Chapter 2: March 23rd, 2351

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"And here coming in is Mikael, the Blue Pounder....Olsson!" an overhead announcer yelled from the speakers.

Over three months had passed. The human crowd lifted in an uproar. The arena had been set, and every seat had been filled. Numerous cameras and camera drones littered the sports dome. Mars had always seen its share of sports. This was no different. Even by the 24th century, it had evolved some, but the basics remained the same. The red and blue carpets lined both sides of the entrances. The words "UWAF Arena 50th Anniversary" logo had already been neatly woven into the fabric as a man stepped past the doors. A set of fireworks erupted, combined with a set of neon blue and red lights. Music even engaged combined with heavy grunge guitars and future dubstep mixed together.

Mikael was a bruiser in his own right. He had a pale complexion, short-cut brown hair, red and blue shorts, and muscles that protruded from his arms and bare chest. Most likely, he was a man born in former Sweden. A small scarf with a gold crest was worn around his shoulders that glimmered from the faint spotlight hovering over him. The moment that Mikael came out, the audience cheered the name: "Olsson! Olsson! Olsson!"

"RAH!" Mikael roared as his gloved fists were in the air. Then, he triumphantly marched down the carpet to the center floor.

"Looks like the grand champion is ready to reclaim his standing," one of the male announcers said. There was a hint of a dainty voice, having a hint of a Chinese accent mixed into it.

"Don't count your bets on him, Chen," another announcer said. "Olsson has his hands full this year, and we know it."

"Well, this year has been something. I have a feeling that Olsson is going to win this one. Everyone always thinks that his arms do the talking, but those feet, woof! It gets everyone, every time."

The center arena consisted of a basic thin metal fence. It was elevated, but the seats were set in a concave pattern to allow as many viewers to see it as possible. The same emblem of the UWAF was written on the white center floor. Various tables and chairs lined the fence's edge. This allowed the coaches, referees, and medical staff to be on standby if need be. In one area of the theater was a small room. It was heavily lit and consisted of two seats. This was the announcers' room where the two men that were placating the events resided. One of them was of Chinese descent with red and black hair and wore a red uniform. The other individual had long black hair that ran down one side of his face. He had a pale complexion, almost as if he were descended from the former United States. He had a big goatee on his chin, and his attire was glamorous, consisting of white and gold that flowed down one side of his body. Even his voice almost sounded familiar.

"Oh, and here comes our new possible grand champion," the goateed announcer said. "Ladies and gentlemen, we bring you 'Bransen, the chef, Hart!'"

On the other side of where Mikael stepped out, entered a lone individual. This man had the facial features of a person also born in the former United States. He had a pale complexion, short black hair, and wore similar red and blue shorts. He seemed less belligerent than Mikael but remained stoic. As he stepped forward, he held his right hand out in triumph. However, there appeared to be less energy in what he was doing when compared to Mikael. The crowd, while cheering for him, was far less. There was also the combination of some booing from the audience.

"Bransen certainly holds some controversy in making it this far," the goateed announcer said.

"Yeah, that's what happens when you let a man that hurt his spouse onto the arena," Chen said.

"Oof, below the belt, Chen. Let me remind you that he was found not guilty on all those charges. Bransen has had a long history of working his way to the top. Turning his chopping arm into a power fist. I guess all that cooking had to go somewhere. Maybe it was what he was eating. I don't know, but this man lies in the final round."

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