Realistic or Modern Great Ganbatte!!!

[PiePillager]

"What are you nervous about?" Castanetta asked, cold blue eyes peering out just above the sunglasses tipping over his nose. The figure sitting across from him in the limousine was a timid sort. An old balding man, with a dull gray suit that was one size too large, maybe two. "Here, lemme get that for ya.." The middle-aged mobster reached forward, causing the old man to lurch backward in fear.

"Whoa, whoa...easy now, old timer..." Castanetta held out his hands to show he meant no harm before simply straightening the older man's jacket. "Just makin' sure you look presentable Mr. Harrison. Castanetta leaned backward, one arm resting atop his seat, as he reached into his pocket and drew out a lighter. "You look nervous, want a smoke?"

Harrison glanced up and with a small nod, shakily drew out his cigarette. Castanetta in return offered a smarmy smile and went to light it. "No need to be afraid, you ain't in trouble! So what, you gotta gamblin' addiction. That's fine. A lotta people do. Hell, coulda been worse. Coulda had pigs breathing down yer neck for embezzling company funds. Just your luck that it was one of our companies, huh? Pretty hefty number....for a small-time manager like yourself. 2 million....chump change to me now, but back when I was a peon like you...WHEW!"

"...1.5 million," Harrison corrected, timidly.

"Huh?"

"It was 1.5 bill-" Harrison repeated, but froze as he saw the smile fade from the face of the man across from him.

Castanetta did not like being corrected. Quickly he drew out his phone, thumbing across the screen rapidly, without blinking. A tense atmosphere filled the air and Harrison felt a suffocation take over him...until Castanetta relaxed and let out a light chuckle. "So, it is." He laughed, patting Harrison on the shoulder. Harrison, perhaps due to nerves, began to laugh as well. "Yeah, that one's on me. Just...try not to do that again."

"Right! Right, understood!" Harrison nodded, ceasing his laughter instantly.

"Like I was sayin', your gettin' a second chance. Don't ever say the Magna Mafia ain't the generous types. Poker, Blackjack, the slots...fuckin' chump change compared to what people got ridin' on this. You bet right on the right person and you're made. For life! You'll have more than enough to pay us back! You bet wrong and...well." Castanetta pressed a button and rolled down the window beside Harrison. From the corner of his eye, the old man saw a man in a suit dragged into an alleyway, blood trailing behind him. "You're smart. You get it."

"Yes..." Harrison muttered. "It's all down to luck."

"Oh but that's what makes it excitin'!" Castanetta grinned, standing up as much as he could in the cramped space of the limousine. "It's not just you...everyone involved's out here, putting it all on the line! Money, dreams, everybody out here's got somethin' to fuckin' prove! From the schmucks like you to all the fighters waitin' to make their big break!"

"...F-fighters?" Harrison questioned, regretting he did not ask any questions sooner upon agreeing to this deal. It didn't matter at this point, with the way his luck had gone, he figured he was dead no matter what occurred. "Just what is this...?"

"Oh, don't tell me you came all this way and didn't know..." Castanetta shook his head, smugly. "This, my friend..."

***
A light-skinned bald man in a feathered coat stood with a wide grin on his face. He had a wide muscular build and a neatly shaved goatee. Sunglasses rested firmly on his face as he stood expressionless in front of the cameras, a cane planted firmly in the ground in front of him, with both of his hands resting atop it. With one deep breath, he exhaled and the emotionless facade shattered replaced with a tidal wave of emotion. From behind him, two women in small two-piece bikinis emerged from behind his frame, both holding what appeared to be firearms. Those two were followed by another pair of women, who in turn, were followed by another, for a total of ten.

The camera panned out, revealing that they were standing on a massive stage, a huge audience out before them. The women shot their guns into the air, fireworks launching from their mock pistols and exploding bombastically in the air as the bald man screamed into the Microphone, his bellowing drowning out the roar of the crowd and the booming of the fireworks. "ECUADOOOOOOOOOR! Y'ALL KNOW WHO IT IS! YOUR BOY, MIKE M-M-M-M-MAXIMUM! AND I'M HERE TO PRESENT TO YOU! THE GREATEST SHOW ON THE PLANET! THE ABSOLUTE GREATEST GATHERING OF THE WORLD'S STRONGEST WARRIORS! THIS IS THE BATTLEGROUND OF THE THIRTIETH GREAT GANBATTE TOOOOOOOOOOOOOURNAMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENT!"

The audience's hands erupted in applause, and indecipherable cheering. People, not only from Ecuador, but all over the world, were in attendance and there were many, many more watching from home. The live broadcast played on nearly every station in the country, interrupting many a television program but there were very few who minded. No matter when a tournament occurred, it was always a one-of-a-kind event. A spectacle like no other.

Audiences from all over the world had tuned it, regardless of time zone, their excitement growing by the minute. ...And they weren't the only ones feeling this immense energy....for at this very moment at the Elfoy Alfaro International Airport. The competitors had taken their first steps off of the plane and onto what would be the grounds for the ultimate contest. The atmosphere was undescribable. Tension, excitement, hatred, joy...all entangling with one another.

There were no civilians other than those working at the airport. Every guest was one of the many who had something to prove in the most glorious of bouts.

"WE GOT 400! THAT'S RIGHT! 400 FIGHTERS ALL READY TO SCRAP AT ANY MOMENT! AND AS SOON AS THE BROADCAST ENDS, THAT'S WHEN THE PRELIMINARIES BEGIN! HERE IN MANTA, ECUADOR! COULD BE ANYWHERE! COULD BE WITH ANY NUMBER OF COMPETITORS AT ANY TIME! BE SURE TO CHECK OUR WEBSITE AND SOCIAL MEDIA PAGES TO CATCH ANY FIGHTS YOU MISS OUT ON 'CAUSE THERE'S GONNA BE A LOTA FISTICUFFS BEIN' THROWN OUT HERE!" Mike Maximum continued, leaning forty degrees to the ground, the mic still in hand. "HERE'S HOW IT GOES DOWN! TWO OR MORE FIGHTERS GOTTA AGREE TO A MATCH! ONCE THAT'S CONFIRMED, THEIR GG CARDS ARE GONNA LIGHT UP GREEN! AND THAT'S WHEN THE CAMERAS ARE GONNA ROLL! AND IT AIN'T GONNA END UNTIL THAT 400 IS DIVIDED BY TEN AND WE TRIM THAT NUMBER DOWN TO 40!"

Many fighters froze at the announcement. Surely, that meant some fights could break out right here, right now, in the airport before they even had a chance to settle down in the hotel or at least rest long enough to get rid of the jetlag. Several began to stare each other down, unsure just at what their fellow competitors would pull, while others simply pressed on, determined to catch their ride to their chosen hotel. Uncertainly dawned on the faces of many but for many more the excitement only grew.

It would be, for some their first chance, for others their last chance, and for others the first step to prove themselves to take their claim as the mightiest martial artist in the history of mankind.

"GOOD LUCK OUT THERE TO EVERY CHALLENGER! Y'ALL ARE GONNA NEED IT! YOU'LL MAKE PLENTY OF ENEMIES, MAYBE EVEN A FEW FRIENDS. FIERCE RIVALS AND IRON-FORGED ALLIANCES...BUT REMEMBER....THERE'S ONLY GONNA BE ONE WINNER TO TAKE THAT CROWN! AND ALONG WITH IT THREE BILLION DOLLARS! AND WITH ALL THAT OUTTA THE WAY! ....LET THE 30TH GREAT GANBAATTTEEEEEEEEEEE........BEGIN!"

The Broadcast ended with a flash of the logo of the tournament across every screen. And the sound of a gong. FIGHTERS! PREPARE YOURSELVES! THE MOST UNIMAGINABLE CONTEST OF YOUR LIVES IS BEFORE YOU!

 

[Jagson]

Cullen listened to the television as he walked through the airport. While everyone was just standing around listening to the man. He would get some distance from the crowd.

His dark shades kept people from noticing that he was watching them. Checking their movement seeing which of these crazed bastards might take a shot at him.

"Only forty huh? Wonder how many are going to get eliminated in here." He picked up his speed. While he didn't mind nor would he turn down a fight this enclosed space was obviously a set up to see how many would be eliminated in the first few minutes. Which he couldn't be not yet anyway.

He reached to his chest and grabbed the locket that was right above his heart. "I'll see you again." He kissed the locket before putting it back in place.

Once the gong ranged he froze as the airport turned into a mad house. It reminded him of a gang war back in Lincoln City. Grabbing his luggage he did his best to avoid the fighters as he made his way to the exit

 

[egglover]

"What the fuck!"

In the midst of the airport a jetlagged woman pushed through the crowds. She wore what appeared to be cat pajamas's and a magenta travel pillow around her neck, whilst messy black hair sat lopsided atop her head, blonde streaks spilling out of the bun. Rolling behind her was a silver suitcase that had a broken wheel, so every now and then she would stop and yank the stupid thing forward, during which her backpack that was slung around one shoulder would slip and she would spend too long trying to adjust it. Certainly a sight to behold. A few sly looks shot her way, like a of pack predators eyeing up their prey, all thinking the same things:

An easy target. One less competitor. Get rid of her now.

"Move it!" she growled, pushing against a larger man as he refused to get out of her way and stared down at her as though she was a delicious meal, "Don't even think about it you big asshole! MOVE!" With a force like a ton of bricks the guy stumbled back into a few other competitors. The woman named Min-Ji had shoved into him with her whole body, ramming her way through the crowd like an angry bull.

