She let out a light chuckle through her sniffles.
“For what?” she asked.
He beamed a reassuring smile back at her.
“I thank you for your vulnerability, your bravery, for all that you are right now. I want to be just like you,” he replied.
Soon, the group transported through a tunnel of wavy psychedelic lights. Savoi closed her eyes because of the bright lights. The sounds of screaming, cheering, and chanting filled the space. The noise pierced her eardrums, and she covered her ears. Slowly, she opened her eyes. They were amid at least a hundred men and women inside a large metal warehouse.
Savoi recognized her teammates a mere ten feet in front of her. She elbowed her way through the crowd to get to her squad. Without a word, she laced her fingers with Shevchenko so they could hold hands. Shevchenko tensed up, but did not have the energy to pull away. Yoshida squirmed over to them and mouthed something with his lips. The roar from the crowd made it impossible to know what he said, so he leaned in closer to Savoi’s right ear.
“You have your mother’s eyes and her strength is in your spirit,” he said, and stroked the faded laceration mark under her chin.
Savoi melted with a smile and used her free hand to cuff him in place. The pair were locked in a trance for several minutes, as if no one else was around. Shevchenko felt slighted by their intimate interaction. She stood motionless, annoyed that her presence had not been acknowledged. The crowd became more rambunctious. They pushed and shoved one another, which caused Shevchenko to knock Savoi right into Yoshida’s arms. A subtle awkwardness permeated between all three parties.
Fortunately, Farouk emerged through the melee in the nick of time.
“What part of the kingdom of Soleste have we landed now?” he panted.
The metal warehouse container was filled to maximum capacity with hundreds of sweaty bodies. Dim blue lights were strategically placed overhead, so that there was just enough light to see. The massive crowd roared and chanted loudly, and pushed and shoved each other, seeming to get to the front. Music blasted from several speakers in every corner of the room. It was enough to make anyone feel as if they would drown in the sea of deep regret.
Several people collapsed front the intense heat. Two servers muscled their way through masses to aid them with a spray bottle of water. Pandemonium set in once the music changed to an upbeat rock band. There was a collective sense of relief that the venue would soon begin. After several minutes of nothingness, the crowd jeered and booed. Suddenly, sprinklers emerged from the ceiling and sprayed water all over the area. A newfound surge of invigorated energy settled in.
Loud speakers allowed an announcer to be heard talking. At first, the noise level muffled his speech. The audience simultaneously hushed to listen in.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. We had a little snafu in the locker room, but all of that has been taken care of. Without further ado, I bring you the fight of the century!” the announcer said.
The audience cheered with excitement.
“In the left corner, I give you The Howling Wolf.”
On the left side of the arena stood a tall, thin young man with a wolf tattooed on his chest. He was bald, with sparkling green shorts. He repeatedly beat his chest and howled like a wolf. Some of the audience howled with him, while the other half booed.
The Alpha squad looked at one another in bewilderment, not knowing what to expect. They looked out in front to scope what everyone was looking at. A steel caged arena was the only visible sight. Suddenly, at least twenty bodies collapsed up front. The Alpha squad locked arms and rushed in to take their spots.
“There is Emmett,” Savoi called out.
Roudan sat perched on a tall metal bar stool. He was shirtless and wore black shorts with golden stripes down the sides. His body was muscular, but leaner. He donned a purple mohawk instead of a buzz cut. Though he was hardly recognizable, it was the unique black cobra tattoo wrapped around his right arm that stood out.
His eyes were crazed and fixed upon his opponent.
~The Waring Robins~
Living Works of D.K. Fair 