"Are you sure we should be doing this Sloan?" The woman said trembling. She had her delicate hands clasped on her upper arms. She was terrified. So was he. "Chrissy, we have no choice. You know that, I wish we did. But we don’t. I don’t like this anymore than you. Maybe less." "I know, I know" she said, now rubbing her arms as though she could produce enough heat to rid her of the horrible chill in her body.

"I’m almost done." Sloan’s fingers seemed to glide along the keyboard, only the familiar rat-tat-tatting made it evident that he was pushing buttons, rapidly in fact. A soft puff of air elicited a sigh from Sloan, and merely more silence from Chrysantus. "Stand back" said Sloan. Chrissy did so, still shivering, and now looking over her shoulder in expectancy of the police. Sloan grabbed the jewel and held it out to Chrissy. "Here, quick." At the sight of the jewel, Chrissy became almost paralyzed. For the first time in a long time, Chrissy smiled. She grabbed the jewel and shoved it in her pack, almost as if on cue, the police broke down the main door 30 meters away. Sloan shoved Chrissy "Go Chris, out the way we came quick." Chrissy hesitated, biting her lip, but she didn’t need to be told twice, she turned and ran. Sloan ran towards the police in hopes of occupying them. As far as he knew they hadn’t seen Chrissy, and they couldn’t possible hear her footsteps with all the noise they were making. At least Chrissy would make it out okay. Sloan tried resisting arrest, hoping to buy Chrissy as much time as possible, but there’s little one can do to resist neural stabilizer weapons. Sloan’s last coherent thought was, "I love you Chris".

"Maximus Sloan, do you know why you are here?" The judge glowered at Sloan. Things could be worse Sloan thought. At least Chrissy made it out, and they have no reason to suspect her, or even that he had an accomplice for that matter. "Yes your honor" Said Sloan. "The court has determined you are not socially unredeemable. As such, your sentence is 10 fights in the Kumate’." 12 fights Sloan thought. That’s not too bad. 10 broken noses, 10 broken ribs, 10 concussions, not bad at all…

Sloan was not a small man. In fact, it’s possible that he might have looked a bit scary to those that didn’t know him. He was 6’2" and about 200lbs. Far from the largest, far from the smallest. He possessed a fair amount of upper body strength, all of which he had earned, none of which had been bought. Sloan didn’t like to fight. But Sloan didn’t have much of a choice. One couldn’t legally throw a fight. The penalty for doing so was adding more fights to the sentence. So if Sloan refused to throw a punch, he at least needed to take some punishment before he gave up.

The doorway opened and Sloan was pushed through it. The lights above the octagon were blinding compared to the dark tunnel from which he had emerged. The crowd was small. Maybe 200 people. The Kumate’ was the chief source of entertainment now a days. People liked watching those who had wronged society get beaten to a pulp. Hell, they just liked seeing blood. Sloan was sickened by the whole idea. But even he had to admit that getting beaten was much better than the archaic jails or the mind erasing "Proper Societal Behavior Modification" procedures. He noticed that over half the crowd was wearing suits. Bookies, he thought. Half the crowd was probably bookie’s looking for the next big thing, researching fighters so they can turn their info into profit. Sloan didn’t know who was sicker, those that watched, or those that participated. Some individuals actually loved the fights so much that when freed from their punishment contract they would break a law asap to get renewed. Sick. Many of those sadistic individuals lived like gods though. And if it weren’t for them, this system wouldn’t work. The whole reason it worked is because the sickos loved it, thrived on it, and stuck with it so much that they pretty much left the rest of the outside world alone. In the ring they were monsters, but back in society they played nice, they spent their fortunes, they drove their vette’s and the banged their blondes. Model citizens. And they kept their aggression limited to the ring, for fear of being punished with more than just a Kumate’ contract. And as for those who didn’t enjoy hurting others, they got hurt themselves. And after surviving the fights, if they survived, they straightened up quick. Nothing straightens up a small time crook with a big time ego like some broken bones. Sloan scanned the audience for Chrissy, she was there, in the second row. Winning meant a week off, and no training, he would just get to walk over to Chrissy and go home until his next fight. Losing meant two weeks of brutal training and then another fight. They wanted the fights to be as interesting as possible, after all, buy rates were everything. The justice system received nearly all its funding from advertisements during the fights. Some said it was brilliant, the justice system paying for itself. Of course it meant no other type of fighting could be put on tv however. After all, who wants competition. In its own sick way, the justice system known as kumate’ had created more superstars in the last twenty years than New Hollywood had. In fact, those that retired from the Kumate’ often went on to successful careers in New Hollywood.

Sloan didn’t want to hurt anyone. He was prepared to take his beating. His opponent entered the ring. He didn’t look like much, maybe 5’9", 170lbs, but he was smiling. One of those sick sadistic smiles. The horn blew. The fight began.

