Aura Overload

42 – Submission

When Hector found the brackets for the mid-tier fights, he saw that he had been seeded directly into the second round, and the line for his opponent hadn’t yet been filled in. In a way, he was glad; it meant the evaluator had taken him seriously and that he hopefully wouldn’t have to fight any truly inexperienced contenders who happened to earn their way up from the low-tier fights. Still, it also meant he was missing out on an extra thousand bits. With a shrug, he turned away, shouldering through the crowd.

He’d only gone a few steps when his AUI beeped, and he saw an incoming call.

//Someone is connecting to the anonymous address I gave Mr. Janus.//

“Britt, I hope.” Hector picked up the pace, angling toward a gap between bleachers. When he reached a relatively quiet spot along the back wall, he accepted the connection. Britt’s face resolved in a window on his AUI. She looked fine—better than the last time he’d seen her. Of course, that only made Hector suspicious.

“Hector! I’m so sorry I didn’t talk to you before going with…my friend. He promised he’d contact you right away, but I guess—”

“It’s fine.” He narrowed his eyes. “You okay?”

“Um, yeah, honestly. I’m good. I’m someplace safe, but, um, my friend told me not to say exactly where. I guess you can see he asked me not to use his name either. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, it’s—”

“Paranoia.” Hector shrugged. “I don’t blame him. Doesn’t matter, I know who he is.” Britt nodded and opened her mouth to say something more, but Hector continued, “Speaking of that, I need you to tell me what we talked about when we were together. You said something about how I reminded you of your brother. What was that?”

Britt’s brows drew together in an immediate scowl. “Nice try. I told you how different you were.”

Hector nodded. “Good.”

Her scowl relaxed as she realized what Hector was doing. “So, things are going okay? You met with… I mean, you’re working with someone there? Someone friendly to, um, our cause?” She growled, throwing up her hands. “I hate all this secretive bullshit! The call’s encrypted, I don’t understand—”

“There are ways around encryptions and there are ways you or I could be compromised. Better to respect your friend’s wishes that we speak carefully. Things are fine. Just stay safe, and I’ll…take care of the rest.”

“I feel like I’m doing something wrong. I’m safe and you’re—”

“This is how I prefer it.”

Britt’s eyebrows lifted, genuine concern in her eyes. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. We’ll talk when it’s done—”

“It.” Britt scoffed. “This is something I felt I had to do. Now you’re doing it. It’s not right.”

“Right’s got nothing to do with it. Besides, I’m here on account of you. In a way, you are doing it.” He didn’t need to explain to her that he wanted to deal with Tacitianus as much as she did. Let her take the credit.

“Just…” She licked her lips, shaking her head slightly. “Just be careful.”

Hector forced a smile, knowing his AI was generating the image of his face for the call. Evie would know he was smiling, and she’d mimic the gesture in the image. In his old life, she’d carefully filter his background and the surrounding noise, ensuring nobody knew exactly where he was when he made calls like that. He wondered if—

//I am.//

Hector snorted, and Britt’s scowl returned, though far less severe. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing. Tell your friend I need to see you when it’s done. In the flesh. We still have things to talk about.”

Britt nodded, and Hector could tell she knew what he meant: they had to figure out what it was that Paul had stolen from Tacitianus. “Be safe.”

Hector nodded and then cut the connection. He wondered how much Logan or Janus knew about that—about why the magistrate wanted Paul and Britt dead. As he turned back to the crowded convention floor, he paused to watch a pair of heavy-weight men slugging away at each other in the nearest ring. What do you think, Evie? Didn’t seem like a fake call to me.

//It’s impossible to tell, but I think the question you asked for authentication was effective.//

In the background, behind the noise of the nearby crowd, Hector could hear almost constant announcements—fighters being called to check in and placements for the most part. He couldn’t make any of it out clearly, but he knew Evie could. Let me know if I’m supposed to be going somewhere.

//I will. The fight announcements are also broadcast on their net page.//

Hector wandered off the convention hall floor and out into the central lobby. He intended to make his way back to the cafeteria, but found several food carts were set up for concessions. As he moved to stand in a queue for pizza, he couldn’t help noticing that his RMC track suit felt more snug across the shoulders. It was really no wonder that he’d fallen into unconsciousness as his body processed the archetype change; the change to Berserker had seriously impacted his muscle mass.

Clenching his fist, he looked at his hand, turning it this way and that. He was changing; that much was certain. Even more than strength, the archetype switch had enhanced his speed; his twitch reflexes would probably be noticeably improved. Then there was the regeneration…

“What’ll it be?”

Hector looked up at the vendor’s inquiry and gestured to his very simple menu. “Burger and fries.” As the man loaded a sack, he asked, “That real meat?”

“Sure. Poly-protein patties, and I only buy the full-spectrum ones. Anyway, it’s the sauce I use that makes my burgers the best.”

Hector nodded, taking the sack. “A soda, too.”

