The Sponsorship

The Sponsorship

By evolution-500

Genre: Horror/Tragedy

Disclaimer: "Killer Instinct" is a property owned by Rareware and Microsoft. I do not own this game nor any of its characters.

WARNING: This story contains references to violence, coarse language, disturbing themes and imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

"For what profit is it to a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul?"

- Matthew 16:26

He had lost the fight.

Spitting out a thick glob of blood, Owen Agnès found himself sprawled out on the sidewalk, wincing as he massaged the cut on his lower lip, glaring at the retreating forms of his neighborhood bullies as they all walked away laughing.

"Pricks!" He shouted.

None of them had bothered to even look at him when he called, not even caring a single iota about him, adding to his humiliation.

Sniffling, Owen gathered all of his books and collected his backpack, slipping the latter over his shoulder.

Every time. Every fucking time he tried to leave, this shit would happen.

Never in his life had he ever felt so miserable.

Even though he was in college, even though he just turned nineteen and was living in his own apartment, he was still single and still getting beat up by the same jackasses that had bullied him since middle school, and he hated it.

He hated feeling so weak and pathetic.

He hated being unable to defend himself.

But even more, he hated the fact that he was so alone and so insignificant.

If only he was stronger!

Clenching his teeth, Owen's fingers tightened, his hand forming into a fist.

"I'll show them," he promised. "I'll show them all!"

* * * * *

Walking alone on the street with his hands in his pockets, Owen kept his eyes low the ground, a feeling of gloom coming over him as he tried to hide the black eye, though every so often he would let his young orbs wander, his inquisitive mind taking in the sights and smells all around him.

Street lights flashed in neon from every direction, his senses assaulted by the booming voices of various holograms advertising with all the subtlety of a jackhammer.

Asian dragons floated phantomlike three feet off the ground before exploding into fireworks that advertised the latest in hologram software.

A flickering Marilyn Monroe seductively leaned forward, offering a smooch to the various pedestrians that passed by, her form shimmering and distorted, her cleavage on full display, the latest digital companion for those lonely nights.

Blushing, Owen averted his eyes, letting his gaze drift.

Everywhere he looked, he saw promises.

Promises of happiness.

Promises of fulfilment.

Promises of wealth.

Promises of better education, investment, and career opportunities.