Sloan danced around a bit’. The other man lunged, he tackled Sloan, catching him square in the midsection. He felt some air rush out of him. His back hit the ground hard, luckily his head did not. The man was wiry, yet deceptively strong, he was tough. He was tough like a cat that you try to put in the bath tub. The man was also sadistic, he bit Sloan on the shoulder and screamed in delight. He yelled obscenities that might or might not have been a foreign language. Sloan was too enraged to tell. Sloan slipped his knees up to his chest and used his feet to throw his opponent off him. The man landed very uncatlike, on his hip, hard. He got up quickly, but Sloan could tell he was hurting. The man lunged and Sloan struck out with his foot, straight and hard it caught the man in the chest and he fell to the ground. There were two ways to win a fight, make your opponent submit, or knock him out. Sloan didn’t know how tough it would be to get this man to submit, so he dropped to his knees and in one fluid motion delivered a thunderous punch to the back of the man’s head. He fell over. Unconscious. The horn signaled. Sloan looked up at Chrissy, her jaw was slack. Then slowly her lips pulled together in a smile.

After going through the standard procedures, the lowjacking and such, he rushed up to meet Chrissy. She had never looked more beautiful to him. They hugged fiercely. "You were amazing" Chrissy said. Sloan knew she meant no harm by the comment, but he couldn’t quite let go so easily. "Fighting is never amazing hun, it’s brutal, it’s ugly, it’s base. It appeals to our animal side, the enjoyment one takes out of violence is the enjoyment one takes rending meat off raw flesh. I did what I had to do. I was prepared to take the hits, but I wasn’t prepared to be brutalized by that animal." The conviction in his voice caused her to lower her face in shame. "I was only… I only meant…" she stammered. He grabbed her and pulled her close "I know hun. I know. I’m just saying, don’t glorify it." He started wondering whether jail was worse than this fate. It seemed almost like freedom. It seemed almost like his life was back to the way it was. But he knew that wasn’t true. He wasn’t free until 19 more people got hurt, or he did. Maybe prison wouldn’t be so bad.

He looked up at Chrissy, and thought to himself, but in there I couldn’t hold her. No one will take that away from me. Originally his intent had been simply to "lay down" during the fights. He thought training wasn’t so bad, he thought he would be fine, it would go by quick and be done. But somewhere between his first glimpse of her in the audience and the feel of her warm body against him now, he knew he wasn’t so independent, and that he needed her. And that he would not let anyone take her away from him, not even for a day. He knew, he wouldn’t lose. A though dawned on him "your family" he said. Her smile widened " Fine. They aren’t going to be evicted, not for a very, very long time. And they can even afford to but some food that wasn’t grown in a petri dish. " She blushed while speaking, unable to contain her overwhelming joy at the thought. "That’s great" he said and hugged her fiercely while pulling her off her feet and swinging her around. "But, I’m curious…" she said, he put one finger to her lip. "Not here" he said, motioning to the arena around them. Her eyebrows raised and she nodded, as though to say "of course, how foolish of me". "Let’s go home" she said, slipping her arm around him. "Best idea I’ve heard all day" he said and smiled.

Later that night over a light dinner they discussed the crime, and the punishment. "What I don’t understand is this." Chrissy said. "We stole a jewel. I got away with it. Why would they not suspect an accomplice. I mean, the jewel was gone." Sloan smiled. "No, they got the jewel back. Sort of." Chrissy also smiled, realizing that the love of her life was also the most brilliant person she has ever met, and must have devised some ingenious plan without telling her. "Sort of?" Chrissy pressed. "Well, I had a cheap synth diamond with me." "And, you expect me to believe they just took the 2 dollar synth, said thanks. And never bothered to make sure it was the real 100k deal?" "Sort of" Sloan said with a mock smile on his face. "There’s got to be more to it, spill it mister" Chrissy said while getting up and moving around the table while making the universal "I’ll tickle the answers out of you" hand gesture. "Ok, ok.." Sloan said and pulled Chrissy onto his lap. "I broke the diamond. Threw it actually, threw a window. The diamond was ruined. The company preferred to leave the diamond dust on the street and claim it "irretrievable" to get more money. The cops could care less. So they got the man, and the diamond. Case closed." Sloan smiled smugly. "And your pretty little ass is safe and sound while I take the fall." He said in mock seriousness. "You really think so" said Chrissy. Suddenly extremely somber. "Think what?" "That my ass is pretty?" she said and smiled. "Hmmm, I guess I’ll just have to check" said Sloan…