“No problem.” The man pushed a pouch of “Raptor Cola” toward him, then tapped his crystal-glass tablet. “Twelve bits.”

//Payment sent.//

The vendor’s point of sale tablet chimed, and he looked past Hector calling, “Next!”

Hector walked over and stood before the big diamond-glass window, looking down into the mine while he ate. He let the tiny, ant-like excavation machines near the bottom distract his mind, keeping him from worrying about fighting or Britt or what he’d have to do that night while RMC hosted its post-tournament celebration. His biggest concern, behind everything else, was that he’d be betrayed by Janus somehow—that he might have thrown away his chance at vengeance for himself and the Contis by getting involved with the problems of his skin’s past.

He didn’t let his mind go far down that road, though. Every time he’d feel his jaw clenching, and the angry voice in the back of his mind began to whisper ideas about walking out of there and slipping away on the next train, he pushed it aside and watched the tiny-seeming vehicles. He turned his thoughts off while he consumed his fatty, salty meal.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

//Hector, you’re being called to ring four for a ready-check.//

Evie’s voice startled him; he’d truly managed to zone out for a while. Picking up his trash, he walked toward the convention hall, tossing it into a bin near one of the food vendor carts. The central aisle of the hall was crowded, and the noise made it impossible to be polite, so he had to shoulder his way through again. When he reached the floor and the roped-off area around the rings, he looked into the security synth’s mechanical eyes for a retina scan, and it let him through.

Hector watched the fight in ring number two as he walked around it toward the ringside judge and administration tables. It was a woman fighting a man, and to Hector’s surprise, she was alight with a green-tinted aura, creating illusory doubles of herself, drawing her opponent’s attacks while she snuck in lightning-fast jabs and kicks. She maintained the aura for nearly ten seconds, and in that time, she landed enough decisive strikes to tilt the fight in her favor.

“You Hector?” one of the men at the admin table asked.

Hector looked away from the fight, focused on the man’s small, dark eyes, and nodded. “Yeah.”

The fellow, wearing a tracksuit not unlike Hector’s, though light gray instead of maroon, looked him up and down. “Do you plan to fight in that?”

Hector looked down at himself, shifting his duffel bag to the back side of his hip. He shrugged. “Is that all right?”

“Sure. We’re just confirming you don’t have any illegal equipment. Those shoes are all right, too. You work for the company?”

Hector shook his head. “Trying to.”

“Fair enough. Your first fight is up in a few minutes, and I’m supposed to go through the indemnification with you.”

“Okay.”

“Right, um, let’s see here…” The man ran his stubby finger down a list on a piece of cardstock taped to the table before him. “Are you aware that in the RMC Fight Night events, combatants are allowed to use strength augments, speed augments, and cybernetic limbs and armor that are harder and more durable than human flesh?”

“Yes.”

“Are you aware that there will likely be fully synthetic individuals competing and that they will probably be far more durable than a natural human?”

“Yes.”

“Are you aware that many competitors will utilize aura systems and therefore have abilities that might prove highly dangerous or lethal?”

Hector nodded. “Yeah.”

“All competitors are registered for RMC Family Trust Life Insurance. Who would you like to designate as your beneficiary?”

Hector tilted his head. He almost said no one, thinking he didn’t have anyone in this new life that he cared about or who cared about him, but then he thought about Lemon. He opened his mouth to say her name and realized he had no idea what her full name even was. Sighing, he said, “Brittany Chevalier.”

“Is she an employee?”

“She was…”

The man nodded. “Ah, found her. I have her address in Redwick. Is that right?”

Hector nodded.

“Very good. I believe that does it. You can walk over there to the red corner and wait for the ref to call you up into the ring.”

Shifting his bag, Hector walked over to where the man pointed, standing near the red-colored padding on the raised mat. Turning slowly, he took a minute to take in the cheering crowd. He figured there were five thousand people in the center—not the biggest audience in the world, but more than had been gathered around the silo under Pete’s gym. Half the seats were empty, too, so he figured the crowd would grow when the high-tier fights started in a couple of hours.

An empty chair was there, at the corner of the mat, and he figured it was for fighters like him to use when they were on deck. He set his duffel bag on it, then, after a moment’s contemplation, he took off his track suit jacket and hung it on the back of the chair. A couple of minutes later, the ref, a synth wearing an RMC security jumper, came to his corner and beckoned him up into the “ring.” Hector clambered up, looking to the opposite corner to see his opponent—a wiry man with a smooth, black plasteel right arm.

“Hector?” the synth asked.

He nodded.

“Let me see your hands. Let me see you move. Roll your neck left to right and open your mouth.”

Hector did as he was told, though he couldn’t keep the irritation out of his eyes. The synth didn’t care. “Fight clean and remember to treat your opponent how you’d like to be treated. Accidents happen, but if your opponent submits, you will be disqualified if you maim or kill them.”

“Understood.”

“Walk to the center of the ring and get ready to fight.”

