Threaded Mode | Linear Mode

SpineTwister · **12-16-2014, 10:21 AM**

Night. London, England.

A warehouse on the Thames, in one of the rougher waterfront neighborhoods.

Inside, steps lead down to a spartan cinderblock facility combining gym, dojo, and fetish dungeon. Mats, weights, machines, heavy and light bags, restraints, cages, chains, whips adorn the place.

SIMON LYSTER, “THE SPINE TWISTER” paces the well-worn mats. Worry creases his normally impassive face. In one hand he holds an opened, dog-eared paperback copy of Sun Tzu's The Art of War.

Twin flat-screen monitors provide ghostly light in the dark facility. DVR'd XWF matches play on both screens. On one monitor, the dark titan CAIN ARKHAM leaves a path of destruction. On the other, ADRIAN STORMS spins and leaps, delivering a barrage of whirlwind offense.

LYSTER mutters to himself.

"This is... well, not unexpected, but not what I wanted.

"I'm a submission wrestler. How do I submit an opponent in a three-way match while the other opponent is still up and kicking me in the kidneys? The stipulations are slanted so heavily in favor of strikers it might as well be a Marquis of Queensbury rules boxing match.

"And this milk business adds insult to injury. Between my lactose intolerance and that damnable robot, my bum could end up facing more unpleasantness than it would from an entire term at Eton Boarding School.

"What to do, what to do?"

LYSTER flips through the book to Chapter VI, Verse 24: Carefully compare the opposing army with your own, so that you may know where strength is superabundant and where it is deficient.

"I'm the best mat wrestler of the three. If I can turn this into a ground game, I win. CAIN is big, powerful, stronger than I almost certainly, and has shocking speed. But fighters like him rely on a vertical base. Take him down, and he stretches like any other man.

"STORMS gives up 20 kilos to me, let alone to CAIN. But he's not to be overlooked for that: He's faster than I am, and with respectable technical finesse. Sometimes those flippy-floppy bastards slip the noose just long enough. One on one, on the mat, eventually I lock him down and he's done for – but that'll be impossible to do if CAIN is still in it.

"Reducing three to two as quickly as possible, then, is essential.”

Turning the page, LYSTER comes to Chapter VI, Verse 31: Water shapes its course according to the nature of the ground over which it flows; the soldier works out his victory in relation to the foe whom he is facing.

"Of the two, I'd prefer to fight CAIN at the end. As much of a beast as CAIN is, I wager my technique trumps his power, and STORMS’ speed is too unpredictable. Big men, for all the danger they pose, are easy to outthink. They rely on what's always worked.

“Plus they tire easier than smaller fighters like STORMS. The longer the fight goes, the more you roll the dice that STORMS could land an... what does he call it?... Eternal Rest out of nowhere.

"The key is to play on CAIN's pride. Approach him, acknowledge his strength, praise his ferocity. Slander STORMS as small, unworthy of CAIN’s final victory, a preliminary annoyance to be quickly disposed of.

“Offer CAIN an alliance early in the match: Team up, get the velociraptor out of the way so the two T-Rexes can fight. Let CAIN do the dirty work.

“And when it's down to two, when I turn from a T-Rex into a Triceratops and gore CAIN to the ground – well, CAIN, Christmas Shove-It will be your extinction event.

“A fringe benefit: CAIN is almost certainly tougher than STORMS based on sheer size. Which means, in the end, when I stretch him, he'll last longer in the hold. More suffering. Richly deserved, delectable suffering."

LYSTER turns toward the TV. His eyes run up and down CAIN's back the way a more normal man might look at a beautiful lover.

"I want to hear that massive, thick, juicy, throbbing, gristly spine pop."

LYSTER turns to Chapter V, Verse 17. Simulated disorder postulates perfect discipline, simulated fear postulates courage; simulated weakness postulates strength.

"If CAIN doesn't take the bait, go to an alternative strategy: Feign weakness in the early going. Use newness to my advantage. Hide my mat skills. Act like a strong but not overly skilled brawler. Let them underestimate me. Since I won't have a chance for a submission anyway, stand back while they flail at each other. Then slip in for a quick pin. Getting a pinfall win is no fun, but there will be other opportunities to indulge my proclivities. Once it's down to two, spring the trap and make the remaining combatant suffer for the indignity.

“Break that opponent. Slowly. Publicly. Let ‘cookies and milk’ be synonymous with horror in the minds of XWF fans for half a millennium.”

LYSTER turns back toward the TV screens, the crazy action in the rings.

"And yet, for all that, the best-laid plans go awry in a chaotic melee such as this."

LYSTER turns to The Art of War IX, 14.

"Thus Sun Tzu's final admonition: On desperate ground, fight."

LYSTER drops the book. He turns toward a metal door in the far dojo wall, walks over to it, opens it. "Come, then!" he commands.

Two MEATHEAD THUGS slouch into the room. One is about CAIN's height, though lacking the dark warrior's imposing mass; the other is a fair facsimile of ADRIAN STORMS, though without STORMS' fluid movement.

"You kept us waitin' a bit," says the larger.

"You got a job for us?" says the smaller.

Lyster walks to the center of the mat, then barks:

"Come at me! 5,000 pounds to the one of you who submits me or knocks me out!"

The two MEATHEADS look at each other, puzzled. "Huh?"

"You heard me. 5,000 pounds to beat me up and make me say uncle!"

The smaller gestures toward the whips and chains. "E's one'a them sader machinists, 'e is. 'E fancies bein' 'urt." He turns toward LYSTER with a shrug, clenching his fists. "Well, alright then, innit?"

The two men advance on LYSTER, a bit put off by LYSTER's size and strength but relishing the easy money of a two-on-one thrashing.

10 minutes later, LYSTER, panting, blood trickling from lip and a gash over the eye, lies on the mat. On either side, lumps of meat – one big, one small – lie still, bent into unnatural positions.

"Yes," LYSTER whispers. "Desperate ground indeed."

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode A Grappler's Dilemma
Author	Message