Laying in bed Chrissy turned to Sloan and said "Hun." "Yes?" "Can I ask you something?" "You just did" Sloan said. "Very funny. Something else I mean. Seriously?" Her face looked very serious. "Ok." Sloan responded. "Where did you learn to fight like that?" Sloan turned his face away from her "Like what?" he replied. "You know what I mean. Am I supposed to believe that was just beginner’s luck?" Chrissy said, clearly not letting this go. Sloan merely shrugged. "You could’ve killed that guy hun." "Didn’t seem that way when he was on top of me." "He was only on top of you because you let him. You were planning on letting him win until he bit you. He didn’t stand a chance after that. Where did you learn that." Sloan was quiet for a while. She won’t drop this, he thought. I guess I should tell her, no big secret I guess. Besides I should be able to tell her everything. "Here and there" Sloan said. Chrissy said nothing, sensing he was just working himself up to spill the rest. "My dad was a MP, military policemen. He was pretty small. Smaller than me. But he had to be able to handle even the biggest guys. He taught me. I got into martial arts for a while too, Tae Kwon Do. It fascinated me. Yet, the style was too bland for me. It seemed at times to be too caught up in the form, and lost focus. So I decided to figure out what fighting style was best. I researched. And I even made a computer program, I designed algorithms for each fighting style. The main ones anyway. I let them duke it out, 100’s of matches in minutes. It seemed clear to me then, Fluid Submission was the ultimate style. It was a style made by a martial arts master who got sick of the kata’s and the idea of show over effectiveness. So, I studied it. A lot. Then one day, I learned the hard way, that the reason Tae Kwon Do was the way it was is because it wasn’t trying to teach me how to fight. It was trying to teach me how NOT to fight. I was cocky, I’ve always been cocky. And when two guys started harassing a girl I was with, I saw it as an opportunity. One ended up in the hospital, the other… the morgue." Sloan paused. Looking into Chrissy’s eyes for signs of shock, and judgment, there was none. He continued "I didn’t know when to stop. The fight lasted under two minutes, but I hit him too hard, too many times. A broken rib punctured his lung and he hemorrhaged to death before anyone knew what was wrong. Today was the first time I’ve fought since. That was ten years ago. I still practice a bit’, I guess… you know, just in case. But I don’t like fighting. Not after I’ve seen what it can do." Chrissy had no idea what to say, part of her wanted to tell him he was just a kid, that it wasn’t his fault, that he was still a good person. She settled on something else "I love you babe. Lessons are often learned at the cost of a sacrifice. You learned yours the hard way. You can’t change the past." He nodded, and by his look she could tell her comments provided him with no comfort. She felt so worthless, whenever she needed him, whenever she needed to hear some magical words that made the world alright, he was there. He always knew what to say. And now he needed her, he was drowning in the anguish of the past, and she could only watch. Helpless. She hoped she could at least take his mind off the pain, even if she could offer no salve. She leaned over and kissed him…

"Sloan" the voice on the other end of the vidphone said. Sloan could tell immediately by the blacked out picture who it was. "Your next fight is in 2 hours. A car will be there to pick you up shortly." Sloan nodded and the line went dead. Chrissy put her arms around him and held him tightly from the back. "Are you, uhm… are you going to actually fight?" "Yes." No more needed to be said.

Chrissy knew why he was doing it. He didn’t want to be apart from her. The thing he hated more than anything he did, to be with her. God, she felt so lucky. When they met, he was on his way up. She was in a constant spiral downwards. Neither of them opened up to others easily. But to each other, it seemed natural from the first moment they met. Neither believed in love at first sight, until they saw each other. He was doing well for himself, a brilliant programmer at a small but very exclusive firm. Unfortunately, she brought problems with her. Not the least of which was financial. Her family was poor, very poor. Her parents, and 2 sisters were good enough people, but they were people with problems. Sloan did the best he could to help, in fact, he gave them more money in the few months she has been with them than her entire family had earned in the last 2 years. It might have been enough to, enough to get them caught up. Enough so that they wouldn’t have to sell pieces of their minds to the techno butchers that offered fast cash, at a painful price. Unfortunately her dad never met an inside straight he didn’t like, and the money vanished. Sloan could do nothing. Her family was on the verge of being evicted, in fact her dad was on the verge of being killed by some bookies. And so they decided there was only one way to help her family out, theft. One heist, one jewel, one hundred thousand dollars. Enough to get her parents far out of the whole, and get her dad some hypno-counseling to kick his gambling habit. She owed him so much. Her only problem in her relationship with Sloan is she didn’t feel good enough for him. He deserved so much better. He took the rap for her. He got sentenced for her, he was facing his inner demons for her. She only wished she could do more for him…

Sloan’s opponent was small. Real small. If he had been Sloan’s first opponent, then things would be very different. This man wasn’t an animal and wouldn’t have tried to bite Sloan like a cheap synth-steak. But Sloan had already decided not to lose. He didn’t waste time, he moved in quickly, and when his opponent threw a right hook, Sloan leaned back, caught his opponent’s wrist with his right hand, quickly put his left hand on the man’s shoulder, and in one smooth motion he pulled the man to the ground using much of the man’s own momentum. He then applied pressure to the mans shoulder blade. The man yelped, half in surprise, half in pain. He tapped immediately. The horn blared. Sloan was proud. No blood spilled. No one hurt. The man’s shoulder would feel fine in an hour. He looked up at Chrissy. She smiled, and cheered. He couldn’t help but smile too…

The next several fights proceeded like the first ones had. Only one person did Sloan have to knock out. The rest submitted. 4 wins, 0 losses. The bookies took notice. In an age when betting was king, and the kumate’ inspired the king of all bets, to a fighter like Sloan, the bookies were gods. And that was proven in his next fight.

