WICK (The Spark Form Chronicles Book 1)

by Matt Doyle

  "I do believe that the most appropriate response to that question would be to roll my eyes, would it not?" he asks without doing so. "It would be a physical impossibility for me to feel any form of real jealousy, as you well know. I am well equipped to handle most situations, and you are of course both resourceful and adaptable, but Hong Chan is … quite frankly, his behaviour is at best erratic and he is far too focused on his own goals. If such a thing exists, he is by far the weak link in this set up."

  Having him compliment me if it looks like I'm not going to listen to reason was my idea. I'm aware of at least some of my own faults and I know how people should deal with them. As a result of that, Finn knows that stroking my ego can go a long way. The main thing is that, even if I know that his response is one built to my own design, it still has the desired effect. Hell, knowing that it working so perfectly reminds me of how brilliant I am and so gives it a kinda double-whammy.

  "Hong Chan will be fine," I say, allowing myself to relax again. "Besides, he tested better than you at the double deck trial. I guess there's no substitute for real human ingenuity, huh? Oh yeah, take that Finn. See? You're not the only one that can dish out verbal jabs."

  "I am built to act as you would wish me too Miss De La Cruz, which means that any and all actions I make are by your choice and not mine."

  "Exactly that," I smile. "Which means?"

  "Which means that you want me to pass comment on your shortcomings."

  "Correct. And why do you think that may be?"

  He stops for a moment, clearly running the possibilities through his head before replying, "You seek to improve yourself. You are aware that you do not always pick up on your own faults and so you require an external source to point them out so that you can find the most suitable way to deal with them."

  "That and I like having a whipping boy. Sometimes, I talk myself out of the possibility that I'm in the wrong too. I'm impressed though, your predecessor took far longer to pick up on that."

  He shrugs. "A sign of your increased competence perhaps?"

  "Maybe," I reply, "or he may have just taken longer to mention it to me. Still, I'm surprised you didn't pick Meera as the weak link."

  "Meera Thorne will behave as it is meant to. While that may cause issues, that does not in itself make it the weak link. If anything, it is a manifestation of Hong Chan's weaknesses. Besides, if it becomes a liability, we can simply find an opportunity to switch it off."

  "True enough," I say, getting to my feet. "Right then, I think that's enough stalling. I'm off to meet with the sound and lighting techies. You get back to your prep work."

  And with that, he goes back to his cards without a word of acknowledgment. Good ol' efficiency, eh?

  ROUND ONE: 'THE SILENT WARRIOR' LAQUETA VS DORIAN DJORKIEV II - 15:00

  The arena lights fade down, temporarily leaving the crowd in darkness. Before the fans can become restless, a tribal drum beat starts to blare over the speakers, leading the ground level lights on the entrance ramp as they flash gold. The Big Screen flickers, then loads up the words ‘COTHURN-RAGNA QUALIFIER’.

  The words stay up long enough to illicit a mild reaction from the fans in attendance then fade into black, dragging the music with them, only to be replaced by ‘THE SILENT WARRIOR’ just as the music hits.

  Song: War Dance

  Band: Kaiba

  Genre: Japanese Groove Metal

  The lead riff signals a large stage pyro, bathing the entranceway in light, and then disappearing to reveal that the Big Screen now displays the name ‘LAQUETA’. With the music and lighting now running at full tilt, Hong Chan explodes through the curtain to a loud ovation, his student following slowly after. With his trademark Hawaiian shirt and round sunglasses firmly in place, the best known player to never make a championship strides confidently down the ramp, soliciting cheers from across the arena.

  He reaches the end of the ramp just as the music hits a quiet, ambient break and turns back towards his protégé, arm outstretched as though revealing the young debutant for the first time. Having thus far stood centre stage doing little more than breathing heavily under the cover of her stage gear, Laqueta takes this as her cue to slowly reach one hand up, deliberately flexing her fingers before gripping her hood and whipping it back as the guitars and vocals kick in again.