Hector walked forward to face his opponent; according to the score display on the judges’ table, his name was Amos. He had closely cropped brown hair, angry eyes, and plenty of scars. He didn’t smile as he sized Hector up, but he lifted his hands into a ready position, lowering his center of gravity. Hector matched his posture.

“Listen for the tone,” the ref said. “When it sounds, you fight.”

Hector and Amos stared at each other, each lightly bouncing on the balls of their feet. When the long, almost musical beep sounded from the judges’ table, Hector stretched his left leg out and slid forward into a double-leg takedown, dropping Amos before the sound even ended. He could tell he’d surprised the wiry man, likely used to being faster than his opponents.

Hector wasn’t sure he was faster than the other man, but he’d certainly been faster to react to the tone. He held him down, maintaining his grip on the guy’s legs. Chin tucked, he worked his way up, ignoring the hammer blows from Amos’s cybernetic arm as he pounded on his head and shoulder. It didn’t hurt much; the guy didn’t have much leverage, and as Hector worked his way up, he reduced what leverage he had by using his legs and weight to force his way around to the other man’s back. He held him tight like a squid taking its prey, working his arms around him until he had one arm and his neck in a firm grip, fist locked on wrist, holding tight.

Amos didn’t know it, but it was over. He struggled, bucking and thrashing, and he might have fought for quite a while, considering Hector didn’t have a clean choke, but Hector wasn’t done. Squeezing him there, legs around his waist, arms straining, Hector triggered his aura system, drawing the potentia from his victim. Amos’s thrashing slowed, his breathing grew ragged and panicked, and then he went limp in Hector’s grasp.

The ref grabbed Hector’s arm and pulled. “Let off! He’s out!”

//4 potentia gathered. Potentia available: 5.//

Hector let go, sliding back over the mat, leaving his limp victim to flop onto his side, gasping for air.

“Damn!” the ref remarked, demonstrating a personality far beyond many of the synths Hector had encountered. “I didn’t think you had that good a choke on him.”

Still holding Hector’s arm, the ref tugged him to his feet and then raised his wrist in the air. “Winner!”

The crowd was noisy, and maybe some of them were cheering for Hector, but he didn’t think many had cared much about his match. He glanced at Amos, saw him slowly coming to, looking dazed and sick and like he’d just had a near-death experience. In some ways, he had.

Judging by what he’d learned from Orin, Hector wasn’t surprised that no one seemed to know he’d drained the guy’s potentia. Apparently, systems capable of autonomous scraping were pretty much unheard of down there among the common masses. Still, it was a legitimate tactic; if you let someone with a gold-class aura system get ahold of you, you’d better be ready to lose some potentia.

He walked off the raised platform, hopping down from the mat to pick up his jacket. As he slipped it on, he saw a new window blinking on his AUI; Evie had built him a copy of the brackets.

Mid-tier Fights:

Round Two:Round Three:

Hector V. vs. Amos L. Winner: Hector V.

Sass J. vs. Lou H. Winner: Sass J.

Torin U. vs. Oleg B. Winner: <Pending>

Vikka B. vs. Jack S. Winner: Jack S.

Gregory W. vs. Red L. Winner: Red L.

Chul Z. vs. Colin C. Winner: Chul Z.

Carp T. vs. Monstro Winner: Monstro

Quill D. vs. Leo B. Winner: <Pending>

//I left off the earlier fights; I figured you’d want to focus on what’s coming up.//

Hector nodded, picked up his duffel bag, and walked away from the ring, aiming for an empty spot in the bleachers so he could sit down and drink some water. “So, we’re still waiting on two fights to wrap up, then I’m fighting someone named Sass.”

He was hopeful that he’d be able to continue using regular fighting techniques to finish up the mid-tier rounds. If he could make it to the high-tier brackets without relying on his aura system, he’d have plenty of cards to play. Of course, intentions were one thing, but reality sometimes had ideas of its own. He was about to climb toward an empty section of bleachers when a powerful grip took hold of his elbow and stopped him in his tracks.

Hector spun, something hot and angry crawling up his spine, painting the edges of his vision a shade of red. He raised his right fist, but when his gaze fell upon the person who’d grabbed him, his sudden anger slowed its hasty boil. It was a woman, face tattooed like a skull, black hair shaved to a buzz, and pretty silver-and-purple eyes widening at Hector’s volatile reaction. She stepped back, chrome-plated hands opening wide in a gesture that clearly said she wasn’t looking for a fight.

“Sorry to, uh, startle you,” she said, glancing left and right at the people in the bleachers nearby, maybe wondering if anyone else had seen the sudden murder in Hector’s eyes.

Hector lowered his fist, took several slow breaths and, as the crimson bled from the edges of his vision, he nodded. “Yeah, you startled me.”

“I wanted to say I saw that submission—hell of a smooth takedown.” She held out a fist, like she wanted Hector to bump knuckles with her. “I’m Sass. I guess we’re fighting pretty soon.”