Sloan entered the octagon and scanned for Chrissy in the audience. Her seat always moved, they didn’t want to draw suspicion by tossing around the kind of money they would need for a regular seat. The crowds had been growing match by match, and this match was no exception. The crowd was large, 2-3000. Sloan couldn’t spot Chrissy. The other competitor came out, and Sloan’s jaw almost dropped, almost. His name was Edge, he was a "lifer." One of the career guys who loved to fight, and became very famous, not to mention rich, for it. Edge wasn’t the biggest of guys. He was about 6’4" and 225 lbs. But that still put him quite a bit’ above Sloan. And where as Sloan had a little extra fat on him, Edge did not. And worst of all, Edge was fast. Edge didn’t crush his opponents. Though he certainly rarely lost. And Edge was getting a bit’ old. Edge was a midcarder, but a definite money maker. He was the guy you put against the rising stars. People thought the new guy had a chance, and sometimes they did. And either way, betting went up, and the bookies were happy. Normally very little money was made on matches with small timers. Only lifers vs. lifers drew much of a crowd, or much commercial time. Every now and then though, some guy, sentenced for a petty crime, would go on a streak, and the crowd would get behind him. For someone reason the crowd loves an underdog. Especially one they think is "untainted" by the politics of the fight. Sloan had even once heard a public debate about how lifer’s were bad for the "sport" and how the amateurs were the true backbones, the heroes of society. Those that come from nothing, and fight for everything they have. Sloan thought the entire thing was ridiculous. And judging by the cheers he got, the fans did love an underdog.

Edge posed for the crowd, some roared, others booed. Sloan hadn’t expected this. For some reason he thought he could just go 4-0 without getting noticed. How had he been so stupid? Should he throw this fight? No, he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t leave Chrissy for that long. Nor could he make her worry in that way. Win or lose, he would do his best. For her.

"You’re not in my league you little dreg." Edge said. Edge was a pro, and the mind game was part of that. Sloan just nodded. Focusing. Refusing to play along. "What’s the matter little boy. Do you talk about as good as you fight? I’ll tell you what, I’ll make it quick on you. Rather than dragging it out. How’s that sound?" Sloan said nothing. The two fighters circled eachother. Edge threw a quick straight kick which Sloan sidestepped. Edge than danced a little and threw a quick jab, Sloan was almost out of its reach anyway, and so simply leaned back. He realized though that Edge’s reach was much more than his own. He knew that Edge liked to finish off his opponents with a Spear. A basic tackle that usually caused the opponents head to hit the ground and render them unconscious. If he could manage a headlock takedown while suffering the spear, it would give him an easy neck submission. And if Edge honestly meant to end this match quickly, then he might just be able to escape with little bloodloss. Lot of if’s. Edge decided for a strong roundhouse punch and Sloan saw his chance. He took the punch, but at a lessened level thanks to turning his head and pulling back a bit. He swung his body around, his back to Edge. A dangerous move. He was trying to oversell the move as though it a crippling blow. After all, he hadn’t really been hurt in any other match, and no one knew how much he could take. He stumbled forward a few feet, and slowly started turning back around. He hadn’t been attacked from behind, that was a good sign. Now he just needed… he turned around and Edge went for the spear. Sloan decided last second to kick edge in the chest, a quick upwards toe kick catching him in the ribs to slow him down. And when Edge’s shoulder met with Sloans stomach, Sloan’s arm wrapped around Edge’s head in a headlock. And down they went. The huff emitted from Edge indicated that he too had lost some air in the exchange, maybe from the kick. Sloan took his other arm and entangled Edge’s one arm with it, preventing him from half his possible punches. And now both their bodyweights were pressing against Edge’s other side, rendering that arm worthless too. Sloan tightened his grip on Edge’s neck. Edge’s one arm flailed in a motion that was as good as tapping. The horn Blared. 5 more Sloan thought, just five more.