  With the crowd now directing their cheers towards her rather than her mentor, Laqueta raises her fist in the air in a pose not dissimilar to Fahrn’s salute in the first match. She holds the pose long enough to garner a few wolf whistles and camera flashes, then drops the arm and starts to walk quickly to the Competitor Area to the left of the Battle Zone, Hong Chan walking animatedly by her side.

  All eyes return to the entranceway and the words ‘OFFLAND QUALIFIER’ briefly flash up on the Big Screen, but only stay up for a few seconds before they start to jump. After a few loud cracks, the screen seemingly dies. The crowd start to mumble in amusement at the apparent fault, but soon settle down when the screen returns, the image jumping again briefly then settling into silent black and white footage of the original Dorian Djorkiev entering the Battle Zone during his first tournament. The footage zooms in on what became the traditional family entrance jacket, then switches to clips of him winning the fifth tournament as a movie style voiceover states “They are the most dominant family in Spark Form history.”

  The black and white video now jumps forward a few years to show Tanya Djorkiev, her mannerisms and entrance attire matching those of her father as she walks out to the arena. “With each generation came a new champion,” the voiceover reminds us as the footage shows her winning the tournament in her third year.

  Next we see Jareth Djorkiev, the first of the family to compete while wearing the family jacket, as he marched proudly to tournament victories in his first and sixth years. “Now,” comes the voiceover as the screen fades to black, “A new heir to the throne has arisen.”

  ‘DORIAN DJORKIEV II’ fades onto the screen and the crowd start cheering and chanting in time with the familiar military drums that start playing over the speakers.

  Song: Djorkiev

  Band: Kieriaki Military Band

  Genre: Colonial Regimental Song

  As the fiddle starts to play over the drums, the elusive Dorian Djorkiev steps out through the curtain and stands to attention, the crowd cheering approvingly. Just as each previous generation has done, he wears the family’s traditional long grey trench and accompanying medals that together act as a reminder of both the family’s military past and a symbol of their enduring ability to never back down no matter what the challenge.

  As the music builds up, Dorian drops his head and gives his unkempt dark curls a quick scratch before beginning a slow, laborious walk towards his designated Competitor Area. His behaviour is strangely out of character for a member of the traditionally proud Djorkiev family, but the crowd seem to be oblivious to this fact and continue to cheer him all the way.

  The arena lights power up and the Connection Team make their way to the two combatants, the camera flitting between the two, then settling once more into a split screen shot.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, we are now moments away from the second of our first round match-ups, and believe me, we could be in for an exciting one.”

  “That’s right Dirk, what we have here are two hungry new competitors looking to impress in their debut.”

  “And the key word there is debut. This is the first time in over ten years that we’ve had two debuting Spark Formers paired off in the first round, which means that we are guaranteed to have at least one player making the second round for the first time this year.”

  “Y'know, that could be a real game changer too. The winner of this one is going on to face Fahrn Starchaser tomorrow, an’ we already saw how impressive she’s looking this year.”

  “New look, same attitude, huh?”

  “Yup, she was the same ol’ Fahrn, an’ that means that she ain’t goin’ down without a fight. These two thou
gh, either one o’ them could be the one to give her just that. Whichever one gets through is gonna be goin’ into tomorrow with their confidence sky high.”

  “And just how important will that be come tomorrow Sam?”

  “It’s one o’ them things that could really make or break them, y'know? I mean, say Dorian goes through for example, that’ll relieve a lot o’ the family pressure he’ll be feelin’ right now.”

  “Speaking of which Sam, have you spotted who’s sitting in the front row?”

  “Jareth an’ Tanya ya mean?” asks Sam as the camera cuts to a shot of the two former champions. “Yeah, they were watching closely during the opener. Ya can bet they’ll be plannin’ strategies to discuss with Dorian after the match.”

  “If he goes through. How do you think them being here’s gonna affect Dorian compared to how Hong Chan being here is gonna affect Laqueta”

  “See, there’s a big difference there. Dorian has a whole lotta history to live up to and havin’ them two sat there lookin’ all serious like that has gotta be ramming that home.”

