((This is the first perspective of my duel perspective story, based on the idea that the world has gone backwards and lost all sense of order. Street gangs run things, and it from oppisite sides that my story takes off. The prologue will be up later, so please tell me if you like the basic ideas/characters being presented and if anything needs more elaboration. Thank you!-- Jazz))
TOPSIDE
William Samuel Gareth stood in the corner of the ring, his brown eyes calculating, and calm. His taped fists and legs flexed as he eyed his female opponent with a slight smile. She was smaller than him by quite a bit, and not nearly so quick. Besides that, he could tell that she had been injured heavily in her left shoulder recently by the way her stance was held.
Without even blinking, he shot forward like chain lightning. The crowd
Held its breath as he seemed to vanish for a few seconds only to appear behind her. Hands shooting out to get her into a neck-shoulder lock, Will paused as his eyes caught that of a young man across the room that shook his head slowly, meaningfully. "Don't kill her...” the message said, and he reacted.
Twisting her arm just a bit further, he heard it pop as William then hit the two knock out points on her neck with excess force to insure that she wouldn't be waking anytime soon. With a sigh, he tossed her limp form from his arms and allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction as the ref signaled the end of the fight. Leaving the ring slowly, Will walked over to his room and locked the door from the mass of fans that would arrive shortly.
William sighed pleasurably as he noticed the pair of legs producing from his chair. Kissing his fiancé as he picked her up and spun her around, the fighter held her close to him. Nothing was more important to him. "How are you, love?" he asked, taking her wrapped arms in his strong, taped hands.
Her hazel eyes glittered in the light as her red brown hair cascaded down her shoulders. Even in the dim light, Sarah was beautiful, radiating a smile that brightened the dismal circumstances. Only about sixteen, she wasn't in the fighting circles because of her legs, which had been paralyzed in a street brawl where her spine had been damaged. So she walked with the assistance of two hand supports and Will when he was around. "I'm doing well," Sarah replied melting into his arms as she felt their warmth and the energy pulsing through them.
Cradling her to him, he kissed the top of her hair lovingly his soul soaring to bliss with every moment he was with her. Setting her in the recliner, Will gave her a small smile. She was part of the reason he was so successful; Sarah gave him something to fight for. Without his support, she would be on the streets and more than likely be picked up by an 'owner' who could use her for his liking which repulsed him. But also, when he was with her outside the ring, the dark imagery of the fights disappeared from his mind and his troubles faded. They were the support for each other in the hell the world had become. "That's good. Are your legs doing alright with the storm coming in?" he asked as he sat on the chair beside her. "I know that it can make them hurt sometimes…."
"Really, Will, I'm fine. They've been prickling a bit, but it's nothing to worry over," she soothed, stroking a lock of hair from his luminescent eyes. "You should be more worried about the fight against the Underground's champion… They say she can't be beat; that she will always get back up and she's fast as the devil cats that live in the mountains."
"Rumors, Sarah… nothing but rumors," he replied with a confident smile. "The Underground is good, but they will not win for two simple reasons: One, I'm better than her, and two, I'm fighting for the one I love. From what I've hea-"
A knock at the door cut into the conversation, a heavy demanding sound. Concern filled Will's gaze as he slowly got to his feet and answered, "Who is it?"
"Burnaby Hamilton, open up Gareth. Now."
Reluctantly, he obeyed the threatening tone to admit the aristocrat and leader of Topside. Dressed to the nines, with cropped hair and a cane, Burnaby had a casual air that was offset by his piercing eyes. "Your next match is in one week," the boss commanded, twirling his cane as he stared at the teen fighter. "I just spoke with the Underground's leader…. you'll be fighting a girl by the name of Christy. They don't know, however that I already know this. I've been having scouts watch her fight. She's a fast one, Samuel, and you'll need all your skill to take her down."
"Really…" Will challenged, staring into the man's eyes with a ferocious glare. "I find that rather low to be spying on her. I want a fair fight, Hamilton or I won't fight at all."
The boss of Topside smiled chillingly as he looked over at Sara with a predator's grin. Eyes narrowing slightly as he saw the wrist supports up against the wall, Burnaby Hamilton glanced up at Will's glowering form with a confident smirk. "You'll fight one way or another, Samuel," he remarked lighting a cigar, "because some other people might have to if you don't."
With a last meaningful, wicked grin, the aristocrat nodded to the fighter before turning on heel and walking out. Will's eyes followed his back for several yards before he shut the door with a slam. "I swear if he touches you, I will rip him to pieces," the fighter growled as Sarah limped her way over to give him a reassuring hug. "I swear it on my grave, Sarah; you won't have to fight on the streets ever again."
Slowly his anger faded and he let Sarah lead him to their sleep room. Laying in a t-shirt and boxers beneath the blankets as the girl slipped into her pile of blankets in a cami, Will gave her a calm kiss on the forehead. Then the weariness of the day caught up with him, and he fell into the calm blackness of sleep.
~
Walking down the narrow hall to his office, Burnaby leafed through a stack of the prize money, carefully counting up the bills. “Fifty one, fifty two…” his fingers reached the last bill and his eyes darkened. He was short by three thousand.
Opening the door to his office, Burnaby walked in and automatically locked the door. The nights were dangerous for people like him, who helped keep control in the ranks of Topside. Sitting at his desk, he placed the stack down before noticing the other presence in the room.
Quickly rising, he nodded respectfully to the dark figure. “Mr. Smith, what a surprise. May I offer you something to drink?”
“Cut the pleasantries, Hamilton. You know its collection time,” Smith replied, coldly. “If memory serves, you owe us fifty-five thousand, not including the rent for this place. The Boss is beginning to question whether you’re taking your position seriously.”
