Blood splattered upon the cold steel of the floor like ink on paper. Constant chanting sounded throughout the room as people crowded around the rails of a small arena area. They were yelling out, gambling their credits at high wagers, and fighting amongst one another while industrial metal music played in the background of all the racket. On the arena floor, a man stumbled back to his feet, his legs groggy and his face painted in blood from a broken nose. He raised his fists, still wanting to fight on, but was soon put back to the floor by a metal fist to his face. More blood spilled onto the floor in a puddle while teeth remain scattered across the arena.
Anarch-E looked to his bloodied fist before raising it to the air, the crowd cheering, some booing. Red electricity ran through the metal of the cords that came from the back of his head (resembling dreadlocks), which spread throughout his body and faded away. The announcer soon came onto the speakers shortly after.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this was a no-show fight to the most part, yet still so brutal! The winner of this brawl and still champion of the Underground Brawlers Arena; the Heavy Metal Synthetic; Anarch-E!”
There was a loud cheer as the booing was drowned out. Money was thrown into the pit while medics approached the defeated man, rolling him onto a hover bed that lifted him off the floor and out of the arena. The only mess left was the blood and teeth. A cleaner bot hovered down to the mess and began getting to work, vacuuming away the scarlet-red blood and broken teeth with a tube. Anarch-E proceeded to climb out of the arena, grabbing his title belt as he reached the top. The belt was made from a black leather and the titanium template contained a cracked skull inside a gear cog. He strapped the belt around his waist and raised his bloodied fist once again, the crowd going wild for the champion of the arena.
His face void of any expression (due to being a synthetic), Anarch-E made his way through the rowdy crowd of fans, gamblers, and fighters. Many hands patted him on the shoulder, chest and back, feeling the hot metal plating. He walked to the exit of the room, a guard nodding to him as they handed the smoke-black robot a spiked jacket. He slipped into the jacket and and zipped it up to his chest as he walked out of the illegal fighting ring. All became dark as night as the light soon vanished from behind him.
Another normal day in the non-existent life of a synthetic in the underworld beneath Neo-Tokyo.
YOU ARE READING
Kritikal Krysis
Science Fiction400 years into the future.... Mankind has reached beyond the Sol system, expanding across many galaxies and planets. One planet in particular, Devoran, has fallen to the dictatorship of a new world order, where both human beings and machine do not s...