  “Absolutely. You look at Hong Chan though, and it’s a very different feel.”

  “Yeah man, he’s out there talking Laqueta down, keepin’ her focused, all that kinda stuff. He’s giving her support, that’s the difference.”

  “It looks like they’re powering the Sky Controls up Sam. Any last minute predictions?”

  “Based on the qualifiers, Dorian. Laqueta looks cooler though.”

  Dirk laughs. “Let’s get back to the Battle Zone.”

  Hong Chan whispers something to Laqueta and gives her a pat on the back, then walks off to join the Connection Team at their seats.

  A brief split screen shot shows that Laqueta’s eyes are fixed dead ahead, her body tense while the arena lights shine down on her, dancing playfully off her attire. While the glow compliments Laqueta’s smooth, dark skin, Dorian appears to be suffering aesthetically, the lights bouncing off his pale face and obscuring his expression for the most part. As the camera pans around to find a better angle, it becomes apparent that his eyes are sunken, the dark rings around them giving away how little he’s slept in the lead up to today. As if in confirmation of this, he lets out a bored yawn and gives his hair another scratch. The family jacket meanwhile appears unusually dulled in comparison to previous years, the colouring seemingly reflecting the personality of its wearer. Oddly, he also seems to be barefoot.

  The computerised voice cuts in and says, “Cothurn-Ragna Qualifier Laqueta, please initialise your deck.” As commanded, Laqueta reaches out and hits the initialising key, sending her deck sprawling across the screen on her Sky Control System and starting up the shuffle process. Out in the Battle Zone, her Data Wick spins in the air, flashes, then seems to dissolve into a spiral of stretched and twisted flesh, the image contorting as it slowly takes shape, forming a thick, sinewy band. The fans shift uncomfortably while the creature awaits its introduction, the hairs lining the inside of its open body chattering noisily.

  It ripples gently in the air,

  Hairs bristling like a million tiny fingers.

  Grasping.

  Reaching.

  They are fine, sensitive things, that gather the scents of the world around them,

  The eyeless demon knowing its land by no more than shifts in the air.

  But take heed dear friends and do not wander too close,

  Lest you wish to see those self-same hairs harden like needles,

  To feel the your flesh shredded,

  As the damnable thing contracts and expands around you.

  Blood.

  The membranous backing to its body craves blood,

  The hungry, wet tupping of its holes drowning out the screams of its prey.

  This is not a time to be foolhardy.

  Leave now.

  Leave and never return,

  For this is a death that cannot see,

  A death that cannot hear.

  Yet it feels you,

  Starving,

  Craving,

  Fool, it knows you are here still.

  Mott, the devourer of all,

  Demands to be fed.

  “Offland Qualifier Dorian Djorkiev II, please initialise your deck.”

  Dorian remains still.

  “Ya think he’s freaked out by the Mott?” asks Sam North.

  “I think,” laughs Dirk Wylder, “that we may have a problem here. Laqueta’s choice of Spark Form is interesting though, it’s one that really limits which cards you …”

  The computerised voice cuts him off, repeating “Offland Qualifier Dorian Djorkiev II, please initialise your deck.” This time Dorian looks up towards one of the arena speakers.

  “Here we go,” says Dirk.

  “Yeah, guess he heard it that time.”

  Dorian turns his gaze up to the ceiling and gives his hair another ruffle then yawns widely and looks to his left. The camera cuts across and we see that he is looking directly at his Father and Grandmother in the front row.

  Slowly, he reaches up behind his head and grabs a hold of the three cables plugged into his implant and lets his face twist into a sadistic smile. In one movement he yanks them out and throws them to the floor, the physical shock instantly dropping him to his knees and sending him scrambling to get to his feet. Barely able to stand, he begins a jerky lurch across the arena towards his family.

  The camera cuts back to the front row and we can see that Jareth Djorkiev looks absolutely dumbfounded as his son stumbles towards him. Tanya on the other hand has already started yelling at Dorian as he laughs his way across the arena, moving like a broken marionette. One of the Connection Team catches up to him moments before he reaches the heavy duty sheet separating the fans from the action and tries to calm him down, but soon finds himself shoved roughly away.

