Post by A Ghost Now on Sept 11, 2016 22:52:57 GMT -6
“Alright. It’s been awhile since you all have seen me! Many apologies for that.”
Max grinned into his laptop’s camera for a moment before looking over to the screen. Instantly, it filled up with a mixed stream chat of praise and hate. He chuckled for a moment before continuing.
“I lost at Heatstroke. One and Five. I lost both my redebut and that Ironman Match at 1-5. That is extremely disappointing. I got cocky with the ladies as a joke and that backfired significantly. But, it’s okay now. I have a date with destiny again in the form of the Eye-For-An-Eye Championship against three rather impressive opponents. Let me just… pull them up for you all to see.”
After a few clicks, the stream showed off three portraits. Heath Williams, the current champion, as well as Katalina Star and Joanna Thade, former opponents of Max’s in the Ironman Match. He hovered his mouse over Katalina Star first. The portrait highlighted and was brought to the front to be seen clearly as the dominatrix looked to the viewers with a sickening smile.
“Practice dummy? Punching bag? I guess that’s right and fair about me, isn’t it? I’ve had four years of nothing but abuse in that ring, much like last night showed off as well as the majority of my return here thus far. Also, you and Joanna? Underdogs? As ‘dominant’ as you have been, I’d imagine anything but. Especially because, for the most part, you’ve got each other if things go sour in that ring. Heath and I have got jack shit. There’s a good chance that the I4NI belt is going back with a Horsewoman, I know you two will make sure of it. The ‘fan favorites’ you’re calling giants are fighting alone. Sure, the support is nice, but the fans aren’t in the ring. The most they can do is repeat our names like a broken record, and as nice as that does sound, it doesn’t do jack-shit at the end of the day for my dreams of being a champion. But let’s move off of you, shall we? You have a partner in this match, even if you guys are still fighting for one another by the end of it.”
He moved his cursor over a bit to highlight Joanna Thade now. She stood there with a serious glare over her own eyes as Hephty, her warhammer, rested with the handle in one hand with the hard-end resting warning-like in the other.
“Joanna. Firstly, let me start this off by saying this: you spoke up after me. To claim that I’m getting in YOUR way is a blatant lie when you decided to hide in the crowd and spoke up after the fact. But, even if that wasn’t the case, then, fine. If you want me to fuck right off, then I’ve got a lot of sets of two words for you! Bring it. Try me. Make me. Good luck. You have had the misfortune of being in the same ring as me twice for completely opposite reasons. You don’t like me and I cannot stand continually losing to you. Hell, I got my revenge for one fall over Datura and that was enough to keep me happy. Now, I know the I4NI is a hardcore championship, but the card doesn’t ACTUALLY say that. However, if it is truly the case, I would LOVE to give into your masochism. Hurting you physically AND mentally would be amazing. I’ll shove that hammer straight up your arse AND pin you down to win that championship. I want to see the CRINGE on your face when all those facts come to fruition. But, alas, why even use the hammer.”
Max looked to the side for a moment from his chair before reaching down. He pulled up a rather sizable plank. The wood looked thick but old as splinters riddled the entire length of it. To make it better on himself, he had a bandage wrapped around one side of it to make a make-shift handle. On the other end of the plank were bits of nails sticking out of firmly-wrapped barbed wire.
“Why not shove this down? For the longest of time, I’ve had this thing named T.R.O.H., the Reincarnation of Hardcore… but that’s a very… tacky name, isn’t it? See what I did there? Yes, I’m awful, you don’t have to tell me that. Either way, name and overused design aside, this’ll get the job of tearing you a new one done a whole lot better than that hammer would. So, Joanna, Warchild, this is my declaration to you and Kat, or even the entirety of the Horsewomen.”
He placed his weapon of choice lightly over his shoulder before waving his other hand in a challenging manner.
“Bring it on. All of you. I don’t back down from a fight. This is my consent right now for you to come and TRY to execute me. I won’t fall.”