"Don't even try me! Don't you fucking dare!" she yelled around her.

Jetlagged, hungry and frustrated, all Min-Ji wanted was a hot shower and a nice fat plate of food to tide her over until the next day.

 

[BakaTheIdiot]

Donavan was no stranger to fights. Having been more or less barred from entering professional rings due to his... questionable conduct, he had to turn to the streets and the underground rings to make some money. It was good money, for sure, plenty to live off of - but something felt missing. None of those chumps had ever really given him a shot for his money, not even close. It was always the same dance: beat them til' they give up, or beat them til' they give out. Some of them never even got a punch in.

But this. This was the big one.

Real fighters. Good fighters. People who might actually kick his teeth in - people who might send him to a long-overdue hospital visit. Donavan's excitement was immeasurable: he stayed up for hours after he got the invite, polishing his skills like some mafia-type would sharpen a knife.. mafia types sharpen things, right? Probably. Definitely. It didn't even matter if he made it to the top. It didn't even matter if he won a single match and then immediately lost everything. The money was secondary: Donnie was out for blood.

But first, breakfast! Or was it lunch? Didn't make a difference, he was hungry. Everybody else had long since clamored over the TV - or, TVs, there were a few - and he took this as an opportunity to finally get some real food and call his handler. Despite his insistence, Bella refused to fly along, said something about an ex - he wasn't really listening. The phone rang. And rang. And rang. To his disappointment, it went straight to voicemail. Still, figured it he might as well leave some kind words.

"Hey boss, made it to Ecuador. Flight was frankly pretty awful, but I got a couple bags of airplane pretzels - yeah, the good stuff. Gonna get some breakfast, maybe start a fight after. You know the drill, you're watching the show. Toodles." After hanging up, it then dawned on him that he actually didn't know anything about Ecuador - or Ecuadorian food. Or Spanish - did Ecuador speak Spanish? Didn't matter because he couldn't speak it anyway. Really off to a great start.

A gong rang through the building and over his shoulder he spotted just about everyone going to town, with a handful splitting off to seek a better arena. Man, what a bloodbath, but hey! Maybe the crowd would be thinned down to the good stuff after. After haggling with a nearby food stall over an almost insurmountable language barrier - he was pretty sure he overpaid - he managed to get something that didn't look inedible, and tucked in.

"I know you."

Donavan looked behind him. A group of three fighters had created a small semicircle and looked pretty pissed.

"What?"

"The three of us... we got something in common." A different voice this time, coming from the one on the left. "You beat the shit out of our family. Sent Joey's brother to the hospital with teeth missing, sent my brother to the hospital with a ruptured appendix, and Cody? Well, his brother might never walk again."

That certainly narrowed it down, but they still weren't ringing any bells. "I'm sorry, I beat up all three of your brothers?" Donavan shrugged. "Damn. Small world."

"Damn straight. And now..." The man on the far right pulled out some brass knuckles, with the other two whipping out similar weapons. "You're gonna fucking pay."

Having already taken another bite of his doughy meal, his mouth was full when he spoke. "Can I at least finish eating before I give you an ass whooping?" Donavan looked down at his cat, who laid lopsided in his carrier, meowing indignantly. "Oh come on, don't encourage them." Returning his gaze to the assailants, he sighed, putting down his sustenance, and stood up, before unzipping his back and pulling out his wraps.

"I'm gonna be honest with you, fellas," He slipped one onto his right hand before working on his left. "I don't really remember beating your brothers. I beat up a lot of people." His jacket slid off of his shoulders, standing now in sweats and a black tank top. He turned around, his eyes showing that subtle malice they get right before a match.

"And I doubt I'm gonna remember beating you." He cracked his knuckles and popped his neck. "You want some? Come get some blood."

His card lit up. Showtime.

 

[JuniperBoi]

"Filtering out the weak ones, eh?"

Within the crowded airport, a lone dark skinned male wearing a grey hoodie was sitting against the walls. He was watching the broadcast as well as many others. He looked around to analyze who was a fighter and who was just a passerby wanting to catch their plane. It was highly unlikely that anyone who was in this airport had any other reason than to be in the tournament. He took out a bottle of water and began to drink it. He suddenly felt something brush his leg. He looked down to see a small cat and instantly crouched down to its level to pet it. The cat purred as the man lightly scratched it. The man smiled. "What's a little guy like you doing here?"

Unfortunately the sound of the gong alerted the cat and made it ran away. "Hey! Come back!" The man sighed and looked up only to see an absolute warzone the airport had become. Hell, he thought he saw a guy get thrown out the window. He got up and began to stretch. "As much as I would love to see this play out, I should get something to eat." He thought as he tried to sneak past the crowd, manuvering through the multitude of unconscious people to get to the exit. Before he could leave, someone tapped his shoulder to see a somewhat scruffy man with a rather giddy expression. "You." The man said in an equally giddy tone.

The dark skinned male looked a bit confused. "I'm guessing you want to fight, huh."

The man sneered. "Damn right I do! After I saw you with that kitty cat, I knew you would be easy pickings."

The dark skinned male could help but feel annoyed. "Easy pickings you say." He cracked his knuckles. "Alright, I accept your challenge."\

The scruffy man laughed. "What's your name pansy?"

"Yasuke, Remember it well. Because after I'm done..." He shifted into a fighting position as his card lit up. "...You won't remember yours."

 

[obscured_light]

Music blasting from her headphones, Rivera was jamming as she practically grooved her way through the airport. Head bopping, hips shaking, feet light, she was in her zone. She knew what she was here for. She knew the force she could be when she tried. It was just a matter of finding the wall that would stop her, if such a thing existed.

♪Yo, whatever it is, you been thinking 'bout me♪

The announcements on the TV could barely be heard over her music but she noticed the air around her suddenly seemed more... predatory. People were eyeing her and it wasn't the disapproving or curious looks she typically got. No, these looks were similar to that night, to the thugs who thought the old and young were suitable targets.

♪I ain't playing 'round no more♪

Rivera didn't stop. In fact, she gave a little spin as a couple people started approaching. They were saying something but the song was just so good.

♪And I guess you found out that I ain't that innocent♪

She smirked as she danced backwards, a hand held up, an invitation.

♪I been what you're waiting for♪

 

[druidquest]

Mergo’s heels clacked cleanly against the airport linoleum as she strolled through the crowds, a large metal suitcase held over her shoulder in one hand. The other held a comfortably overpriced soft pretzel - her first meal since boarding the plane 10 hours ago in California. She would find something more significant later, after taking care of the lodging issue, but this cinnamon-and-almond-dusted thing would be fine for the moment.

Her attention was caught by one of the television screens in the terminal, pretzel between her teeth. The speakers blasted Mr. Maximum’s announcement across the space like a war horn, making several passers-by stop to look before continuing on their way three times as fast. Mergo glanced around the crowds of the airport, making eye contact with a few of those closest to her before their eyes all fell to the GG card clipped to her waist.

They all looked between each other, pulling out GG cards of their own. Their eyes had the glint of predators, convinced they’d found an easy meal. Mergo raised one finger as the first of them stepped forward, shoving the entirety of her pretzel in her mouth and swallowing it down, licking the cinnamon dust off her fingers. She licked crumbs off her lip, brushing a few stray strands of hair from her face.

Then spun on the ball of her foot, sending her suitcase flying into the face of the man closest to her an instant after all their cards flashed green.

 

[Shotgunpenguin]

Flying, as it turned out, was a complete and utter hell as far as Conner was concerned. Maybe it was being crammed in-between two extremely loud sleepers for the ten hour flight, or maybe it could have been the sheer audacity of the minuscule bags of pretzels that was supposed to constitute a snack. It may have even been his inability to get any sort of rest while on the plane, leaving him in an extremely foul mood as he practically threw himself off of the plane in order to get away from everyone else. It could have been all of those things and more that would, in his eyes, justify his hatred for air travel.

As it turned out, however, the worst part of his entire experience was actually due to his inability to plan ahead. Dressed in a pair of blue jeans, black flats, and a maroon long-sleeve, the gray duffel-bag slung across his back constituted everything that he had brought with him. Half of the contents of his bag were his boxing gear, boots, gloves and the like, while the other half was only two spare changes of clothes and his wallet. He hadn't even thought of making arrangements for where he would be staying, nor did he think about how to address the little issue of him not knowing a lick of Spanish in a Spanish speaking country!

A quick trip to a tiny airport kiosk, and twenty dollars poorer, Connor could at least attempt to fix the second issue. The hard covered translation book included common and useful phrases and questions from English to Spanish, as well as Spanish to English. There were even some other common languages too, like Russian and Japanese, although he doubted that he would need those sections here. He had just returned to the main atrium when the announcement had begun, squeezing into a crowd as they huddled around the television. It was only after the television cut out, and the loud ringing of gongs filled the air that the gravity of the situation fully dawned on him.

The atrium descended into chaos, shouts and screams filling the air as all four hundred contestants leapt into action. Some were trying to make a break for it towards the exits, while others took this as the opportunity to try and cull off some of the competition. It was by instinct alone that Conner turned his head, catching a glimpse of the quickly approaching fist heading straight for his ribs. Pain exploded from his side as it connected, the force of it causing him to slightly keel forward as another fist tried to take his head clean off. "S-shit!"

