Cover source
Warning: Scenes of violence and mayhem are included in this story. Reader Discretion is advised!
This story continues from Clockwork City - Steam Brutes Part 1.
Clockwork City
The City is outside of time. The City of brass and steam, of steel and glass. Most of the inhabitants of the city toiled their whole lives, ignorant of the secrets only the scholars theorized and only the scribes recorded in the vast and dark Citadel.
The events that now began to unfold throughout the city would shape it for all the eons to come.
Steam Brutes Part 3
There were flashes of light in rapid succession. Blinding white lights, so bright that they would leave afterimages in your vision if you had looked right at them. They came at a flurry of pace that would be deadly to those prone to epileptic attacks.
Usually Stan "The Terminator" Stone would revel in each and every flash of light like it was bathing him in glory. Indeed, usually, he would have been paid for every flash, which meant a picture taken for some magazine, internet article or children's puzzle made in his image.
The flashes meant glory and honor and victory. No longer.
Now the flashes meant that there would be more angles that the gamblers would use to size him up, the videos that went with them would check his strengths and weaknesses. Inferior men would sit and debate about his abilities and write an analysis regarding the possibilities and outcomes of the next fight.
They used to be called matches. The wrestler grunted to himself as he made is way to the ring, the crowd cheered and sang. Some things never changed. There was still a white floored ring with its stretchy ropes, a referee ready to declare a winner or loser.
Some changes were easily spotted. Like the wire-link fence that separated the fighters from the crowd like they were in some underground cage fight. No, they had not descended into the underground, instead, the underground had come to them. What was once illegal now had lawyers defending them. There were piles of paperwork to sign so large, each competitor had a intermediary to sign the bulk of it, to agree that Stan agreed to all the rules and use of violence.
Stan snorted. There are no rules
He did not speak to many people anymore, preferring his own company to that of others. That was one of the more subtle changes from the old days. The subtle ones are the more deadly changes. The ones that will get you killed.
Next to the referee was a presenter in a tuxedo, gelled back blond hair and perfect teeth. The man also needed to sign a pile of waivers. It was common for the presenters to lose their perfect teeth. Stan could see the man visibly sweating.
"Taking to the ring now is the crowd favorite and undisputed historic wrestling champion! Stan "The Terminator" Stone!" The presenter yelled shrilly.
The crowd roared their approval. Stan had knocked a few of these men down for calling him "historic" but he was told later on that these were the words given to them by their employers. Stan was decent enough not to hurt them anymore.
"Today his contender will be one of our newer members..."
Yeah, because I took out too many of the other ones.
"... the one and only - Taylor "The Beast" MacHarrow!"
Shit.
The crowd also roared their approval but were drowned out by the rock music and shooting stage flares that introduced The Beast to the arena.
The man was truly beastly. A hulking, brooding stupid mass of muscle and bone. Not many brains and zero compassion. The Beast had a low brow and a thick unibrow like a caveman.
The whole world is going insane, supporting the stupid and cruel.
This sport used to be about sportsmanship and showmanship. It was partway entertainment and partway the sport of heroes. You needed to be clever as well as extremely fit to do the job.
Now you needed only savagery.
The younger man had a thick lantern jaw. He vaulted himself into the ring. Before the presenter could say anything the brute grabbed the microphone and punched the presenter in the stomach.
The crowd cheered.
Usually, such an action would be met with boos and shouts at the evil man. Usually, none of the pro-wrestler would have done it for real. Even if the man's role was to be the bad guy, the hit on the presenter would be nothing but a tap. An act.
The presenter had doubled over and looked like he had ruptured an organ. The referee began helping the man get out of the ring. Stan did not register any look of concern on his face and he was not even sure whether or not he really cared.
"It's time teh go down Derminator!" Taylor MacHarrow shouted into the microphone. The man could not even pronouce adult words correctly, Stan was sure the man was not not really intelligent.
Here comes the threat.
"Yous not gunna get outta here alive! I iz gunna..."
There are no rules.
With two swift steps forward, Stan interrupted The Beast's poor showmanship by punching his right in the face. His fist connected with the other's hand and the microphone and sent the blocky piece of metal straight into his mouth, breaking teeth as it was smashed in.
The crowd lost their minds. Baying for blood.
The Beast staggered back, his shock turned into an evil grin as he spat blood and teeth onto the ring floor. "Good un!" The youth laughed.
The teeth clattering to the stage is what meant money now. For both of them.
The Beast lunged forward, attempting to slew Stan with a series of punches with ham-sized fists. The Terminator blocked each one with his forearms or shrugged them off his shoulders.
After a barrage, the other man was tired. Every attack had a series, span, and limit. Stan Stone Countered with an uppercut to The Beast's chin that sent the remaining teeth the man had cascading down in a shower of blood.
He followed up with a kick to the groin and a punch to the man's windpipe, crushing it. The Beast fell to the floor, holding his throat. He clearly could not breathe.
The referee was nowhere to be seen. It did not matter. This match was over.
Grabbing the back of The Beast's head with one hand, he thrust it down as he lifted his leg, smashing the man's face into his knee.
Finally, the facts had dawned on Taylor MacHarrow as the brute fell forward and lay still.
The sounds around them were deafening but Stan felt no joy in their praise. He did not lift his hands in triumph. With a scowl on his face, he merely stalked from the ring and the arena, barely registering the flashes of light and the women flashing him with their breasts.
He got into the dim hallway and was expecting MacHarrow's supporters and brother ready to pound the crap out of him. That was usually the second part of the evening's fighting that did not make it on the television.
Instead, there was a singular man in the hallway, wearing a trenchcoat. Around him were MacHarrow's followers, lying in heaps. The blood around them speaks volumes.
"What the hell?" That was all Stan could say.
There was a flash of blue light and everything went dark. He fell to his knees, feeling nauseous. His ears were ringing. He managed to look up eventually and saw that he was no longer in the hallway. Nobody had touched him, but he was somewhere else.
An alleyway. Someone had stumbled into the narrow passage. Stan could smell cheap liquor and vomit. He growled and the drunkard stumbled out of the alley.
Stan pressed his pounding head with the palms of his bloody hands.
Where the hell am I?
The Dustoff
Well, that was fun! I had to put this together at speed but I am quite happy with it! Enjoy!
Until next time. Cheers!
@zakludick