Finally, his cursor moved to the final image covering his stream as it lit up brightly. Heath Williams. Current Eye-For-An-Eye Champion. He stood tall between the two with a determined stare over his eyes as the gold hung over his shoulder.
“As much as I’d like to say good luck to you, it’s hard. We’ve got two rather scary-crazy ladies of the same group in this match before us. As stated before, this isn’t a tag team match, but it might as well be. You’ve got the ones that the fans relate to the most on one side, and the Horsewomen looming on the other, ready to pounce. Everyone is fighting for that belt in the end and offering a partnership would be stupid out of someone who I know I would backstab the moment the situation came to pass. It is a fatal-four-way after all. But, do know this, if they team up on you, I’d get your back at least for that: handicap matches annoy me more than anything else. I’d like to believe you’d do the same, but who knows. In the end, one of us is walking out with that belt alone. It’s just business in the end.”
The three pictures faded away. The cheery Disaster we’ve seen up to now has disappeared to a bit more of a solemn and stoic tone. He looked at the camera with crossed hands; the weapon was nowhere to be seen now.
“Hell, I don’t even know why I took up the mantle of this challenge to be completely honest with all of you. Maybe I needed the pick-me-up after getting my ass thoroughly handed to me back at Heatstroke. Maybe it was a pride thing. Katalina had a point, despite the wording being a little… insulting. I’m desperately trying my hardest to get my foot through the door here completely again and trying my damnest to climb that ladder. But every single time… I’ve fallen flat on my face. I want to define myself here again, even if it’s so much as a threat within the midcard where I usually place anyway. I’m the only real underdog here. Katalina and Joanna have each other’s backs and Heath has at least proven to be a force to be reckoned with by becoming a two-time I4NI Champion. I’m here sitting pretty with no friends and a piss-poor track record within VOW. But… who knows, guys. Maybe the loser will win one at Breakthrough 51. Wish me luck. That’ll be all for this briefing stream today. I’ll see you all tomorrow for games.”
Stream End.
---
It’s been two days since Max’s recent stream. He’d spent the day prior on his usual gaming stream for his friends and fans. Today, he was walking out of a nearby 24-Hour Fitness after some exercise in hopes to get himself stronger before his match.
It wasn’t going anywhere. He left the gym gasping for air after an attempt to do more than he was used to. His stamina was and always will be poor in regards to the majority of the roster; it is why his prefered matches are the ones that start explosive and end quickly before he gets tired out.
I cannot keep going like this. He started to think to himself as he walked around the city for a moment. I’m going up against three rather terrifying opponents in another multi-man match. I’m going to die out there much like I have EVERY. SINGLE. OTHER. TIME. Lifting weights or running a treadmill isn’t going to help me much. What can I do to help me improve a little… Something high-paced but exciting. Doesn’t have to exactly be wrestling, but come on, there has to be something interesting to do around here.
He took a seat at a nearby bus stop right as the bus itself left. He took a moment to gather his thoughts as he looked for anything to do nearby.
Funnily enough… something did pop up for him to try.
The Replay Airsoft Arena.
I mean… I used to own a revolver for fuck’s sake. Firing off a toy gun should be fun!
---
“Hit!”
That same word was repeated throughout Max’s first day. Rules for the most part were simple: don’t do anything obviously stupid and shoot people. Max, unfortunately was very good at that first part, but not so much the second. His body was completely covered in welts from all of the plastic BBs hitting his body, either bare fleshed or even clothed. Despite owning his own revolver once before in the past, an airsoft gun was nothing like it.
He used two Colt 1911 airsoft pistols out of preference for mobility, but he wasn’t used to the guns at all. Their weight and ammunition were so light in his grasp, so his aim faltered from that slightly. If ever he hit someone, it was from a ricochet.