Training kicking in, he tucked his head in and ducked under the hook before firing back against his assailant with a left jab. His fist impacted something, earning him a pained grunt as he quickly spun and came face to face with a light skinned man somewhere in his thirties. He was dressed head to toe in an expensive looking suit and shoes, multiple rings adorned his clenched fingers as he held them in loose stance in front of him. "Sorry about this kid, but I'm going to the next stage."

The lights on both of their cards flashed green, and Connor did the only thing he could think of in this situation.

"Nope!" Turning on the spot, he dashed away from the larger man and made a break for one of the exits. There was no way in hell he was going to stick around, not when every ounce of common sense was screaming at him to get out. Staying might as well have been putting a target on his back, as soon as one fight would finish he would just get drug into another one. And as he was now, jet-lagged, starving and working with only an hour or so of sleep, he might of well have just gotten right back onto the plane and gone home.

Heavy footsteps behind him signaled that his opponent wasn't going to let him slip away that easily as they weaved between and sometimes through other fights that were taking place. Some of them looked even, one on one fights like one between a dark skinned male in a hoodie and a scruffy looking one against one of the walls. Others seemed the opposite, like a single woman with headphones that was being approached by a decently sized group. Eventually, despite his best efforts, Conner was faced with a dead end as the footsteps behind him slowed.

"No use running kid, just make it easy on yourself and give up." The older man slipped back into his stance, slowly approaching with his fists held in front of him.

Fuck. It looked like the only way out was to beat down his opponent. "Like hell I'm going to give up. The world is waiting for me, and I'm not going to let it end right at the start."

Slipping into a familiar stance, he hardened his guard and began to bob and weave back in forth. There was no backing out now. It was now or never.

Mentioned: JuniperBoi obscured_light

 

[PiePillager]

Kipsang couldn't understand the looks of discomfort or unrest among his feller travelers. He had a great nap the entire flight over. Perhaps that was the booze, however. The plane didn't have much high-quality stuff, but it was decent enough. Sent him off to dreamland, happy. And what a good nap it was! It was nice to stretch his legs a bit and buy some early afternoon refreshments. He had never attempted any Ecuadorian brews or wines before, so he was excited to finally sample some. ...There was an issue, however.

His bottle...was empty? Now, how did that happen? And right under his nose too. Suspiciously, he looked over his left and right shoulders once over and then again. He was holding the bottle the entire time...now what could've...

"HIC!" Kipsang nearly erupted. Ah, yes...that would explain things a bit. Perhaps he had drank the bottle empty all the way from the bar kiosk to...wherever he was going. His memory was pretty good too, so this must've been some strong stuff. This boded very well for Ecuador so far. With a small chuckle at his own foolishness, Kipsang pressed the bottle to his lips as if he were about to take another sip and instead whistled a tune into it, laughing all the way.

"You lost, old man?" a voice next to his, inquired. Kipsang looked up and saw a mohawked individual glare at him with a raised eyebrow. Next to him was another man of a similar height and build, purchasing some sort of headset at a small electronics stand. "You aren't in the tournament are you:? You heard the announcement that just went off, right?" the mohawked man asked with false concern, cracking his knuckles. "Hear it's an all-out brawl. Don't you think it's a little dangerous to be wandering out here on your lonesome? Some might think you're easy pickings!"

"...Oh! No, no. I'm just here to cheer on my grandson!" Kipsang laughed. "I'm his only supporter at this point, but I hope he does well!" he explained cheerfully, raising his empty bottle into the air. "Here's to him!"

"Huh...well then yeah! Good look to him and all that," the mohawked man shrugged, lowering his hands and figuring he made some sort of mistake. Didn't want to beat up an old man after all. Once Kipsang had gone a few steps past the two, the other man, purchasing the headphones turned around. If one had taken a glance at his face, one would see he was the mohawked man's twin.

"What the...you dumbass, you just let him go?!" the twin exclaimed.

"That old man? He said he's just here to root for his grandson..." Mohawk shrugged once again.

"Idiot, that's that old drunkard, Kipsang!" his twin angrily explained. "He's been in almost every tournament! He's all washed up now, but we'd still make a name for ourselves if we're the first to take him down!"

"Bastard tricked me!! Hey! HEY KIPSANG! WAIT UP!" The mohawked man called, running after Edmund. His brother followed and ran ahead of his mohawked twin. He was about to grab Kipsang's shoulder with one hand while raising another to deliver a punch but to his surprise Kipsang rapidly spun around, smashing the bottle against the side of his face.

"Huh...?" Kipsang muttered in a puzzled tone. "Someone call my name?" he asked, before seeing the twin brother of the mohawked man, clutching his face in pain. "Are you okay there, youngster?" he asked, concerned. "Need me to get the doctor?"

"Doctor?! Stupid old shit! You're the one that glassed him!" the mohawked brother growled charging in to take a swing at the drunkard himself. Kipsang's eyes widened in surprise before he suddenly stumbled backward...and over the railing. The mohawked man, looked on in surprise, then horror, suddenly glancing over the railing. "Shit, I know I was about to kick his ass and all, but I didn't want him to....HUH?!" he exclaimed.

Kipsang had fallen directly onto one of the bags in baggage claim, and apart from seeming a bit confused as to how he'd gotten there he'd seemed no worse for wear. "Hmm, this bag must've broken my fall. Good thing too, I don't think my back could've taken the hit, heh heh!"

"Get off my bag, moron!" a woman yelled back in irritation. "I've gotta catch the ride to my hotel!"

"Oh, so this is yours, eh? Then I have you to thank for my safe landing!" Kipsang nodded, gratefully. "That said, what have you got in here that's so soft? Pillows? ...Unmentionables? I could rest on here all day!"

The woman appeared as if she were about to pop a blood vessel. Far from the patient type, she had hoped to get access to the hotel without any conflict but Kipsang's actions made her blood boil over and she raised her foot over his chest to bring it down for a stomp. Kipsang, spotting this simply rolled out of the way, off of her bag and onto the conveyor belt for baggage claim. He continued to roll until he was of considerable distance away from the woman, at which point he began to wave at her as he headed off to.....wait, just where was he headed?

 

[Jagson]

Right when Cullen exited the airport. "Stop right there." A voice said. Cullen let out a breath knowing he wasn't going to make a clean break. Turning around he three men surrounding him.

"Eh gringo you really thought you could pass us." The leader a Latino of some orgin Cullen couldn't tell moved towards him flanked by his two lackeys. "Se me and the boys here are going to get in. You be going back on the plane comprenda?" Cullen nodded taking off his shades as his GG card turned red.

Cullen dropped his luggage bag only to kick it towards the lackey on the leaders right. The action caught the other two off guard as the lackey flew a foot back before hitting the pavement. As the two turned back to Cullen he was already on them as he punched the leader before wrapping his legs around him slamming the leader to the ground. Cullen held the man in a grapple his legs locking out the leaders as he had him in a head lock. The other lackey tried to attack Cullen moved so that leader took a kick to the head. He immediately went unconscious. He pushed the man at his lacky before rolling over and getting up

Cullen got to his feet and punched lackey one repeatedly in the stomach and face. Moving out of the way when the man threw punches too wide. The second lackey got off the ground and rushed him. Cullen ducked as the first lackey hit his comrad in the face before sweeped the man's leg making him fall. The impact of the fall knocked the first lackey out.

Cullen turned his attention to the last lackey. "Both your boss man and comrad are defeated. You can leave now and maybe get in on your own." Cullen said to the second lackey.

"Nah esse this is personal now." He said as he got into position. Cullen nodded as he got into a fighting stance keeping his head low his right hand was infront of him as his other was out stretched. The lackey ran towards Cullen swinging fast . Cullen blocked the strikes moving his hands in a clock wise position deflecting the man's punches. Once Cullen saw an opening he moved close. "Pheonix strike." He muttered as two of his fingers hit the man's sternum making him collapse.

"Sorry about that." He said. "Shouldn't do any permanent damage. I recommend putting ice on that. And call an ambulance for your leader." He said before walking to his luggage and picking it up. "Now where's that hotel."

 

[Melon Bomb]

As the airport fell into mayhem, a lone man hung his arm over the backrest of a plastic airport seat and scrolled idly through his social media feed. Hands, suitcases, chairs; there's nothing that didn't go flying within minutes of the MAXIMUM announcement. Popped wheels rolled across the polished floor like runaway toys, potted plants were lifted and then replanted on the skulls of unlucky fighters, and one guy somehow got flung into one of the ceiling mounted televisions, taking the entire thing down with him.

Amidst the rising orchestra of squeaking sneakers and impassioned shouts, it took a few moments (the indoor shades didn't help) for the man to notice a burly contestant staring him down from behind, flexing throbbing, veiny biceps the size of his head. Dan craned his neck back to look at him, lifting his red-tinted glasses slightly.

"Yeah, can I help you?" he said, chewing through a piece of gum he'd been working on since the last hour of his flight.

The swole-ass-practically-bursting-out-of-his-tee dude pointed to his card, then to Dan's card.

"No thanks, man. Gotta save the energy for my big debut. You feel me?"

After a short pause, the other fighter let out an annoyed snort before rolling his eyes and walking away. With a snort of his own, Dan was about to go back to flicking through his phone screen when he suddenly felt a heavy boot shove violently into the back of his seat, sending him sprawling onto the floor. His phone went sliding into the fray, where it was immediately stepped on by two sweaty dudes trying to grapple each other.