Sloan was escorted back through the gate, but instead of being lead straight to the exit he was lead straight to a man with a 2,000 dollar suit and a half-a-penny smile. "Mr. Sloan, I’m pleased to meet you" said the man, extending his hand which Sloan shook. "I’m Mr. McCoy. All I have to say Sloan, can I call you sloan?" He said, then continuing, obviously caring more about getting his pitch out than receiving an answer "All I have to say is ‘wow’. I’ve had my eye on you. I saw a tape of the first fight, and I thought, hmmm, kid got lucky. Then, the next few fights, same thing. You just wait for a sloppy punch, and pow. Neat trick, I thought to myself. But then, that big guy. The Chief I think they call him. Do you know what that guy does for fun? He puts out cigarettes on his tongue. He was head of some Ameri-Indian Biker gang, and one day some cop actually had the nerve to bust him. Well, the cop died shortly after. But the Chief had had one fight, and he was in love. He’s one of our newest lifers. But with him, he’s a lifer because everytime his contract almost expires, he confesses to a new crime. Can you believe that?" Sloan thought he would dislike this man the moment he laid eyes on him. Now he was sure. Not only wouldn’t he shut up, but he acted like him and Sloan were old college buds or something. Sloan wondered who we was. Bookey most likely. Maybe not though, most small time bookies dressed small time. And big time bookies, well they sure as hell didn’t take time out of their schedule to meet with temps, what the called people who were only in the Kumate’ for a limited time. "The man loves pain. Which I guess you found out. So there you were, a 280lb monster underneath you, his arm being dislocated. And he won’t tap. Refuses. Hell, he prolly’ enjoyed the pain. And you still win. You knock the dumb son of a bitch out. That’s when I knew you were more than a fluke. But I had to make sure, which is why I arranged your little match tonight." Arranged? Sloan thought. Either he was a booky with a lot of influence, or he was, a judge. Judges always wore black though. It was tradition after the Midnight Judges started the Kumate’ a few decades ago. Sloan didn’t keep up with the Kumate’. But in this world, everyone else did. He had never even watched a full fight, just seen bits of it on friends HoloVids and in bars. But it was impossible not to keep up with it. It was what everyone talked about during lunch, it was what made the news 9 times out of 10. Hell, the Fleet towers in Boston even displayed the play by play right under the clock on the top of it’s towers. Sloan didn’t like it, hell, Sloan probably hate it. But Sloan was not ignorant, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out whom he was talking to. "I figured, hey, why not see how good you really are. And wow. You won in under a minute. How quickly did Edge tap?" The man said to the guard. The guard looked at his digital info band and responded " 27 seconds sir." "Under half a minute!" The man exclaimed, using his hands for exclamation, as though he were preaching an old time preacher talking about fire and brimstone. "Kid, I can make you rich." Finally, the angle, thought Sloan. "That’s very kind sir. But I’ll pass. I wouldn’t even know what to do with the money." Sloan tried to sound as stupid and hicklike as possible. Sloan didn’t possess the "look" an extremely bright man, and he liked to use that. The dumber people thought he was, the better. "Really?" Said the man raising an eyebrow. "I’m sure you could find some use for it. In fact, I hear Chrissy’s little sister needs some extensive dental work. That must cost quite a bit’." The hairs on the back of Sloan’s neck stood up. As greasy and as slimy as this man might have been, he was not dumb, and he was definitely well informed. Sloan was a computer programmer, which meant in his off time he was a hacker. Not the best, but not the worst. And being a hacker meant he limited the info. About him floating around in the sphere as much as he could. "I’ll be honest with you Mr. McCoy, I don’t like fighting. I fight because that is my sentence. When the fight ends I sigh in relief. I may fight, but I’m not a fighter." McCoy shook his head. "Bullshit. That’s precisely what you are" jabbing his finger at Sloan to make his point. The gloves were off. "and don’t tell me you don’t like winning. I see the look on your face. You could lose. You choose to win. You choose to inflict pain. You’re a criminal, don’t play all innocent with me." McCoy was definitely not a dumb man, and that scared Sloan. He didn’t want to be noticed. He didn’t want anyone to see his fights. He just wanted to go home. "I like winning. I like going home. I don’t like hurting people, nor do I like being hurt. I have 5 fights left. When they’re over, I will never raise my hands in violence again. Not even to defend myself." McCoy realized I couldn’t be rattled and changed his technique. "Son, I’m not talking about being a lifer, God no. I’m only talking about your next 5 fights. I’m talking about making you a star. The underdog, hero of the people, the people’s champion." "I don’t want to be a hero." "You have 5 fights left Mr. Sloan, why not make the most of it?" "The fights are a punishment. I don’t feel right gaining from them." "What about after you’ve served your sentence?" "I don’t plan on committing anymore crimes Mr. McCoy." "I’m not talking about crime. The Kumate’ is changing, very rapidly. New deals have been made that will redefine the Kumate’." "What deals?" "Well, for one. The Kumate’ will not be only for criminals anymore. After all, we don’t want to encourage people to break laws just to fight now do we?" Sloan couldn’t argue with that, he always thought it was ridiculous how men would finish their "sentence" just to do what they could to get another one. Hell, if they wanted to beat eachother’s brains out, let ‘em. But opening it to non-criminals, meant opening it to places like New Hollywood. Which meant the justice system would lose their domination on the market. After all, non-criminals couldn’t fight in criminal punishment Kumate’s anymore than in the old days a citizen could walk in a jail and go into a cell and take a nap on the top bunk. Could they? Sloan voiced his thought "but that would mean competition with places like New Hollywood wouldn’t it?" "Not competition, partnership." "Partnership?" said Sloan, completely dumbstruck. "Yes. They’re joining forces. Like I said, the Kumate’ is going to be redeveloped , transformed actually. There’s enough profit for all. And I want you to be at the center of it." Sloan wished he could stay resolutely opposed, but his curiosity was piqued, to put it very, very lightly. "How?" "well, new rules are going to be put into place, new people are going to be let in. We’re planning on having a great deal of youngblood’s come in. And a great many of the older fighters…" he paused, perhaps looking for the right word, or perhaps for dramatic flare "shall we say, put out." "So, what is it I have to do." McCoy smiled. "Before each match I’ll give you instructions. You follow them, and when it’s all over, you’ll be rich." "What kind of instructions?" "Well, your next match is against an old pro, emphasis on old." McCoy laughed at his own joke, his laugh was dry, like the sound crumpling paper. "And he won’t submit no matter what. But I want you to try your hardest." "I always try my hardest." McCoy shook his head, "Why do men submit Sloan?" "They submit because they fear having a limb broken. They know the fight is over, they tap and remain in one piece, or they don’t and a broken limb denies them any chance of winning." "Exactly, but this man won’t submit. And I don’t want him knocked out. I want him…" this time there was no denying, the pause was for effect "broken." Sloan was shocked. "You want me to break him? Piece by piece." McCoy smiled, this time the smile was sincere, and it made it all the more hideous. Sloan was reminded of a snake he saw in a movie once, that was grinning while trying to hypnotize and eat a young boy. "Exactly." "No!" Said Sloan. "Oh come on, he won’t even feel it he’ll be so pumped up with PBS’s!" PBS’s were pain blocking substances, one of the few "controlled" substances left in the world. Highly illegal, especially in the Kumate’. "PBS’s!? They’re illegal, even steroids aren’t permitted before matches!" "In the old Kumate’, you’re correct. Like I said, the Kumate’ is changing." Sloan felt sick to his stomach. The old Kumate’ had been horrid. But at least there rules. Bell rings, two people fight. Neither one high, nor pumped. The bell rang, the fight stopped. And aggression after the bell resulted in "Proper Societal Behavior Modification", which basically meant your mind was erased, and reformed as they saw fit. The old Kumate was brutal, but at least it was honest, what McCoy was suggesting was… inhuman. "You have the wrong guy Mr. McCoy. You’re despicable, this new idea is despicable. I’ll suffer through my next five matches, then I’m gone. God help those who are left." Sloan walked past McCoy to the exit, no one tried to stop him. McCoy screamed at him "You’re right you will SUFFER Sloan! You’re a fool. I’ll make you wish you were dead!" And in time, he did.