The team he was playing with at the venue, though, had a bit more success in their endeavours. Some matches they won and some matches they lost. Still didn’t change the fact that they were playing with the thing the Disaster hated above all else: a handicap. The captain in charge of the group of people watched as they all went past, congratulating them for a job well done.
Max was the last one out of the arena as he checked over the guns he had borrowed from the venue for the day. The captain of the team made sure to stop him though.
“You alright, kid?” He started off instantly from seeing the mild gloom in the wrestler’s eyes. Max merely looked up at him with a small smile and nod.
“Yeah, I’m perfectly fine. I’m just a little peeved I couldn’t hit jack out there. Also wasn’t expecting these little things to still sting.” The Disaster gave a meek chuckle before rubbing his hand behind his head. “I just came here to kill time for a day, really. Get out of a stuffy hotel room and have some fun. Maybe a little bit of extra cardio on top of it all.”
“Well, why don’t you come back tomorrow and try again. Matches like this are a great way to kill your days off.” The captain said before patting Max on the shoulder. The man was much taller than Soloke and had the looks of someone old enough to be his father or worse. Max looked to the older gentleman’s kinder expression and nodded in agreement. Before leaving, he took a look over the pistols one more time before asking:
“How much is a pair of these to buy?”
Max left the arena happy with a bag containing two fake guns. It would be a bit of hassle to travel through the air with technical firearms in his bag, but he didn’t care. He set a goal for himself for this week at Replay: To survive one match long enough to win it.
---
Unfortunately, the road to victory is paved with a string of relentless losses. Day after day, Max went in with an optimistic attitude, got some good target practice in early, and went out to the field confident. But, one of two things happened, and win or lose, Max was still eliminated in quick fashion in a hail of high-powered plastic. His entire upper body was laced in light bruises from a couple of days worth of ‘training’ at Replay.
It was Thursday the Fifteenth. It was eight o’clock now as the arena was winding down into it’s last matches. Max stood at his side of the arena gasping for air after playing straight from six to now. His pistols were locked and loaded with a pair of magazines in each pocket for quick reloads. Everyone was standing ready for the referee to ring the bell. Max surveyed the arena grounds one last time. Spray-painted wood walls and barricades filled the entire area as multi-colored plastic BBs rested on the ground. He took in a deep breath to calm his nerves… before the siren sounded and everyone rushed into the arena.
“Hit!”
Just like that, people were already ‘dying’ here and there. Dejected, they raise both hands up with their weapons up as well and begin to leave. Max snuck into the area last and took careful steps around instead of his usual reckless behavior. Being reckless in a match where almost everyone is your enemy is going to get you killed. He watched all around him before advancing.
He picked up one thing from this adventures in Replay: playing tactical. At the start of his adventures in, he ran in as if he was living the American Dream with guns blazing, only to get eliminated first in a volley of pain. Now, he played out the waiting game. To make up for his lackluster aim, he set up ambushes for the enemy, shot them nearly point blank, before retreating before they could even call “Hit.”
The game continued to go on for a while because of this method. Most people from both teams had been eliminated with a small number of stragglers still roaming the field.
Max ran around a corner to avoid a string of BBs before reloading his own guns in a flash. Next to him was someone else on his team. It looked like a teenager of sorts. The two crossed eyes for a moment before the kid spoke up.
“Aren’t you that wrestler who keeps losing?”
“Yes, I’m also the person who can’t seem to ever good a shot. Shouldn’t you be focusing your harass against the other team?” Max said. His voice was fast from the adrenaline rush as he around the wall to see someone approaching.
“Yes, I’m also the one carrying your scrub ass, so why don’t you sit back like you always have been and let someone else take over.” The arrogant child said before jumping from the other side of the barricade the two hid behind. His words struck a nerve with Max, but the wrestler was too late to retort as the kid shot their assailant.
“Hit!”
“Yeah, how do you like that, scru--”
Click. Pop.
“--b… Hit?” The child looked around to see who shot him… only to realize it was the person who was supposed to be on his team.
