right? What do I really know about these things?
I've taken some precautions so the boss won't see the more…sensitive parts of this, so please give me help here. Whether you believe me or not.