As he turned around, a colossal hand suddenly lifted him into the air by the collar and he found himself face-to-face with a seven foot angry giant. Briefly adjusting his tilted shades, Dan reached around behind his back. "I said... no thanks!" A dense stream of liquid capsaicin blasted directly into the big guy's eyeballs, he reeled back screaming and clutching his face in pain. Dan dropped down lightly and brushed himself off with a scowl, his card flickering green as he walked toward the fallen fighter.

"And buy me a new phone, asshole!"

Dan slammed the tip of his shoe into the man's crotch.

 

[DarKnight36]

"Musashi? Like that samurai?" the young fighter named Piro asked, peering quizzically at the man in front of him. "Miyamoto, right?"

"Oh, are you familiar with me?" Musashi asked, looking delighted. "So many these days don't remember my previous life!"

Piro frowned and squinted at the tall Japanese man before him. Musashi stared back, his brown eyes so dark they were almost black. His hair was pulled back into a typical samurai knot, and he stood with his arms folded inside his long sleeves. Piro had initially thought to challenge the strangely-garbed warrior but he'd felt something when he'd approached. Before he'd even gotten with striking range, Piro knew he had lost the fight. No, it was more than that... Musashi had killed him. He'd died before he could even utter a word.

"I saw a movie about you, yeah," Piro said eventually, choosing to play along. He was curious about this strange man. Why did his glance make his blood chill so?

"That's fine, that's fine," Musashi said, smiling. "So what brings you to this tournament?"

"I heard there's a lot of money for the winner and my ma-UGH!" Piro was cut off as he was struck from behind by a burly dark-skinned man. The newcomer dropped the brick he'd been holding.

"Should have been paying attention!" the newcomer, whose nametag read 'Velociraptor Smith', sneered at Piro. Piro groaned and tried to roll away as Velociraptor stomped on him with a heavy boot, laughing.

The laughter cut off abruptly as Musashi stepped forward, a sweat appearing instantly on Velociraptor's forehead. He twisted around, backing off several steps, breathing heavily.

"That was rather inconsiderate of you," Musashi said, although his expression and tone had not changed. "We were having a conversation."

"Guh..." the dinosaur man shivered. "Wh-who are you... Mushu something? Y-you want to fight?"

Why was he stammering? What was happening? Why was he seeing blood everywhere? He stared down at his hands. Blood covered them. His own blood.

"You're too weak," Musashi said bluntly, arms still folded. "You'll die."

"W-what you say to me?" Velociraptor Smith growled, clenching his sweaty fists. "I-I'll..." His heart was pounding as he began to run forward, raising his fist. He swung at Musashi's face. No, wait, he hadn't moved. His arms wouldn't lift, his legs were frozen.

Musashi's robes swished as he moved into arm's length of Velociraptor. "You've already lost this fight, Mr. Smith," the samurai smiled. "Your will was not strong enough." With no hurry at all, he unfurled one arm and gently gave Velociraptor a push.

As his opponent collapsed, Musashi began walking away. "I will give you credit for remaining standing after you lost consciousness, however. Good day."

 

[BakaTheIdiot]

Donavan's three opponents, blood boiling and tunnel-vision solid, threw the first attack.

The tallest of the three, identified as Joey, swung with what appeared to be a short baton, followed up with Cody coming in on flank with the brass knuckles. A simple sidestep was enough to dodge the baton, but it took some fast thinking and a less-than-comfortable backstep while he sucked in his stomach. No damage yet, good, and the two upstarts were now winded - amateurs. To even the odds, Donnie picked up the stool he once sat on - a composite of fiberglass and wood - and immediately slammed it against the nearest attacker. The wooden legs immediately began to splinter, deforming the seat, but as the attacker still showed resistance he hit him again, this time snapping off one of the legs and further deforming the stool. He cast it aside.

Next, Donavan picked up the nearest salt shaker, and with as much force as he could muster hurtled it at the furthest, assailant, responding with a sharp "OW!" When one of the nearby fighters threw their next strike, he slinked out of the way, before retaliating with what can only be described as excess brutality: Donavan forcefully grabbed the back of his hair, and slammed his face into the counter, leaving a small crater and one very unconscious attacker. A small trickle of blood escaped from his brow.

Visibly intimidated, Brass Knuckles stepped backwards, giving Donavan the initiative. He stepped up, beginning his onslaught with an opening left hook, staggering Brass Knuckles before following up with a jab to the stomach. When his opponent tried to counter, Donavan stepped forward, locked his assailant's arm in a grip, and began repeatedly jabbing his stomach as hard as he could, with each strike rendering his foe weaker and weaker. With the most distant attacker gaining some ground, Donavan threw his grappled opponent to the side, slamming him into the counter akin to his ally, before throwing yet another salt shaker at his furthest victim - met with yet another loud "OW!!"

Before turning his focus to the stunned foe, Donavan took a moment to elbow the poor soul in the nose, before approaching the most distant of the three. Before he could, however, he was grappled by a familiar face - just as bloodied as he left it - to which he responded with repeated elbows to the chest, eventually loosening the grip enough to get a solid hold on the shoulder. Donavan, exercising all of his might, then proceeded to throw the assailant across the counter, with loud crashes and a yelp from the chef following. The third man tried desperately to keep his distance, but after some shifty steps Donavan held him in a grapple, with his right fist introducing itself to the poor man's brow. Finishing off with a final sideswipe, Donavan knocked the attacker to the floor, before returning his gaze to Brass Knuckles; his fists now visibly bloodied from his opponents' incessant bleeding, a small trail of droplets also dotted his cheek. In this moment, he looked visibly insane.

Donnie opened with a shove, to put his attacker's back to the wall, with Brass Knuckles seeming to lose even more interest in fighting by the moment. Following this with a kick to stagger, Donavan then began a rapid assault, combining left and right hooks to both cheeks before slamming his head against the wall and finishing the barrage by bending him over and giving Brass Knuckles a firm knee to the forehead. At last, he stopped resisting, and fell to the floor - alive, if only barely.

Having seemingly defeated his opponents, Donavan surveyed his area. Brass Knuckles was down for the count, barely even moving and probably concussed. The third man - what was his name? - lay writhing on the ground, but still visibly awake. Meanwhile-

"How the ever-loving fuck are you still awake?" The baton wielder had returned to a standing position, his face scuffed with glass and bruises. In an attempt to level the playing field, Donavan suddenly found himself ducking and weaving to avoid various sharp utensils - knives, forks, piercers - all being thrown towards him at high velocity. Before long, he now stood right at the counter, his assailant on the other side, and sidestepped to avoid the renewed vigor of his attacker as he attempted to plunge a knife into his pectoral. Donavan caught the hand, slamming it on the counter repeatedly to loosen his grip, before meeting it with his own elbow - being greeted with a loud popping noise and a shriek of pain from his opponent. His left backhand flew across the assailant's face, and before he could step backwards to escape Donavan reached forward with both hands and firmly grasped his opponent's head. Moments later, he had slammed his victim's forehead into the counter once again, leaving yet another small crater, following this up with an extra left hook to be sure. Not totally convinced that Baton was finally unconscious, he hopped over the counter, dusting off the various broken glass and porcelain, before meeting the staggered fighter with a firm boot to the gums. This time, he was really down.

Which left only the third man remaining. He still hadn't gotten back on his feet, which left Donavan with plenty of time to retrace his steps back to his side. The man, visibly terrified, tried to roll onto his back and face his attacker, but it was for not: a quick shove from Donavan's leg landed him squarely on his back, and having been pinned, the third man was met with a vicious flurry of blows, each one seemingly angrier and more violent than the last. When Donavan finally let go of the opponent, he was wheezing through his newly broken nose and horrendously bruised cheeks, a black eye and nosebleed both giving away his condition. Finally, Donavan could stop. He rose to his feet, inspected the damage, and as extra insult to injury finished the incursion by spitting in his eye.

Two knock outs, and one physically incapable of continuing. If that's not a victory, nothing is. Wasting no more time, Donavan adorned himself with his coat once more, seized the three men's Ganbatte cards, and assumed his luggage once more - his cat remaining in the relaxed lopsidedness the entire brawl. Without even bothering to wipe the blood off of his face - though, granted, it wasn't his - Donavan began his stride away from his very literal crime scene towards the terminals. "Come, Boris, let's be off."

 

[Andeervich]

Sedova Artemievna

​

Sedova was mindlessly pressing the somewhat stuck button on her remote. Click…cl-click…cl-crunch… for some reason the button had issues. She probably dropped it too many times. The color of the screen beamed across her cheap apartment in a remote part of the country. A very cheap apartment. The paint on the walls was peeling and random patches of missing paint showed the paint they painted over or the drywall itself. There was quite a bit of dust or other particles in the air, one could see them by the right angle of lights shining in from the window or if the T.V. projected just right.

The blue flashes of the screen kept going till she heard something that sounded like trash T.V. “M-M-M-M-MAXIMUM! ” but she clicked past it since her brain wasn’t registering anything at the second. Then her brain cells clicked on. That seemed somewhat exciting! What was that!? Go back! as she moved her finger to the other button and quickly pressed back a few times. A flashy-looking middle-aged man was on T.V. with a very excited personality and somewhat of a flamboyant charm to him.