“I’m not going to sit back while you hog the glory. Also, this venue doesn’t have a rule against friendly fire, my friend.” Max looked down at the kid behind his own pistol, the one he just shot his own teammate with. “So, why don’t you take your loudmouthed ass back to the stands and let me finish this.”
Max caught his wind and stood up straight before walking on. He doomed himself though, turning what was a two-on-two into a one-on-two at this point. Ignorant to the fact, he pushed ahead with his guns at the ready.
I’m not losing this time…
Crossing a corner, he found an enemy with a sniper rifle unprepared for the up close encounter. Swiftly, Max aimed his gun down and took one pop before sprinting ahead.
I’m not coming in last… or third, or second, or fifth… goddammit…
He sprinted to the very back of the arena and found the last member of their team ready with an automatic rifle ready and aimed.
I’M GOING TO WIN--
Pop. Pop, pop, pop.
… I’m… going to… I want to win… I really want to win… I just want to win again here, dammit.
“Hit…” Max rose his hands into the air with both pistols in hand. His thumbs reached for the safeties and switched them off. The match was over. He was shot. He was dead. He lost once again.
“Well, damn. For a pistol user, you still did good! Hit!”
The Disaster looked up to the one with the rifle as he had his own hands, and that rifle up. A welt started to grow right at the man’s forehead.
“A damn fine headshot, too. Was that luck?”
“... Probably.”
… Luck. That’s a funny one, really.
Luck isn’t going to get me far in this business… it’s not going to allow me to topple challenger after challenger, champion over champion.
Max put his pistols away in his dufflebag upon exiting the arena.
It’s not going to allow me to defeat someone like Katalina… Joanna… Heath… it’s not going to help me jump hurdle for hurdle here.
With his bag over his shoulder, he looked up to the night sky with an exhausted sigh.
But… who knows, I guess. If luck is what it will take to get my foot through the goddamn door… to get my hand on that first rung of that ladder to the brass ring again, then I’ll take it… just to get a start again.
But until that happens... I just need to survive.
Max grinned into his laptop’s camera for a moment before looking over to the screen. Instantly, it filled up with a mixed stream chat of praise and hate. He chuckled for a moment before continuing.
“I lost at Heatstroke. One and Five. I lost both my redebut and that Ironman Match at 1-5. That is extremely disappointing. I got cocky with the ladies as a joke and that backfired significantly. But, it’s okay now. I have a date with destiny again in the form of the Eye-For-An-Eye Championship against three rather impressive opponents. Let me just… pull them up for you all to see.”
After a few clicks, the stream showed off three portraits. Heath Williams, the current champion, as well as Katalina Star and Joanna Thade, former opponents of Max’s in the Ironman Match. He hovered his mouse over Katalina Star first. The portrait highlighted and was brought to the front to be seen clearly as the dominatrix looked to the viewers with a sickening smile.
“Practice dummy? Punching bag? I guess that’s right and fair about me, isn’t it? I’ve had four years of nothing but abuse in that ring, much like last night showed off as well as the majority of my return here thus far. Also, you and Joanna? Underdogs? As ‘dominant’ as you have been, I’d imagine anything but. Especially because, for the most part, you’ve got each other if things go sour in that ring. Heath and I have got jack shit. There’s a good chance that the I4NI belt is going back with a Horsewoman, I know you two will make sure of it. The ‘fan favorites’ you’re calling giants are fighting alone. Sure, the support is nice, but the fans aren’t in the ring. The most they can do is repeat our names like a broken record, and as nice as that does sound, it doesn’t do jack-shit at the end of the day for my dreams of being a champion. But let’s move off of you, shall we? You have a partner in this match, even if you guys are still fighting for one another by the end of it.”
He moved his cursor over a bit to highlight Joanna Thade now. She stood there with a serious glare over her own eyes as Hephty, her warhammer, rested with the handle in one hand with the hard-end resting warning-like in the other.