Sloan told Chrissy what had happened. "God Sloan, that’s terrible. Maybe we should go back to the judge, and tell him." "We can’t Chrissy. He’s probably involved. The whole justice system is involved. Think about it, before, judges made nice salaries off the fights, but now, they can bet, they can be bookies. Every one of them is going to make a fortune. If I go to a judge he’ll probably hold me in contempt and force me into another 2 fights." "Oh God hun, what are we going to do." "We’re going to fight. Maybe I’ll take a dive. I’ll tap quick, I can’t be hurt after the bell. I’ll get it over with." "You can’t tap too quick though hun, if they think you threw the fight, you’ll get put back before the judge." Sloan nodded. "I’ll make it look good, don’t worry." "I’m so sorry, this is all my fault hun. If it weren.t for…" Sloan cut her off "Chrissy?" He said cupping her chin in his hand. She looked into his eyes. "I love you more than anything Chrissy. I live and breathe for you. We’ll get through this. One man cannot face the world, but one strong love can face anything." Tears welled up in her eyes and they kissed.

Sloan was waiting for the gate to raise when someone spoke his name. He turned around, it was McCoy. "Howdy Sloan." Sloan, said nothing. "Put out your hand." The guard grabbed Sloan’s arm and forcefully put it out, even though Sloan offered no resistance. McCoy clasped a small black bracelet on his wrist. "What is this?" asked Sloan. "A tell-tale. It monitors your bodies activities. Brain waves, adrenaline output, pain receptors. Just in case you think about throwing the fight. If you tap, without redlining, or you get knocked out by a half-ass punch, I’ll have you before the judge before you can even hear the damn horn. And I’ll own you! Remember that." Shit, thought Sloan. So much for that plan. I guess I don’t have much of a choice. If I ever did.