The shouting and yelling were what got her attention the most. He was requesting the strongest warriors of the world to gather around and battle in the Great Ganbatte tournament. The Great Ganbatte Tournament. “Huh… If it’s so great, why haven’t I heard about it before?” she asked the T.V. as if someone would actually answer her back and that’s when her attention went to a corner of the room. A giant rat ran across the floor. Sedova blinked and looked back at the T.V. without worry.

She was practically paying nothing for this apartment. The loud cheering on the screen got her attention and she kept focus on it for the time being. Manta, Ecuador. It sounded like there was a lot of risk-taking for individuals who were ready to fight in the tournament. The guidelines were ready to strip the numbers down and leave 40 winners at the end.

The colors changed across her face as the logo shined through the television screen and she picked up her phone. Instantly dialing a number. When an individual picked up on the other side, the darkness in the room erupted from the T.V. turning off. “Hey…” she began while listening to the voice that sounded like a raspy 60-year-old smoker of a man. They talked for a few minutes. She was somewhat flirtatious, and assertive, and somewhat used a charming tone. “I need a favor. Can you do that for me?” her voice went sweet.

"Anything for you, sweetheart." He was a charmer, wasn't he? She sometimes was annoyed by the nicknames and all the sweet talk, but he usually came through with most things. They were business partners and they both owed each other many favors at this point. And by this point, she knew that she had to play into the games or he would act as if he was busy and couldn't help out at the moment.

By the time she knew it, she was stepping off the private jet in Manta, Ecuador. Everything she felt like she needed was on her person — a backpack, her clothes, her phone, and a few other items. Stretching as she exited the private jet and enjoyed the weather she was stepping into, “Way better than home,” she lightly laughed while turning around, “Thanks for this. I hate public flying.” She gave the man a kiss on the cheek. He was older, well dressed, and someone that could probably be I.D. by some country and wanted in multiple.

“Anything for you sweetie. You're my favorite partner. I’ve told you that I owe you one; once or twice by now.” His voice was one of a smoker, always raspy, and he unsurprisingly had a cigarette in between his lips at this exact moment. His face was hiding behind sunglasses and his graying hair went halfway past his back in a nice braid.

"I think the number is at six for you and three for me." She teased with a smirk, but she was correct. She did remember how many times this man has said I owe you... and she was going to keep him to his word.

The older man chuckled while blowing smoke out of the private jet, tapping the cigarette ashes into the slight wind, "I cannot get much past you, can I?"

She shook her head, "No, I don't think you can. I'm pretty good at doing my job and I hate it when people lie to me." She was referring to the number of times that were said to be owed. She would hate it if he actually didn't allow her to use all those personal favors. The older man shook his head in agreement, he knew that he did not want to be someone on Sedova's bad side.

Sedova smiled sweetly and almost genuinely, “I really do appreciate it. Call me any time. For anything.” She stepped backward down a few stairs before turning on her heel and quickly going down the rest. This was going to be fun. She made her way into the airport to go through customs and go through the whole process before entering the country properly.

Interactions [OPEN] - currently no one
Location - airport, by customs

 

[Shotgunpenguin]

Conner Davis

​

Connor leaned back, dodging the suited mans swing and firing off a quick jab that struck his opponent in their nose. The man recoiled slightly before he fired off another wild swing, forcing Connor to back off. His opponent wiped away the small nose-bleed before approaching again, swinging wildly with heavy punches that made it difficult to get in close where he could deal any real damage. For the time being he would have to stick with quick jabs and try to avoid any big hits. Another dodged punch and another jab to the nose had his opponent audibly growling as his frustration grew. His swings became even wilder, but that also had the effect of widening them enough that it left his sides completely open.

"Just stay still you little shit!" Another wide swung answered with a quick jab, and then a much more damaging left straight that drove the man back a few paces. The man righted himself, holding his jaw with his off hand as Conner began to feel invigorated.

"My boxing is working. He's strong, but his swings are too big. I can do this!" His resolve steeled, Connor planted his back foot and kicked off, launching himself towards his opponent with a stiff front-guard. The man, who had at this point always initiated the fighting, was caught off guard as he cocked a high-punch to try and intercept him. As soon as Connor stepped into the man's range, the punch flew down in an attempt to crack him on the skull. Instead of stopping and guarding, Connor stepped further into the man's guard allowing the punch to impact and slide off of his back. Rearing back, he hammered a punch straight into the man's side, followed by a second and third blow to the same spot.

The man doubled over, leaving his chin exposed to the devastating uppercut from below that threw his head up to the sky. Staggering back, the man was doubled over yet again by the left hook that buried itself into his ribs before another hook slammed into the side of his skull. The final blow, a fully cocked uppercut struck the man right below the chin, sending him tumbling backwards over a set of low airplane benches. The man dropped like a sack of potatoes, impacting the ground in a heap. Connor leap back slightly, his body still tense as the man didn't stir. Mentally, he began a ten count while keeping watch for any sudden moves from his downed foe.

Thankfully, it seemed like the last hook was enough as a ten count was reached and the light on the mans card returned to a dark and static red. Breathing a sigh of relief, he quickly made some distance between him and his fallen foe. He didn't want to be around when he woke up, especially if he decided to try and get even for being eliminated. The atrium was still a bloodbath by the time he returned, although there seemed to be some fights that had already wrapped up judging by the groaning bodies spread around.

Not wanting to draw any attention to himself, Connor tightened the strap on his dufflebag and kept his head low, making a break for one of the exits. There were one or two close calls where either a single person or group would call out to him, but he ignored them all and kept moving. Even if he was attacked, so long as he didn't fight back than technically no fight would take place, which meant that even if he was beaten into a pulp by a mob he wouldn't be eliminated.

Bursting through a set of glass double doors, he spied a set of exits just beyond customs. Rushing over, he found himself anxiously waiting in line behind what he hoped was regular people. He kept his eyes open, head nervously scanning the area as the line seemed to flow at a standstill. When it seemed like he wasn't in danger of being attacked at any moment, he remembered the translation book he had purchased earlier and pulled it out of his bag. If he was to try and find someone to take him to a hotel he would need to know how to ask, among other things. "Okay, transport and hotels."

His eyes scanned the translations, trying to figure out what he was going to say once he got out of the airport. "P-pueded llevarme a algun lugar. Necisito un hotel. Shit, where's the word for tournament?!" He repeated these phrases over and over out loud, trying to drill them into his head as quickly as he could.

 

[Jagson]

Spoiler: The Bear vs the Gang member

Cullen was in seeing distance of the hotel maybe a mile or two away. He could lay back and start planning his…. “Señor vamos a hacer la batalla” Cullen stopped in his tracks as he looked around to see who said that. Turning around he saw a seven foot extremely muscular man wearing only a speedo and a mask that look like an actual grizzle bear teeth and all. The bear man looked right at him “Soy La Garra de Oso. te reto a combatir” Cullen took out his ‘Spanish for Idiots’ book. As he was looking for the translation he felt something tugging on his pants. A young boy looked up at him.


“ He says his name is The Bear Claw. He is challenging you to a fight.” The boy said. “Thank you.” Cullen said before looking at the man He took out his GG card and nodded. He handed the boy his bag and jacket.


““Que gane el mejor.” The man said. “ May the best man win.” The boy translated.


People started to gather around as the two fighters circled each other. Bear Claw watched Cullen as he moved closer to him. Cullen threw the first punch only for Bear Claw to grab his arm and pushed him to the other side. Cullen stumbled as he regrouped. The crowd started to cheer. Cullen moved quickly only The Bear Claw to move behind him and grab his stomach. Before he knew what was happening The Bear Claw suplexed him slamming him behind the luchadore. Cullen wobbled as he got up. The Bear Claw raised his hands and moved around the area stirring up the crowd. Turning back he looked at Cullen and tilted his head.


Cullen wiped off the blood from his face and motioned the man to attack. The bear claw nodded as he ran towards the gang member. Cullen ducked the man’s clothes line as he punched the man’s stomach and immediately regretted it. It felt like the man was made of iron.



He tilted his head just brushing off Cullens punch before grabbing the red haired man. He held Cullen by his arms and legs before jumping into the air and falling on his butt bending Cullen's back and breaking a couple of ribs. He than grabbed the wounded red head and suplexed him again with Cullens head sticking into the ground. The Bear Claw played the audience getting them riled up.


Cullen got put of his hole and coughed up a little blood. He wasn't going to lose not here not now. Bear claw turns to look at him impressed with his resseliance.


Cullen moves close getting past the man's arms as he muttered phoenix strike using the two finger strike hit on Claws sternum. The big man took a step back coughing up his own blood and making the bear mask look like it ate something. He stepped forward again clearly not that effected. He swung his hand at Cullen smacking him backwards.


Cullen landed gracefully as he looked at the man. Most people fall to the phoenix strike. He was going to have to change things up if he wanted to get through this. Pain rippled through hid body as he clutched his side. "Damn the bear man is good." Bear Claw crosses his arms and laughs. The big man runs at Cullen spreading his arms wide. He was going to suplex him again



Cullen moved to the side before kicking Bear Claws side making the giant move slightly. "That actually worked."


As Cullen tried to fallow with a second kick

Bear claw grabbed Cullen's leg and threw him to the ground. Bear Claw grappled him putting him in a head lock cutting off Cullens air supply. He tried to squirm and fight back to no avail. The darkness started to settle in.