  Finally, Dorian stops in place, swaying lightly from side to side with a huge grin on his face. Ignoring his irate Grandmother as she angrily slams her fists against the barrier, he starts to slowly unbutton the family jacket. The remaining members of the Connection Team have now formed a loose semi-circle behind Dorian but they seem to be keeping their distance for the most part and their calls for calm are going unnoticed by the competitor.

  The final button undone, Dorian rips the jacket from his body with a guttural scream and throws it to the floor in front of the now booing crowd. The video feed cuts to a mobile camera as it runs through the fans comes to a stop a little way behind Jareth and Tanya. Through the transparent barrier, we can see that Dorian wore no clothing beneath his entrance attire but has instead chosen to wrap large sections of his body in what appears to be black, PVC body tape. As the camera zooms in, we can also see that he has painted the words ‘A Puppet No More’ across his semi-bare chest.

  This image is enough to finally silence Tanya, leaving the oldest living Djorkiev unable to do anything more than stare in shock. After a long, drawn out ten seconds, Dorian drops his smile and looks down to the crumpled jacket on the arena floor. With an angry grimace, he audibly builds up a mouthful of spit then lets it fall slowly from his mouth and onto the dull, greyed clothing.

  Obviously feeling that his point has been made, Dorian turns and stumbles back through the Connection Team, pushing aside anyone not quick enough to move. Refusing to acknowledge the increasingly loud boos and jeers, he makes his way across the Battle Zone, passing Laqueta’s Mott without even a glance and slowly stumbles up the entrance ramp and back through the curtain. As the camera pans around we can see that Hong Chan is now standing with Laqueta, the two of them talking quickly while a handful of Connection Team members make their way over to them.

  “What in the Hell just happened?”

  “I have no idea Dirk, not one damn idea.”

  The camera shot now focuses on the phlegm covered Djorkiev family jacket, crumpled in a heap in front of its previous wearers.

  “I don’t … hold on … OK. Ladies and Gentlemen, we’re gonna cut to a commercial break. We
’ll be back soon with … I dunno, hopefully some sort of explanation. See you in a bit.”

  The video cuts abruptly.

  FAHRN - 15:12

  "You're going to hurt your knee again," Maria pants, struggling to keep up. "It might not be her."

  There are two things I don't really want to be doing right now, running and shouting. I appear to be doing both. "You saw her Maria, you saw her face!"

  "The lighting, her make-up, the blur on the screen …"

  "No," I yell, reeling on her. "None of that …" and just like that, my rage dies down. Even worked up like this, even with the remnants of the Surge ramping it all up, seeing Maria this close to tears is enough to force me to kick myself into touch. She's scared. Not that I'd hurt her, I'd never do that, not physically, she knows that. She's scared of what I'm about to do to myself.

  She was right about me overdoing it I realise. Without the adrenaline pumping, I'm beginning to feel the twinges in my knee again. My heart is pounding too and my top is beginning to hang heavy with the sweat. I slump against the wall and drop down, bringing my knees up and wrapping my arms around them tight while my head drops. "I'm sorry."

  I feel Maria relax down to her knees next me, waiting patiently for me to unload however I see fit. In the past that would have involved a punching bag, or a shooting gallery. It's different now though. Maria doesn't push me for answers on anything, even when she probably should. She just waits and leaves me to it until I'm ready to open up.

  It feels odd doing it. Opening up I mean. I know it's normal and healthy and all that stuff to talk things through, it's just not something I was raised to do. I was born into a world that forced me to grin and bear it, a world where I had to fight to get by. Even when I couldn't do the Merc work any more, I still had to play rough to get things done. Hell, if anything shipping was tougher because it was a lot more unpredictable. Most of the Merc jobs involved two or three similar types of people, and they pretty much all behaved in the same way. Shipping meant interacting with normal people, and that's a lot more varied.