Sloan’s opponent was exactly what McCoy said he would be, an old pro. He was probably the oldest active fighter, but in his prime there is no doubt he was the greatest. Wallace was one of the first people to ever get famous from the Kumate’. He played the crowd like no other. But for some reason, the crowd, now over 3,000 people, loved Sloan more. The roar was of the crowd was almost deafening, but Sloan just tuned them out. He had made Chrissy promise to stand near the front so he could see her. And he could, in fact, she was all he saw before the fight began. "I’m going to break you in half kid. I’m going to show you how it’s done!" Wallace growled. Sloan wondered whether Wallace really was pumped up on drugs. It was impossible to tell, he was supposed to be on glorified pain killers, so there were no tell-tale signs like bloodshot eyes as there was with other drugs. Wallace might be old, but he was still big, 6’7", and still strong. Wallace posed for the crowd every chance he got. Wallace swiped at Sloan as though he were a bear trying to scare away an attacker, and in many ways, he was. Sloan easily dodged his first few punches. Wallace kept moving in closer. Sloan knew he had little chance if Wallace got too close. He had to keep the big man at a distance. But unfortunately he was backing himself right into a wall. "Where you going kid? Don’t ya’ wanna play with papa?" Wallace bellowed, throwing a few more punches, making sure the crowd could see who the tougher man was. Think Sloan, and think fast. Wallace threw another punch, a half hearted swipe actually, and Sloan took advantage. He grabbed Wallace’s arm and tried him to the ground in an attempt to lock in an arm bar, as he had done with his first several opponents. Unfortunately, Wallace hadn’t put enough momentum into the punch for it to be used against him, and also unfortunately for Sloan, Wallace was a hell of a lot stronger. Wallace pulled his arm back and elbowed Sloan in the stomach. Sloan hopped back to catch his breath. "Haha, that all you got boy?" Wallace bellowed. Sloan inhaled deeply, I need to put him on the defensive Sloan thought. Sloan faked a roundhouse and then lashed out with his foot while Wallace was still laughing. His foot caught him right in the soloplexus. Though it didn’t seem to do much more than make him angry. Sloan threw a straight punch at Wallace’s face, turning his entire body to give it more power. He connected squarely with the larger man’s nose and heard a distinctive pop, followed of course by much bleeding. He had surprised the big man, and also reflexively brought his hands up to his face. The body had several reflexes, many of which could be taken advantage of. No reason to let up now Sloan thought. He ducked his body and then brought it up, fist first. His fist connected with Wallace’s jaw in a brutal impact that must’ve broken his jaw, considering how much it hurt Sloan’s hand. Sloan then delivered a reverse kick, turning his body and bringing his back foot directly into Wallace’s stomach. Wallace was pissed. He began rushing Sloan mere milliseconds before the kick landed. And he charged right through it. He grabbed Sloan in a bear hug, and squeezed, hard. Sloan was able to keep his breath in him, but he could feel his ribs slowly begin t buckle. The man’s grip was like iron. Considering the way Wallace reacted to the damage he took, ie: little more than just surprise. Sloan was pretty sure he was pumped up on PBS’s. That meant Sloan would have to knock the man out. Sloan felt his strength being ripped from his body as the big man squeezed him. He might only have one shot at this he put his arms straight out to the side, as though he were hanging from a cross. He then made fists, with one small exception, the middle knuckles on his middle fingers was stuck out, to create almost a small claw. He then swung his arms as hard as he could at Wallace’s head. His intention was for his middle knuckles to hit the man’s temples. Hopefully rendering him unconscious. Immediately after impact he realized the man’s arms were still squeezing him, tightly. He had failed. A millisecond later the man’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed. What do you know, Sloan thought. It worked. He had won, barely. He looked for Chrissy in the audience, but he couldn’t see her. He realized that the crowd was practically in a frenzy, screaming his name. Who he could see however was McCoy, in his front row seat, smiling.

"Oh my god baby, I was so worried for you" Chrissy said as she threw her arms around Sloan. "I can’t stand to watch you get hurt." Sloan returned the hug fiercely. "Hey, no one can hurt me, cause’ I got a secret weapon. You. With you by my side, no one stands a chance." Sloan was afraid for Chrissy. Afraid that she would watch him get hurt badly. Sloan was afraid for himself. But holding her, he didn’t feel afraid of anything.

"Excellent Job Mr. Sloan." Said McCoy over the vidphone. "You did just as I asked." Sloan didn’t like fighting, but he thought to himself that he wouldn’t mind 2 mins. Alone in the octagon with McCoy. "I did no such thing. All I did was win, barely." "On the contrary. You put Wallace out of commision. Permanently." Sloan heart raced. "What? How?" "That blow you gave him did more than knock him out. It nearly crippled him. The doctors say one more concussion and Wallace will die. Therefore, he can never fight again. You retired him" McCoy laughed that dry laugh that made Sloan think of a snake shedding it’s skin. "Have you by chance reconsidered my offer Mr. Sloan?" Sloan hung up. Chrissy came back from the kitchen with a snack. "Was that the vidphone hun?" She asked, while nibbling on a chocolate chip cookie. "Yeah, it was just a wrong number though." Sloan said. "Oh…"