Before he fainted he was let go hitting the ground hard. "luchaste bien. Sería una pena que no tuvieras la oportunidad." Bear Claw said as he walked away ending the fight. Bear Claw threw his fist up in victory and the crowd roared in applause. The people clapped as the boy handed Cullen his things.


Thank you." He said to the boy. Putting on the jacket he winced in pain before stumbling to the hotel.

 

[Wing06]

The tournament announcement blared over the aircraft cabin's intercom system, though everyone onboard was already tuned into the live feed via their electronics. Taku listened intently, his eyes scanning the back of the heads of the passengers sitting before him. He switched his seat after boarding and occupied the aisle seat in the last row before the lavatory and across from the plane's kitchenette.

As soon as the announcement of the tournament officially beginning ended, the captain took the chance to remind passengers they were only 20 minutes from landing and to keep in their seats. Of course, many on the flight were itching to fight, and despite the urging of the flight crew, they began to push and shove one another as some struggled to get their seat belts off and into the rapidly crowding aisle way.

Taku sighed, he had heard the tournament would be wild, but these men were undisciplined. Cans of soda flew through the air and bounced off the walls of the aircraft, and some passengers cheered the fighters on, and others watched in horror or disgust, worried for the plane's integrity. A few minutes passed, and the captain came over the PA with a sigh, "If you insist on fighting onboard my aircraft, I respectfully ask you not to open the exit doors and not involve my flight attendants!" A few passengers cheered for this reversal, and the fighters grew more determined. Flashes of green and red filled the cabin as fighters accepted bouts and quickly found themselves eliminated.

"Hey, you gettin' in on this shit?" a rather large man with an American accent asked Taku from the adjacent row. "You don't really seem the type, but why else would you be on this flight? So if you'd like, I can pop you in the eye, then you can forfeit and save yourself the embarrassment of getting the shit beat out of you by one of these rabid dogs." The man started to laugh and stood up in the aisle, stretching as best he could given the cramped space. "So, whaddya say, wanna save yourself the embarrassment of losing the second this flight lands?"

The man was leaning over Taku's row, his arms on the headrests of the empty seat next to and in front of Taku.

In a split second, Taku's and the American's cards flashed green, and the American fell backward into the kitchenette, blood dripping from the side of his head where a large knot was already forming. Taku cleared his throat and watched the tray table beside him swing on its broken hinges before falling on the floor.

"I'm glad we could save you the embarrassment of losing immediately after our flight landed," Taku mused, looking out the window as the ground grew closer by the second.

Soon his delayed flight would land, and his true mission would begin. He would be among the 40 entrants, even if it meant leaving the plane full of has-beens with broken dreams.

 

[Sir loin of beef]

Johnny had just entered the airport, suitcase in his right hand and nothing in his left hand. His first concern before the tournament began was to get a fucking drink after spending so long on the airplane, immediately heading for the airport bar after going through customs and all that jazz to order some Canelazo to drink before he began fighting for three billion dollars it didn't take long before the infamous tiger shark saw people beginning to go to town on each other, few minutes in and already the airport was turning into a bloodbath and Johnny had seen his fair share of bloodbaths, after all he had caused a fair share of them.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the fucking tiger shark. I've been looking all over for you."

Great, didn't even get to finish his glass and already there was a lowlife on his ass about something he'd probably done a long time ago. Johnny put his glass down and looked at whoever had spoken to him. It was some bald guy that wore a polo shirt and jeans and had a mustache and was looking at him funny for some reason.

"oh yeah? what the hell do you want pal? who the fuck are you anyways some kind of wiseguy?" johnny asked.

"No, my name is Larry Jones. You killed people i loved, and now you are going to pay." the mysterious person now identified as Larry said before putting his fists up.

"Wait! what?" Johnny asked before breaking out into hysterical laughter "who did i kill exactly that has your panties twisted? A girl you had your eyes on? Your old man?" Johnny asked sarcastically before taking a sip out of his glass.

"OH! THAT IS IT ASSHOLE!" Larry responded, both his card and johnny's flashed green.

"Hang on a second. Hmm that's some good Canelazo." Johnny said before throwing the glass into Larry's face beginning the fight.

 

[Kameron Esters-]

A lone candle sits in the center of the darkness. It illuminates nothing as it sits in the abyss. However, int he eternal darkness, a voice speaks out.

"Every man has a calling. And every man who hears it believes it to be a call to greatness only to be let down by the reality of their delusion. But there is one call that does beckon one to greatness. A war between men and their age-old desire to be God where the battle is settled with one's bare hands. All for the amusement of men and the gods alike as dreams and spirits are shattered for all the world to bear witness to. And legends are made from those broken dreams. The shards themselves making the stairs to Heaven. The Challenge of the Kings. The Bloody Commandment. The Duel for the Tainted Thrones. The Great Ganbatte. You wish to participate in this glitter-covered bloodsport."

"Yes, master. I do."

"Whatever for? To test your mettle? You couldn't just travel the world...Or China to get your fix."

"I don't have the money to go. And that's why I am participating. The Saint Ensemble are the wealthiest people on the planet. They control every shadow cast under the Sun. And that kind of influence could save Jakatra from sinking to the bottom of the ocean."

"Tch, we haven't had outside aid in over a decade. Everyone here is going to die from sickness, drowning, or starvation. Why the effort? You and I can sustain ourselves just fine."

"Because I have what it takes to not only survive but win aswell! If I can do that, we would have the world's resources to prevent ALL of that! We can build homes, schools, hospitals, irrigation and sewer systems, facilities to sells and trade our crops and fish, clothes on our backs! It could be the answer to ending our suffering once and for all!"

"Hm. That's a nice thought, Mohamed. A really nice thought. But you're talking about fighting an army of some the best and worst fighters the world has to offer. And I guarantee you there will be someone stronger than you. Hundreds of varying fighting styles and doctrines you are not learned in."

"All the more reason I need to prepare for this. You know all these arts, master. You've said so yourself many years ago. Teach me how I must combat them so I can win this tournament for our people!"

"Our people our nothing more than dregs with no ambition. They could care less about you, Mohamed. Especially since you're the only one who care about them more than they care about themselves. They leech off of your hard work and once they depend on you, your failure will only make them reject you like they have when you were a youngling."

"If they see me go out there, it will give them hope. Even if I run the risk of losing at the tournament, it's better for me to be hated for losing than hated for not going out there at all. All of what you taught me...All this skill...All this spirit...What good is it for if I can't use it to impact the lives of others?"

". . . . . Okay. I will train you to prepare for any and every style you may encounter in this tournament. But you better win. You're not just representing Indonesia out there. You are representing me aswell. And I refuse to be associated with an altruistic failure..."

"Understood, master."

"Number One rule of the fight: Don't. Lose. For the winners are the ones worthy of choice. To choose their fate and the fate of the defeated. To decide what history makes of them and you. For victory leads to power. Power leads to change. Change leads to fear. Fear leads to hate. Hate leads to chaos. Chaos leads to the end. This is the paradox of mankind."
--------------------------------------
Mohamed opens his eyes, having been in meditation while reminding himself of where his journey was taking him. Mohamed was already aboard the plan set to take them all to South America. He couldn't lie to himself, he was a little nervous. He had never flown before a day in his life. He mostly walked or sailed wherever he needed to go. Now, Mohamed was going to fly among the clouds and as he looked outside, he already began to feel his heart pic up the pace. Mohamed breathes slowly through his nostrils to keep it from racing any further, if push came to shove, he'd just close his eyes and meditate some more until they landed. Or just take a nap. Naps are good.

 

[PiePillager]

There were quite a few hotels one could check into in the surrounding area, all of them of the highest quality. And with a single swipe of the GG card, the competitors could get into any of them and use any of their facilities for the cost of nothing. Such was the wealth behind The Greaty Ganbatte. One would wonder just where all this money came from...

The most popular choice among the combatants seemed to be the Oro Verde Manta, a prestigious hotel close in proximity to the scenic beach, Playa El Murciélago. It was among the many now packed with contestants, many of which now too tired to start scuffles amongst each other and simply retired to their rooms for the time being. ...Or planned to anyway. Occasionally, between the tourist spot videos displayed on the wall-mounted televisions, was a showing of tournament statistics.

Of the 400 initial contestants, 363 were left. The most elimination so far being attributed to an Egyptian fighter named Bek. At this, a thin dark-skinned man in a kufi hat, surrounded by compatriots couldn't help but smile to himself.

"Looks like the trash is gettin' sorted out already. Just what I wanted to hear!" an arrogant voice chuckled, belonging to a blonde man who was helping himself to a pile of buffet food at a dining room table close to the entrance, cutting into what appeared to be a huge slab of roast beef, he was about to eat a slice before a red-haired woman approached the table.

"Couldn't agree more," she spoke in a Swedish accent. "I'm almost sad I managed to avoid it. Some of those brawls in the airport looked quite amusing."

"'Ey, if you wanna tussle, luv, you can tussle with me," the man raised an eyebrow and smirked before he took a bite off his slice of roast. "How's later tonight in my room sound?"

The woman put her fists up, dropping her luggage and taking a low, mantis kung fu stance. "I do hope you mean that literally..."

"You're gonna have a go at me, right here, right now, luv? In the middle of my fuckin' supper?" he asked, almost sarcastically, letting the knife he'd carved the roast beef with dance around his knuckles. "I'm quite handy with a switchblade, I'll have you know. But this knife'll do just fine. Benjamin Willborough," he stood up, introducing himself and taking a stance.

