Going Out A Champion

Nothing is worse than being termed “the underdog.”  I could stand a term like contender, challenger, or even amateur.  All of those names at least signify some form of dignity.  But here I was, after spending the past 18 months fighting through the various ranks, standing toe to toe with a bred champion, and underdog.  As if being a dog wasn't low enough, I'm under that.
     “We're going to check your calve servos now, David.”  The familiar hum began to rise in intensity as the armor began to compress on my calves.  The armor always felt restrictive but when the armor is fully powered up, it enhances the bodies physical strength tenfold.  But like the drawstring on a compound bow, it requires a level of strength to pull the tension servos back before springing them forward.  In a way, each muscle grouping is like an arrow, pulling back on that bow, ready to snag forward.  It makes each motion a more complicated matter of applied physical strength than the natural flow.  My armor tends to bunch the muscle groups up to closely mimic the fighting stance of late twentieth century boxers.  Mainly because each individual armor is specifically designed to enhance the fighting style of the user and I always devoted myself to a form of boxing many consider dead for nearly three hundred years.
     “You ready to move onto the deflection system?”  I nodded as several beanbag launchers appeared in the wall before me.  I felt a small pinch at the base of my skull as the cybernetic links hummed to life.  This technology allows me to control anything from the servos tension releases to the deflection system with small mental commands.  The human mind does such things anyway, offering small commands the body is too slow to take.  But if you could close the physical and mental gap through technology, human potential is increased.  But even that takes work.  Retraining these impulses to mental commands the armor can understand takes months alone.
     I concentrated on the launchers, trying to anticipate the first attack.  The sound of rushing air signified the first attack as I envisioned the deflection plate appear before the rushing beanbag.  A small hexigonal energy matrix appeared as the beanbags advance towards my right shoulder was halted suddenly.  The pace quickened as more and more beanbags were launched at various angles.  Each halted before they could impact with the armor.  “That's a confirmation of deflection system.  Good form today, David.  Should we alert the referee of our status?”
     “Tell them I'm ready once they are.”
     “They're ready, we're opening the hatch.”  The platform begins to rise as the arena lights offer a moments temporary blindness.  The dome is well lit and both teams have their own supervisory control rooms above each respective side.  Both rooms are heavily armored as battles can, and will, get fierce and protection just by height isn't much protection at all.
     My opponent was using his time to snap a few quick kicks true to his own fighting style, kick boxing.  That was both the blessing and curse of the game.  Any fighting style was allowed.  Sometimes, weapon styles were even allowed just so long as they remained non-lethal.  That was a joke within itself since an unprotected blow from these machines could not only shatter a ribcage, but force the splintered bone into any one of several vital organs.  Which is why the deflection system is so important.  It's a velocity based energy matrix that projects, on mental command, two inches from the body.  
     This means that someone could actually get past this system if a blow comes slow enough but builds intensity within those two inches.  People have been trying to perfect that for years but the truth of the matter, the armor tensions place too much strain on the muscles to make such a move possible.  They can snap and even sever due to the amount of pressure applied to these muscles.  Which is why I toyed with the concept only once.  It's just not doable, not by me anyhow.
     My opponent was trained in the art of Muay Thai Kickboxing which means his armor was definitely built around maximizing foot strength rather than upper body.  While the deflection system can stop an advance, it does at least transfer some of the kinetic energy to you, which means a long term battle can be devastating to the body.  Muay Thai was a style made famous by incredibly powerful kicks and enhanced by the armor, who knows how much pain they can deliver.
     The referee made the usual mentions of what kind of importance lay on this match.  World champion versus underdog sort of nonsense.  I refrained by my usual protest at this title and just thought long and hard about the hell I went through just to earn this match.  My opponent refused to even acknowledge my existence, preferring to pose for the legions of fans that will be upset by the end of the day.  My suit suddenly surged with power as the match began.  He faced me and thrust one hand forward to before giving the thumbs down signal.  
     I surged forward with a leap, my arms tensed to my side.  I began to descend on him as he brought his right leg up for a side snap kick.  I barely got the shields up in time but the blow shook me slightly, allowed the follow up kick ample opportunity to sweep my lower half.  As I fell backwards, he copied my dramatic leap up into the air and followed me down with a forward straight jab.  I barely got my head out of the way as the impact smashed against the floor and created a crater on the solid steel surface.  I raised my knee to fend him off me.  He flew over my head and snapped his balance back in place to perform a perfect flip.
     It was his turn to rush and he dashed forward and brought one knee up.  It impacted heavily with the energy grid and slightly knocked some wind from me before forcing my body upwards.  He followed once again to attempt another flashy midair punch.  I denied him this pleasure by forcing both my arms in a defensive position in front of me.  I finally landed heavily but still in balance, an advantage my opponent did not share as he obviously put more importance on that flashy punch then he should have.  He staggered slightly and I used that chance to bring in some of my own blows.
     I began with a couple short jabs, each one deflected with ease.  So I followed them up with more of the same but slightly faster each time.  This machine gun punching style was excellent for wearing away at much stronger opponents.  Eventually they would weaken but the hopes lay in the ability to outlast them.  Under a constant barrage, few can concentrate and come up with an appropriate counter.  This guy was one of the few as he ducked under one of the blows and came up with a forceful head butt.  He pressed his advantage and delivered a vertical snap kick right to my face.  The guard shattered and while most of the blow was deflected, this was still one hell of a blow.  
     My head buzzed from the impact.  I staggered back, trying desperately to regain my balance.  The referee called for a short break.  “David, your inertia is at 30% it's normal capacity.  I recommend you drop.”  Med staffs are good for bringing to technical terms, what you know stings like a bitch.  However, they don't decide when to throw in the towel, you do.  This match was too important.  If I lost here, it would be another 16 months before I got another shot.  Besides.. underdog.  The label hurt much more than any blow could.  I ripped the cracked facial guard free from the armor and wiped a small amount of blood from my lips.
     I couldn't give in here.  “Negative.  I'll let you know when I'm ready to quit.  Just let me know how bad I get.”  The referee resumed the match and my opponent went right back to work.  A couple rib blows, easily deflected but sends me off balance.  He follows this up with a snap kick.  I deflect once again but he's already into his next move, a sideways kick.  By ignorance or instinct, I bring my palm up to catch the kick but not the shields.  I hear the snap of bones as pain floods my entire right arms.  “He just shattered three metacarpals; on your middle, ring, and pinky finger.  That hand is now beyond repair.  Just say the word and this match is over.”  I grunted loudly as I allowed the arm to fall limply to my side.
     Once chance left.  It's a move I gave up on long ago.  I lead with right leg while slowly bringing my left arm to bear.  Constantly tensing the servos in my arm, drawing back the bow.  He blocked the kick but my arm was coming close to his head.  He tried to block but my hand slowly passed the energy matrix, my muscles screaming the entire time, waiting for the moment of release.  And so I answered their screams.
     The sudden increase in speed in the blow pounded his face guard with immense pressure as it shattered under the blow.  His eyes blanked and several chunks of hard plastic slammed into his face.  The impact sent him flying into the ground but not before a pain ran up my left arm.  The muscles in my arm began to rip from the pressure.  The only action my brain could think of was releasing a beastly scream as I dropped to my knees.  The kind that drags sandpaper through your voice box.    Both arms rendered useless but I went out a champion.