“Joanna. Firstly, let me start this off by saying this: you spoke up after me. To claim that I’m getting in YOUR way is a blatant lie when you decided to hide in the crowd and spoke up after the fact. But, even if that wasn’t the case, then, fine. If you want me to fuck right off, then I’ve got a lot of sets of two words for you! Bring it. Try me. Make me. Good luck. You have had the misfortune of being in the same ring as me twice for completely opposite reasons. You don’t like me and I cannot stand continually losing to you. Hell, I got my revenge for one fall over Datura and that was enough to keep me happy. Now, I know the I4NI is a hardcore championship, but the card doesn’t ACTUALLY say that. However, if it is truly the case, I would LOVE to give into your masochism. Hurting you physically AND mentally would be amazing. I’ll shove that hammer straight up your arse AND pin you down to win that championship. I want to see the CRINGE on your face when all those facts come to fruition. But, alas, why even use the hammer.”
Max looked to the side for a moment from his chair before reaching down. He pulled up a rather sizable plank. The wood looked thick but old as splinters riddled the entire length of it. To make it better on himself, he had a bandage wrapped around one side of it to make a make-shift handle. On the other end of the plank were bits of nails sticking out of firmly-wrapped barbed wire.
“Why not shove this down? For the longest of time, I’ve had this thing named T.R.O.H., the Reincarnation of Hardcore… but that’s a very… tacky name, isn’t it? See what I did there? Yes, I’m awful, you don’t have to tell me that. Either way, name and overused design aside, this’ll get the job of tearing you a new one done a whole lot better than that hammer would. So, Joanna, Warchild, this is my declaration to you and Kat, or even the entirety of the Horsewomen.”
He placed his weapon of choice lightly over his shoulder before waving his other hand in a challenging manner.
“Bring it on. All of you. I don’t back down from a fight. This is my consent right now for you to come and TRY to execute me. I won’t fall.”
Finally, his cursor moved to the final image covering his stream as it lit up brightly. Heath Williams. Current Eye-For-An-Eye Champion. He stood tall between the two with a determined stare over his eyes as the gold hung over his shoulder.
“As much as I’d like to say good luck to you, it’s hard. We’ve got two rather scary-crazy ladies of the same group in this match before us. As stated before, this isn’t a tag team match, but it might as well be. You’ve got the ones that the fans relate to the most on one side, and the Horsewomen looming on the other, ready to pounce. Everyone is fighting for that belt in the end and offering a partnership would be stupid out of someone who I know I would backstab the moment the situation came to pass. It is a fatal-four-way after all. But, do know this, if they team up on you, I’d get your back at least for that: handicap matches annoy me more than anything else. I’d like to believe you’d do the same, but who knows. In the end, one of us is walking out with that belt alone. It’s just business in the end.”
The three pictures faded away. The cheery Disaster we’ve seen up to now has disappeared to a bit more of a solemn and stoic tone. He looked at the camera with crossed hands; the weapon was nowhere to be seen now.
“Hell, I don’t even know why I took up the mantle of this challenge to be completely honest with all of you. Maybe I needed the pick-me-up after getting my ass thoroughly handed to me back at Heatstroke. Maybe it was a pride thing. Katalina had a point, despite the wording being a little… insulting. I’m desperately trying my hardest to get my foot through the door here completely again and trying my damnest to climb that ladder. But every single time… I’ve fallen flat on my face. I want to define myself here again, even if it’s so much as a threat within the midcard where I usually place anyway. I’m the only real underdog here. Katalina and Joanna have each other’s backs and Heath has at least proven to be a force to be reckoned with by becoming a two-time I4NI Champion. I’m here sitting pretty with no friends and a piss-poor track record within VOW. But… who knows, guys. Maybe the loser will win one at Breakthrough 51. Wish me luck. That’ll be all for this briefing stream today. I’ll see you all tomorrow for games.”
Stream End.