Sloan refused to be beaten. He refused to let Chrissy see him get hurt. He refused to let them take Chrissy away from him. He refused stay away from Chrissy any longer than he had to. The matches got tougher. The rules changed. The fight schedule became erratic. The crowds became enormous. ‘They’ wanted to beat Sloan. That had probably been their intention all along. To get the crowd behind him. To rake in the serious money, and then to bet against him. Maybe it was the midnite judge’s way of reminding people that crime doesn’t pay. Or maybe it was New Hollywood’s, and McCoy’s way, of reminding the people that no one was above them, That they could humble god himself, if of course he existed in this age. They made the matches first blood. You bleed you lose. They took away the ability to tap. KO was the only victory. They even made him fight two matches back to back. They pumped up the opponents, with any drugs they could think of. Sloan fought, he fought to win, he fought for Chrissy. Even without dealing with McCoy, Sloan knew he would soon be rich. Bookies, and countless thankful people sent him money, with a story attached like "I knew you would win son. So I took all the money I had, and I bet it on you. Odds are always against you. The deck is always stacked. But I knew you’d come out on top. I just knew it, so here’s some of my winnings." And the odds were certainly stacked against him. He was a celebrity now. Everyone knew him, everyone loved him, except McCoy, and maybe others in the New Hollywood/Justice faction. Although, it was quite possible even that faction loved him. And they simply let McCoy have his way with Sloan because it was making them rich. Sloan didn’t care about the money. But he kept it, for Chrissy and her family. Sloan and Chrissy had both grown up poor. This had caused Sloan to realize money wasn’t necessary for happiness, but poverty only increased Chrissy’s lust for wealth. Sloan couldn’t blame her, he knew what it was like. And he knew she was doing it for her family too. As the odds became more and more stacked, the more confident Sloan became. "With you by my side, I can never be broken" Sloan would say to Chrissy. And he believed it. With only two fights left, McCoy did something that even caused the crowds to react poorly. Sloan was forced to fight against two people simultaneously. And neither were pushovers. When the smoke had cleared, Sloan had about a dozen broken bones. His opponents hadn’t faired quite as well. Sloan didn’t mind hurting them. Not anymore. Any man who would double team someone deserves whatever they get. McCoy wanted to bring false charges against Sloan to get him convicted to more fights. But the Kumate’ had made Sloan famous. And with fame came power. And although McCoy could put any obstacle he wanted in front of Sloan in the octagon. Not even he could compete with Sloan outside of it. And so, with one last battle, with one last chance for McCoy to get revenge, McCoy finally got smart.

Sloan woke up suddenly. Something was wrong. Chrissy was gone. Sloan almost always awoke when Chrissy left the bed, somehow he had a subconscious awareness of her presence at all times. And when she left his side, he knew it. He placed his hand on her side of the bed, it was still warm. "Chrissy" he called. No response, he heard a thump in the living room and got up quickly, a little too quickly, he fell too his knees. His head felt groggy. His legs felt weak. He felt exactly as he felt on those times when he took a strong sedative and tried to get up before it had worn off. But who would have given him a sedative, and why? He slowly stood back up and moved towards the living room. Being careful not to lose balance. When he reached the living room he found Chrissy with a suitcase. "Chris, baby, what’s going on?" She didn’t answer. "Chris baby. Chris?" She quickly moved towards the door, but luckily he was in her way. If it had been on the other side of the room he wouldn’t have had the strength to get to it, let alone to get to it and stop her. "Chris, what’s going on babe? Talk to me?" Chrissy’s eyes welled up with tears. "You’re supposed to be asleep! The sedative was supposed to keep you from waking up." Her voice sounded very pouty, very whiny, like a small child who is saying "not fair, not fair." "Where are you going hun. TALK TO ME!" "I’m leaving Sloan. For good." Sloan thought to himself, this must be a dream. A nightmare. This isn’t real. But he knew that it was very, very real. "W…w…why?" Was all he could muster. "Sloan. I love you . You know I love you. I love you so much. But, what they’re offering me, I just can’t say no. They’re giving me everything I’ve ever dreamed of. Money, limitless money Sloan. My family will never be poor. My kids someday, they’ll never worry about money. My grandkids even Sloan. My grandkids!" She said, bursting once again into tears. "They’re giving me everything. Everything." Her voice sounded desperate, as though she expected me to understand. "Except me" Sloan said. She nodded. "Except you. I love you. So much, but my family comes first, I come first. I’m sorry. I have to look out for me. I have to do what makes me happy. And I’m not happy watching you fight. And besides, right now they’re offering, if I refused they’d just take and you know it. They might even kill my family. Either I take what they offer, or it gets worse, and we lose everything. It’s for both our goods." Sloan snapped. "Don’t turn this around! You’re choosing a new life over the life I offer you, plain and simple! I’m fighting for you! I got sentenced for you. Everything I do, I do for you! Please, I need you." Chrissy shook her head, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand. "I’m sorry Sloan. I’m… sorry." "I need you Chrissy. I know I don’t say that enough. I know I don’t show it enough, but I do. All I’ll ever ask of you, all I want of you is this. For all I’ve done for you, for the life I’ve given you, I’m just asking you to stay. Don’t leave me, not like this. Not right now. Please." Sloan had never heard himself beg, in fact, no one had ever heard him beg. But he was begging now. "I’m sorry." Chrissy said and she ran by him out the door. Sloan collapsed. A wave of emotions hit him like tsunami, like no storm he had ever known, nor would ever know again. He felt so helpless… so alone. And he felt so mad. The feelings raged inside of him, threatening to destroy him. He wept, and wept, and eventually sleep overtook him once more.

This is the last fight, the only fight, Sloan thought. He was not even curious what stipulation the match had. In fact, when it was over, he still didn’t know. He didn’t even know how many men he had beaten, perhaps one, perhaps twenty. He took out his rage on them. He was aware of a distant buzzing sound. Part of him knew it meant stop, meant that it was over, but a greater part of him was convinced it was the sound of destiny. The sound of Death drawing near. Is it coming for me, he wondered. Or is it coming for these men? Don’t worry death, he thought, I’ll give them to you. This is kind of fun. I guess I am just an animal after all. And maybe, after I give you all these sacrifices, he thought, maybe you’ll take me too. Maybe…maybe…maybe…