New World Order Re-Written (TNE)

(13) Arena Battle Pt1

"In this corner we have Ms. Frizzy and Spikes."

Marissa and Martin were shaking their heads and trying to resist the urge to smile, it was such a ridiculous situation and they were so ridiculed all they wanted to do was laugh at themselves. Simultaneously, they knew that the most dangerous thing they could do would be to not take their opponent seriously.

"And in this corner we have the great, the powerful, Mr. Hotdog! He is our reigning champion."

Martin and Marissa looked at eachother with all the desperation they could mustur. Possibly it was, who were they to say. The whole stadium was absolutely loving it, each and every audience member was pumped up with adrenaline, just waiting for the action. From a deep enclave of the arena Marissa could spot a rich businessman placing bets. She couldn't tell from her position, but she had to guess that they were being bet against. Clearly the hosts just gave ridiculous names for their own amusement, as it was clear that they were not put into an even matchup. Marissa felt for Martin's body heat. The warmth of the spikes that coated his concrete hands, still warmed with a very human blood. It made Marissa consider the fact that all of these monster alterations were still from a human blueprint. It didn't matter who they would be up against, as they were still human. Marissa clamped down on Martin's hand and shut her eyes. She took a deep breath in and when she opened them, the match had begun.

Plum, Geoffrey, Jasmine, Daxton, and The Unknown sat by in the stands. They were higher up than before and out of the orange room, but Plum could still see her scraped on story decorating the walls and floors. She noticed a cleaner begin to stumble towards it, her outfit made of a thin plastic fiber that covered her face with a syphon. She stepped before the writing and drawings that Plum had done of her life. How she had grown up, had her dreams denied by her parents, found a friend in Geoffrey, made her plan, and ultimately failed. The cleaner paused, and Plum's heart stopped. It was only for a few seconds, but Plum was unable to breathe or take in air. It was as if Plum and the cleaner were the only two people in the world. Then the cleaner began to turn around, and Plum could finally relax. She settled back in her seat and prepared to watch the match. Just as all her nerves settled into the chair, and her butt found an appropriate position, two more cleaners entered the room and cleaned out the art. The sounds of vacuums running overtime, nail polish remover sloshing about the floors, and some kind of heavy water. All applied in a catastrophic mixture that made Plum strain to stay seated. She wanted to run over and shove them all out, tear their face visors off and scream into their mouths. Run them through all that her art meant to her, but she knew that for a moment the cleaner had already seen it.

It's not as if the cleaner lady hadn't seen it, she had considered it all and seen it to be disposed of. That fact broke Plum.

Meanwhile, Marissa and Martin were readying into what they had seen in action movies to be battle poses. Marissa looked over to her friends in the crowd for a sort of confidence boost. She couldn't see them at first, as there were plenty of others who had metal chunks strewn through them similar to Geoffrey's transformation. She decided instead to look for The Unknown's glowing white eyes and quickly found the rest of the group. Geoffrey was absent mindedly cheering and clapping. He seemed distant, yet confident and that was appreciated. Then, Marissa looked over to see Plum.

Martin had to fight the beginning of the fight alone against Mr. Hotdog. Martin's spikes shuddered and burned, but attempted to extend out of his hardened skin. Martin padded his shoulders to assist in shoulder rolls. From his limited time in soccer practice, he had learned that stretching was a useful skill before a game. If he was to win this fight he knew that he had to cheat the game. Mr. Hotdog was some sort of crazed, tall, thin slasher creature. His hands were intertwined with cleavers that seemed to weave themselves into his hands. It was not dissimilar to brass knuckles, although without a mechanism to ever remove them. The cleavers were melded to his skin and from his gruesome maniacal smile, it was clear that was exactly where he wanted them.