---
It’s been two days since Max’s recent stream. He’d spent the day prior on his usual gaming stream for his friends and fans. Today, he was walking out of a nearby 24-Hour Fitness after some exercise in hopes to get himself stronger before his match.
It wasn’t going anywhere. He left the gym gasping for air after an attempt to do more than he was used to. His stamina was and always will be poor in regards to the majority of the roster; it is why his prefered matches are the ones that start explosive and end quickly before he gets tired out.
I cannot keep going like this. He started to think to himself as he walked around the city for a moment. I’m going up against three rather terrifying opponents in another multi-man match. I’m going to die out there much like I have EVERY. SINGLE. OTHER. TIME. Lifting weights or running a treadmill isn’t going to help me much. What can I do to help me improve a little… Something high-paced but exciting. Doesn’t have to exactly be wrestling, but come on, there has to be something interesting to do around here.
He took a seat at a nearby bus stop right as the bus itself left. He took a moment to gather his thoughts as he looked for anything to do nearby.
Funnily enough… something did pop up for him to try.
The Replay Airsoft Arena.
I mean… I used to own a revolver for fuck’s sake. Firing off a toy gun should be fun!
---
“Hit!”
That same word was repeated throughout Max’s first day. Rules for the most part were simple: don’t do anything obviously stupid and shoot people. Max, unfortunately was very good at that first part, but not so much the second. His body was completely covered in welts from all of the plastic BBs hitting his body, either bare fleshed or even clothed. Despite owning his own revolver once before in the past, an airsoft gun was nothing like it.
He used two Colt 1911 airsoft pistols out of preference for mobility, but he wasn’t used to the guns at all. Their weight and ammunition were so light in his grasp, so his aim faltered from that slightly. If ever he hit someone, it was from a ricochet.
The team he was playing with at the venue, though, had a bit more success in their endeavours. Some matches they won and some matches they lost. Still didn’t change the fact that they were playing with the thing the Disaster hated above all else: a handicap. The captain in charge of the group of people watched as they all went past, congratulating them for a job well done.
Max was the last one out of the arena as he checked over the guns he had borrowed from the venue for the day. The captain of the team made sure to stop him though.
“You alright, kid?” He started off instantly from seeing the mild gloom in the wrestler’s eyes. Max merely looked up at him with a small smile and nod.
“Yeah, I’m perfectly fine. I’m just a little peeved I couldn’t hit jack out there. Also wasn’t expecting these little things to still sting.” The Disaster gave a meek chuckle before rubbing his hand behind his head. “I just came here to kill time for a day, really. Get out of a stuffy hotel room and have some fun. Maybe a little bit of extra cardio on top of it all.”
“Well, why don’t you come back tomorrow and try again. Matches like this are a great way to kill your days off.” The captain said before patting Max on the shoulder. The man was much taller than Soloke and had the looks of someone old enough to be his father or worse. Max looked to the older gentleman’s kinder expression and nodded in agreement. Before leaving, he took a look over the pistols one more time before asking:
“How much is a pair of these to buy?”
Max left the arena happy with a bag containing two fake guns. It would be a bit of hassle to travel through the air with technical firearms in his bag, but he didn’t care. He set a goal for himself for this week at Replay: To survive one match long enough to win it.
---
Unfortunately, the road to victory is paved with a string of relentless losses. Day after day, Max went in with an optimistic attitude, got some good target practice in early, and went out to the field confident. But, one of two things happened, and win or lose, Max was still eliminated in quick fashion in a hail of high-powered plastic. His entire upper body was laced in light bruises from a couple of days worth of ‘training’ at Replay.
It was Thursday the Fifteenth. It was eight o’clock now as the arena was winding down into it’s last matches. Max stood at his side of the arena gasping for air after playing straight from six to now. His pistols were locked and loaded with a pair of magazines in each pocket for quick reloads. Everyone was standing ready for the referee to ring the bell. Max surveyed the arena grounds one last time. Spray-painted wood walls and barricades filled the entire area as multi-colored plastic BBs rested on the ground. He took in a deep breath to calm his nerves… before the siren sounded and everyone rushed into the arena.