"Sofia Crescent..." the woman replied, holding her stance, not quite ready to make the first move just yet.

"If I may...Señor Willborough. Señorita Crescent," a small voice interrupted, belonging to a short-statured but dignified-looking man in a pristine suit. He appeared to be a part of the managerial staff. His voice echoed loudly enough that it almost resonated throughout the hotel lobby. Which was his intent, it seemed. "I would ask that if it absolutely can be helped, no fighting in our hotel, especially not in our lobby. While all fighters of the Great Ganbatte are welcome with open arms, we plan on enforcing this one rule by any means necessary."

"Sparse as they are, we do have other guests at the moment who would rather not be perturbed by any scuffles you may have. If you insist on fighting on hotel grounds, I suggest you either go outside or take it to the roof," he continued. "...Just take care not to fall." With that said, the man glanced between both contestants who stood still in their fighting poses for a while before Sofia eventually, hung her head and relented, picking up her bag and rolling it off towards her room. Benjamin sat back down and continued to eat his meal, which satisfied the manager enough to leave.

"Bloody killjoy..." Benjamin sneered under his breath, reaching to pour himself a glass of wine...only to find it missing from his table. "What in the world-" he began to speak before he saw that it had been pilfered by one Edmund Kipsang, who happily chugged it down as if it were a bottle of water on a hot day. "Beginnin' to hate this bloody tournament-" he spat.

***
Several hours after most of the contestants had landed, a crowd began to pour into the lounge of the Oro Verde Manta to take a look into a jazz 'n swing show just starting up. The melodies were smooth and relaxing and accompanied by around a dozen women, strutting in revealing dresses. The show lasted about a good hour before a suited man walked onto the stage, walking in front of the dancers with a mic in hand.

"Welcome, competitors of the great Ganbatte! I'm hoping you've enjoyed your stay thus far?" he asked amidst a cascade of noise coming from the crowd. "I'll take that as a yes! I'll try and keep introductions brief. I am a representative of Nido de Murciélagos! Let's have a big round of applause for our band and of course our dancers!" he gestured to the people behind him on stage.

One by one, the band members stood up and took a bow, the suited man nodding at each of them before suddenly doing a double take as he spotted a member of the "band" he'd never seen before, taking a bow and introducing himself to the women.

"Evening. The name is Edmung Kipsang. Though, some know me as Dr. Edmund Kipsang..." Kipsang introduced himself, almost slurring his words when presenting his alleged credentials.

"Old fool, get out of here!" the suited man snapped under his breath.

"Oh!" Kipsang took a swig from his wine bottle before he hustled off stage.

"Ahem! ...as I was saying, I represent Nido de Murciélagos of Manta's fast-growing Red Light District! My co-workers and I are traveling throughout the hotels in the region to give a semi-formal invitation to all combatants! The tournament may have begun hours ago, but the...festivities begin tonight in the Red Light District. We'll be handing out flyers with directions outside but rest assured, there are plenty of amenities to take part in! Bars, strip clubs, hostess clubs, host clubs, we've got it all!" he lowered his voice. "And not to upset our hosts too much but the love hotels are top notch too!" The crowd erupted into cheers. "And Nido de Murciélagos has it all and more! You'll get your money's worth for sure if you catch my drift-"

"Now, as I was saying...that's Dr. Edmund Kipsang!" Kipsang repeated, now sporting a pair of sunglasses, perhaps as a sort of disguise? The dancers seemed somewhat amused, although the presenter was far from it.

"Get. Off. The. Stage..." the suited man spoke, visibly shaking through gritted teeth.

"Oh!" Kipsang took a swig from his wine bottle before he hustled off stage.

"Please, feel free to join us. It will be 11 pm soon. Once it hits midnight, you won't regret making the trek over!" he stated as he walked off stage.

As he left, the dancers and band following, he stopped past a certain table to greet one fighter. "You're Bek of Egypt, correct?" he asked the skinny man who had sat back to enjoy the show with his party, a bit further from the others. "We'd heard you had the most eliminations in the tournament so far! An impressive feat! We'd love to have you as the guest of honor at our establishment! "

"If it's all the same to you, I'm going to pass," Bek waved him off. "I know a lot of the competition will be heading over there, and I don't blame them for wanting to blow off some steam. But my team would rather I focus for the time being," he turned to those gathered behind him with an oddly large amount of luggage behind them compared to other fighters with similar posses. As he spoke, he turned to face a hotel camera, knowing that his small speech would be one broadcast on the tournament feeds. Maintaining the dedicated and focused look was good for publicity after all.

 

[BakaTheIdiot]

With the day slowly giving way to night, and many of the fights seeming to wrap up, it felt only fitting that Donavan took his beloved Boris to a hotel fitting for a king - or, as it were, a cat. Really anything would do, so after procuring yet another meal following the untimely destruction of his breakfast, he made his way to the - damn, how was it spelled again? Whatever, the fancy one. The one by the beach. He really needed to work on his Spanish.

Shortly after leaving the airport, however, he received a familiar jingle from his phone, to which he flipped open and answered. "Oh, so now you decide to call me back." He grinned.

"Very funny," A female voice chuckled from the line. "Saw the fight. You take any hits?"

"No ma'am."

"Good."

"How are the ratings?"

"Not too shabby, but you're not top dog. Some guy named Bek. Dude's a beast and a Diva. Steer clear." She sighed, before lightening her voice somewhat. "Get some sleep, I'll be flying out next week."

"What? Why?" Donavan was taken aback. "I thought you said you had an ex or some shit."

"I said I had a warrant, dumbass. And I changed my mind. Spoke with some of the Ganbatte folks. They're dealing with it."

"Murder or bribery? Actually, don't answer that. Anyway, see you in a week, I guess. Don't miss your flight like that one time in Seoul."

"Fuck off, Donnie."

"Love you too, Bella." He promptly hung up.

"Y'know Boris, I should probably cut her some slack... she's a damn good handler. Might even be the best." Boris only meowed in response. "Right, right. We'll get you out of here soon enough buddy."

*****

Having spent most of his adult life in some dingy little hole-in-the-wall with a barely functional sink, switching to some first-class resort was definitely... an experience. There were men with towels at basically every turn, there was some cabaret club or something of that nature, fine dining, a swimming pool, roof access, this place screamed money - money he certainly didn't have if not for the Ganbatte cards. After getting his belongings situated in his room and his cat freed from his confines, Donavan suddenly found himself with a lot of time to kill: if he wasn't fighting for the rest of the night, then what was he supposed to be doing? The lounge seemed like a good place to start.

On his way to the lounge, following the sounds of dancing, whooping, laughter and music, he stumbled across an odd occurrence on one of the many, many televisions:

Thirty-Ninth Place??

He knew he hadn't managed to score the top spot, but surely beating three men at once would have secured a higher ranking in eliminations. And yet, there it sat: thirty-ninth place. Donavan scoffed defensively. And with so many competitors left to fight, no less.

"I can do better than that." He grumbled to himself before sulking over to the lounge and occupying an empty seat. At least the dancers were alright - or, at least, what five minutes he managed to witness before the end. What a shame. Still, at least the red light district seemed fun, and - is that an old man wearing sunglasses flirting with the stage? Was he in the Ganbatte? How?? All Donavan could muster was a simple whisper: "what a world."

And then, there was the guy.

The guy. Bek.

Being a few tables over, it was hard to eavesdrop, but he could definitely make out the name Bek. It was the guy who snatched his spot. The guy had an entire pit crew with him, complete with the snobbery and fancy shoes. Ugly as hell, maybe, but probably expensive. Damn, Donavan really needed some new shoes - scratch that, he needed just about a new everything. A new skull would do nicely too.

"Bek." He muttered to himself. "Bek Bek Bek Bek Bek..." In an instant, he had reached for his phone, and began firing off messages for intel.

Oi, who's this Bek guy - side question, wtf is a margarita? Is it expensive?
sent, 10:35 PM

Mentions: PiePillager

 

[Sir loin of beef]

It wasn't long before Johnny had managed to defeat Larry so brutally that the latter would have to be taken to the hospital for medical treatment. Stupid punk would think twice before messing with him again that's for sure, a few hours and some more punks that needed their clocks cleaned later and Johnny found himself at the Oro Verde Madrid checking out the fine-ass dancers on stage behind the band, damn seriously those dancers were finnnneeee!!!!!! And apparently if the old man that had suddenly appeared on stage was any indication, he wasn't the only guy who agreed. maybe some of the female population might actually agree with him if they swung that way. Although there was one thing bothering him, who the hell was this Bek guy? all Johnny knew so far was that he wasn't sure he liked Bek, probably because he had scored the most eliminations in the tournament so far and thus was a threat to his plans, with that three billion dollars he could surely move on up the ladder, possibly up to being the boss of the Magna Mafia and not those heavenly king punks. All he had to do was win the Great Ganbette, get a couple promotions here, arrange a couple whackings there and hope that the heavenly kings don't catch wind of what he's up to before he's ready. And if they do catch wind of what he's planning? pin it on 'Pencil Trick' Jack or-

**RING!!!!**

Oh who could that be? johnny put the phone up to his ear and answered. "Talk to me."

"how was the flight boss?" A nasally voice asked on the other end.