Tossing him the bundle of bills, Burnaby just shook his head. “I don’t have the money Smith. There haven’t been enough fights scheduled for my fighter,” he said nervously, eyeing the other man.
Suddenly he felt a prickling sensation at his throat, and his mind registered that Smith was now directly in front of him, though he hadn’t seen him move. Swallowing, the man stumbled out, “Wait. There’s that match against the Underground next week. That should generate enough cash to pay off everything, and interest too. Just give me until then to work this out.”
Smith’s grip on the blade tightened before he sheathed it. “You have until then, and no longer, Burnaby. Otherwise, you’ll be part of the Underground.”
THE UNDERGROUND
Sweat ran dripping into her eyes, and her muscles burned with exhaustion as the mat rose up to meet her once again. Blood mingled with the glistening drops from a cut above her eye and bruises littered her heavily scarred arms. Her breathes were short and rasping, barely gaining entry to her lungs. Yet, she forced herself to her feet.
Crowds cheered around the ring, yet she only saw one man, aristocratically dressed in a pin stripe suit. A bowler hat shadowed his eyes, but she could feel them on her as she shakily stood to face where he sat. As the two locked gazes for but a moment, the mysterious figure nodded to her slowly with a cynical smile that brewed fury inside the young girl like oil in a fire.
Her determined eyes flickered to her opponent for a moment. He was heavily muscled for his age and nearly twice as large. But he was also quicker than seemed possible, with punishing blows that splinted bones and harsher kicks. With a sigh as she spit out some blood, the female fighter grimaced. One hit to his pressure points would be all she needed to defeat him, but it would cost her the match if she was hit again.
Collecting her fury so that adrenaline rushed through her system, the young woman's first two fingers clenched so the knuckles stuck out in points. She could not afford to lose. Time seemed in slow motion as she dashed forward with catlike speed and balance right as his back turned. His eyes sensed the movement, turning him at the last second as she dropped into a sliding kick to his ankles that sent him toppling. Her hands shot out twice, and then it was over.
Exhaustion weighted her down as she rolled the heavy opponent off her and crawled to her knees. Barely, she managed to rise as the announcer took her wrist and held her hand up to the roaring crowd as the victor. Swiping the hair from her eyes, Christine glanced over to where the man sat, resentment flaming in her once placid copper depths as he smirked. Giving a slight motion with his head before rising, the man took his gentlemen's cane and walked out.
Two burly men pushed their way through the crowds toward the ring as she exited, escorting her while helping to keep the exhausted teen on her feet as they walked out one of the main entry ways. Forcing herself to keep moving, Christine tried to slow her breathing as she licked her cracked lips. Finally the trio reached a back room, and Christine continued on alone through the door. "I fought your match and won, isn't that what you wanted?" she growled at the man as she retied her red hair into a neater ponytail.
"If I remember correctly, Christy, I told you to beat him in five minutes. It took you three and a half more…" the figure returned calmly, turning in his chair to face the battered girl. His tone was light, but it had a threatening air underneath the casual words.
The eyes flared before obviously being forced to shine only in resentment. Christine's fingers were clenched into fists. "I-"
"What is my policy on excuses," he cut in icily, eyeing her as one of the other body guards in the room took a threatening step towards her. "I think you would remember by now. Regardless of why it took you that long, the fact doesn't change that you didn't follow instructions."
Christine's eyes grew slightly fearful, though her expression remained blank. "I will do better next time," she replied slowly, nervously watching the two body guards that moved behind her.
The man with the bowler hat smirked darkly, no trace of humor in his eyes. "I'm sure you will… especially after spending the night in the Brig."
With a slight gesture of his fingers, the man watched as the fighter was restrained in a choke hold that held her struggling figure with ease. "You're next match up is against Topside's strongest fighter in less than a week. This match is worth your freedom if you can win. Few have ever even survived the fight, yet alone won…" the boss relayed as he sucked on a freshly lit cigarette, "You will be the first or the consequences will be past dire. Consider this a lesson Christine. Failure in any aspect of my orders, no matter how small, won't be tolerated."
Struggling to loosen the twisting agony on her shoulder, Christine was roughly shoved out of the room and down a long hall. With a slight gasp as she was thrown into the black, drafty cell, the young girl pulled her knees to her chest for warmth while leaning into a corner. Tucking her head into her knees, Christy tried to keep warm as she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
~
Back in his office, Travis set on Mozart’s Requiem Mass, casually counting the winnings. There was more than enough to settle his debt and take care of the various fees for body guards, lodging, and food. With his back turned toward the door, it took several minutes before his mind registered that he wasn’t alone. Glancing up at the glass of the window, he noted the dark figure and immediately rose. “Good evening, Smith.”
“You have the cash?” the figure asked.
Nodding, Travis motioned to his guards and they brought forward the brief case. “All of it is in there, as well as the rent,” he replied, seemingly calm though his hands were clenched nervously behind his back. No one liked dealing with the Collectors.
Smith gave a thin smile. “I’m sure it is… You wouldn’t want the Boss thinking you were cheating him, now would you?” he asked, casually flipping his blades.
Travis’s eyes never left the shining forms as they were neatly flicked through the air. “Absolutely not,” he replied tossing Smith a separate stack. “I value my position.”
“As well as your life, I see,” Smith replied with a satisfied smirk as he counted the money and walked off.
Relieved to be alone once again, Travis mused that he would have to find a way to bring in more winnings. The price of things seemed to be going up, and with the threat of assassination looming over his head, he was going to be needing some more body guards. “Why did I get into this…”
~