“Hit!”
Just like that, people were already ‘dying’ here and there. Dejected, they raise both hands up with their weapons up as well and begin to leave. Max snuck into the area last and took careful steps around instead of his usual reckless behavior. Being reckless in a match where almost everyone is your enemy is going to get you killed. He watched all around him before advancing.
He picked up one thing from this adventures in Replay: playing tactical. At the start of his adventures in, he ran in as if he was living the American Dream with guns blazing, only to get eliminated first in a volley of pain. Now, he played out the waiting game. To make up for his lackluster aim, he set up ambushes for the enemy, shot them nearly point blank, before retreating before they could even call “Hit.”
The game continued to go on for a while because of this method. Most people from both teams had been eliminated with a small number of stragglers still roaming the field.
Max ran around a corner to avoid a string of BBs before reloading his own guns in a flash. Next to him was someone else on his team. It looked like a teenager of sorts. The two crossed eyes for a moment before the kid spoke up.
“Aren’t you that wrestler who keeps losing?”
“Yes, I’m also the person who can’t seem to ever good a shot. Shouldn’t you be focusing your harass against the other team?” Max said. His voice was fast from the adrenaline rush as he around the wall to see someone approaching.
“Yes, I’m also the one carrying your scrub ass, so why don’t you sit back like you always have been and let someone else take over.” The arrogant child said before jumping from the other side of the barricade the two hid behind. His words struck a nerve with Max, but the wrestler was too late to retort as the kid shot their assailant.
“Hit!”
“Yeah, how do you like that, scru--”
Click. Pop.
“--b… Hit?” The child looked around to see who shot him… only to realize it was the person who was supposed to be on his team.
“I’m not going to sit back while you hog the glory. Also, this venue doesn’t have a rule against friendly fire, my friend.” Max looked down at the kid behind his own pistol, the one he just shot his own teammate with. “So, why don’t you take your loudmouthed ass back to the stands and let me finish this.”
Max caught his wind and stood up straight before walking on. He doomed himself though, turning what was a two-on-two into a one-on-two at this point. Ignorant to the fact, he pushed ahead with his guns at the ready.
I’m not losing this time…
Crossing a corner, he found an enemy with a sniper rifle unprepared for the up close encounter. Swiftly, Max aimed his gun down and took one pop before sprinting ahead.
I’m not coming in last… or third, or second, or fifth… goddammit…
He sprinted to the very back of the arena and found the last member of their team ready with an automatic rifle ready and aimed.
I’M GOING TO WIN--
Pop. Pop, pop, pop.
… I’m… going to… I want to win… I really want to win… I just want to win again here, dammit.
“Hit…” Max rose his hands into the air with both pistols in hand. His thumbs reached for the safeties and switched them off. The match was over. He was shot. He was dead. He lost once again.
“Well, damn. For a pistol user, you still did good! Hit!”
The Disaster looked up to the one with the rifle as he had his own hands, and that rifle up. A welt started to grow right at the man’s forehead.
“A damn fine headshot, too. Was that luck?”
“... Probably.”
… Luck. That’s a funny one, really.
Luck isn’t going to get me far in this business… it’s not going to allow me to topple challenger after challenger, champion over champion.
Max put his pistols away in his dufflebag upon exiting the arena.
It’s not going to allow me to defeat someone like Katalina… Joanna… Heath… it’s not going to help me jump hurdle for hurdle here.
With his bag over his shoulder, he looked up to the night sky with an exhausted sigh.
But… who knows, I guess. If luck is what it will take to get my foot through the goddamn door… to get my hand on that first rung of that ladder to the brass ring again, then I’ll take it… just to get a start again.
But until that happens... I just need to survive.