"Eh, i mean it wasn't the best what with the turbulance and all that shit, but at least there weren't any babies or nosy kids on board. Why are you calling me Lenny? i was about to head out to the local red light district and have some fun, if you catch my drift, heh-heh." Johnny responded to the caller, now identified as 'Lenny' "oh no don't tell me that 'Fat Tony's up to something, ugh one of these days i need to have that guy whacked, hopefully without the big bosses finding out my involvement."

"Uhh its not that Boss, not like our trip to Germany." Lenny responded from thousands of miles away. "I just called to wish you luck and tell you that my wife's pregnant."

"Wait really? is it a boy or a girl?" Johnny asked.

"We just found out like 5 days ago boss, we really don't know yet. Also i saw your little scrap, you want that Larry guy to... disappear? I mean considering what we had done to that lady of his i'd be angry too if i was him." Lenny asked over the phone.

"Unless that guy dragged some friends of his to Ecuador with him i don't think i'll need to worry about Larry, he'll be in traction for a couple of days at the least." Johnny responded.

"Oh wow i still cant believe you went easy on him boss" Lenny said. "Of course it probably makes sense considering that whacking your opponents on purpose is against the rules."

"Eh, so what? i could probably manage to whack that guy and make it look like an accident." Johnny said "Now if you'll excuse me i need to go have some fun, heh-heh." the mobster said.

"Be careful boss, don't get in any troubl-" Lenny said before Johnny hung up on him and began looking for a ride to to the Red-light district.

PiePillager

 

[egglover]

A figure with their hood up weaved through the crowds of locals, tourists and competitors. No doubt a large majority of those here were part of the four crime syndicates as well. A few sly looks passed her from the men standing guard on this night of illicit celebration but none were familiar enough to recognize her. Good. In any other normal circumstance Min-Ji would be joining the groups of beautiful women in tiny, waist-hugging dresses, drinks in decorated hands as they danced the night away. Perhaps she would even hang off the arm of a muscular man with too much cash to spend, their dangerous smiles alluring and pulling her back to the world she had been pushed out of. Tempting though it was, she instead dressed in a silver hooded jacket and tiny jean shorts, watching the crowds with intensity as though she was searching for something or someone...

They wouldn't be on the streets of course, no, they would be inside one of the clubs of the Red Light District talking of business and placing bets. One of his lackeys would be watching the door - likely Jose or Ishan if they were still working for the syndicate - and those two would recognize her instantly. They would refuse her entry, but no matter, she simply wanted to assess the situation. Revenge could wait for later.

Min-Ji spotted one of them. Jose. There was another waiting by the entrance, not one she recognized, but they talked together wearing button-up shirts with the sleeves rolled up and earpieces connected to the rest of security in the district. Leaning against the edge of an outdoor tiki bar surrounded by people, she ordered a mojito and watched the club from afar. No patron entering and exiting the club escaped her careful surveillance and she paid extra attention to those who Jose seemed friendly with. It wasn't much in the way of information but any tiny nugget was worth her time. The bartender passed her a tall, cold glass garnished with mint leaves and a wedge of lime. She nodded at him with a smile.

An idea was beginning to form in Min-Ji's mind.

 

[DarKnight36]

Musashi strolled through the entrance into the club, sandals flopping. He breathed in the scent of alcohol, cigarettes, food and drugs with little care. This was nothing compared to some of the other places he'd encountered.

One of the guards reached out to stop him, but perhaps he recognized Musashi as one of the contenders in the tournament. Either way, Musashi didn't even spare him a glance as the guard dropped his hand.

Musashi strode to the bar and took a seat nearby a beautiful woman who was hiding her aura quite nicely.

"Sake," Musashi told the bartender, setting his bag down next to the stool.

egglover

 

[druidquest]

Mergo vaulted over a man's back, twirling in the air to bring her leg slamming hard against his buddy's face. She ducked low as she landed, a fist sailing over her head before she was back up, her own flurry of blows climbing up this next assailants chest before colliding with the side of his face, sending him to the ground hard enough his head bounced off the airport's linoleum flooring.

Arms flew around her as she was rushed from behind, the first man grabbing her tight as his buddy rallied from the front. Mergo's legs shot out, pushing him away from her, her head whipping back to smash the first guy's nose. He stumbled back, dropping her as his hands flew up to his bloodied face. She cartwheeled forward, the back of her shoe crashing against his chin and sending him to the floor.

Mergo returned to her feet with a wide smile on her face, stepping aside just in time to avoid a jab from guy #2. 2? In this skirmish, sure, but how many was she on now? Six? Ten? Eh, it didn't matter.

She bounced on the balls of her feet, weaving between the guy's punches as he grew increasingly frustrated. Her left arm shot out like a bullet, once, twice, and she felt a rib crack under her hand. The guy wobbled slightly, dark hair sticking to his sweat-slicked face as he tried to work his way around her, looking for openings. A boxer, clearly - at least he had the look about him. His arms went up in a guard as he stepped in, anticipating rebuttal as he tried to get inside her defense.

Shame Mergo wasn't a boxer herself. One heeled shoe swept his leg, knocking him off balance. She clocked him upside the head for good measure on his way down, and he didn't get back up.

Mergo cracked her knuckles as she shot her gaze around, looking for her next opponent, shoulders rising and falling with excitement and exertion. The airport was empty, mostly. The mad brawl that had been occurring moments before had faded, the would-be combatants either retreated or on the ground, and now only a handful remained, including herself.

Her hands dropped. None of these other guys looked like they were gonna keep going; her eyes met momentarily with some skinny Egyptian dude who was already on his way out, a little club waiting for him by the door. He looked kinda prissy, to be honest. Probably spent the brawl hiding and was slipping out now that things were dying down. Mergo exchanged looks with the other fighters still hanging around, but they all seemed like they'd accepted the tournament's opening match had come to an end.

She was having so much fun, though! Bummer.

She should go find her luggage.

---

The little bell atop the door of the bathhouse rang clear to announce Mergo's arrival. At the reception counter sat a round middle aged woman idly flipping through a magazine, who looked up only briefly to take note of Mergo's presence before returning to her articles. Mergo approached, lowering the slightly more battered metal suitcase from her shoulder and setting it on the floor.

"Hola, Mama," she greeted lightly.

"English is fine, mija," the woman replied, not looking up.

"I speak Spanish."

"Poorly. I won't listen to you butcher my language with your shitty accent in my own house." Mergo smiled at that. The woman's eyes flickered up from her magazine to meet Mergo's, clearly displeased. "I'm assuming the hotels threw you out. There's no way you thought I'd let you stay here the whole time."

"No camaraderie between Mothers?"

"No. If you want to cause trouble and get yourself killed, that's your business. I won't let you drag my house into it."

Mergo crossed her arms, not budging from her spot. Silence hung over the storefront for several long moments, demonstrating the quality of the soundproofing between floors. The bathhouse Mama continued flipping through the magazine, though Mergo suspected she was only pretending to read. She was stubborn, that much was clear, but Mergo was patient. She didn't have any plans for the evening, anyway, so she picked up her suitcase and relocated to one of the cushioned benches lining the walls. The Mama's finger hesitated briefly on the corner of the page.

"Don't make me have you removed, mija," she said, turning the page.

"You won't." Mergo studied the pictures of the girls lining the walls. The girl's here were prettier than hers, mostly. That was annoying. "If you were, you would've done so the moment I walked in."

"I wouldn't be so sure," the woman replied, giving Mergo a pointed look. "I'm a very patient woman."

Mergo snorted in amusement, eyes tracing the lines between the floor's polished tiles. They both fell silent for several moments more.

"I'm not looking for charity," Mergo stated, crossing her legs and leaning back. "I don't mind working, if you need it."

"Bruised and bloody isn't a popular look with our girls," Mama cut back.

"That's not what I meant. I'm sure you have places you've fallen behind," Mergo explained, brushing a strand of hair back from her face. "And with all the fighters in town, you'll no doubt be seeing an uptick in clients getting rough. I doubt the bouncer you have now will be able to handle it all themself."

Mama waved the idea away dismissively. "We can't afford to hire more muscle."

"I'm not asking you to." Mergo wiggled her GG card pointedly, a cocky grin on her face. "I'm already paid for, remember?"

The older woman scoffed, and the room fell silent again.

Minutes stretched out further and further, turning into hours. Customers came and went, as did a handful of employees. The Mama closed her magazine and opened a new one, eventually flipping on a small television screen mounted in one corner of the waiting room if only to fill the silence. Mergo watched idly, still not moving from where she had parked herself. It was a typical waiting room television package. The evening news, a handful of old telenovelas, a soccer game.

"You stink, mija," Mama remarked, chin in one hand as she watched the match.

"What luck that we're in a bathhouse."

"Hmph."

"I won't cause trouble for the house," Mergo asserted, turning to look at the Mama directly. "You have my word on that. If anyone decides to come after me-"

"We'll sell you out in a heartbeat, mija," Mama finished for her.

"Exactly."

The other woman sighed, pushing back from the counter and rubbing her eyes. The house would be getting busy soon. "Pinche pendeja. Fine. One chance. One. If there's any trouble for the house or any of my girls, I'll kill you myself. Understand?"

"Loud and clear, ma'am."

"Ugh." Mama waved Mergo away from her presence. "Go bathe first. I'll figure out what to do with you afterwards."

Mergo grinned, hopping to her feet and snatching up her suitcase.

"And don't smile at me like that, puta!" Mama called after her as Mergo ducked through the door to the back. "You'll make me regret this!"