by Matt Doyle
“The attacks are coming in too quick for any meaningful healing to be done an’ this one is pretty much just a stand-off now. Carnival steps around a charge, sinks her teeth into The Breeze’s rear thighs an’ jus’ like that, John’s built his hand up again. Low kick by Carnival but The Breeze barrels into her hard. One good hit Dirk, that’s all it’s gonna take!”
“And this could be it Sam! The Breeze nails a Fuchsia Charge - no!”
“GINGA.”
“Aw yeah man, Carnival Gingas outta the way at the last second, an’ here comes that Neon Flame Roundhouse …”
“DART.”
“The Breeze slips by! John’s down to a basic hand size and Finn’s played …Fuchsia Fang!”
“That’s another Breeze exclusive an’ that should … John’s smiling Dirk! He must have a strong dodge or … Neon Flame Back Fist catches The Breeze square in the face!”
“I don’t’ think that’s enough though Sam, The Breeze slowly getting to his feet and … no! He drops! Forrester wins it! And the crowd are going insane!”
The battle music fades and the lights come back up, leaving a bruised and bloody Carnival breathing heavily, but still able to throw out a couple of victory dance steps. The Sky Control Systems and the holographic display on John’s Mobile Loader power down and the computerised announcer cuts through the crowd noise, confirming the defending champion as the winner and sending them into an even bigger frenzy.
“Whatta main event!”
“You can say that again Sam.”
“Alright then. Whatta main event!” Sam laughs.
“So many times there I honestly thought Finn had the champ beat, then right at the end we all thought that Fuchsia Fang had the match won. How did John turn it around Sam?”
“By playin’ smart. He knew that whatever he used after Ginga, Finn would likely Dart past an’ go for the kill. He probably even figured out that he had his other Breeze exclusive card in his hand ready to use after the Fuchsia Charge. I reckon that he used the Neon Flame Roundhouse when he did to give Finn the impression that he was desperate to finish it, knowing full well that Finn would then go for the finish himself.”
“So what can you tell us about the Neon Flame Back Fist?”
“It’s a Carnival exclusive that uses your entire hand. The power of the attack is based around how many cards you have charged up an’ to be honest, it’s easily dodged. Using it as a counter though meant that there was no way it weren’t gonna land, an’ the basic hand combined with Carnival’s fist stat meant that it was more than strong enough to finish The Breeze off.”
“Thanks Sam. OK, we’re about done for the night! Tomorrow, we’ve got a fantastic line-up for you though with the two semi-final matches, starting with Fahrn Starchaser versus ‘The Silent Warrior’ Laqueta and her coach, Hong Chan.”
“Plus, the one we’ve all be waiting for, Connor Ford, the returning legend versus the defending champ, John Forrester! Man, that one’s gonna be a Helluva match!”
“And get this Sam, the producers are telling me that we’ll be hearing from Tanya Djorkiev too! You can bet she’s going to have some stern words for her grandson Dorian Djorkiev II after tonight’s performance.”
“There’s gonna be fireworks there Dirk! An’ after that, we’ll be heading straight into the third place play-off an’, of course, the final of the 2917 Spark Form World Championships!”
“You heard him ladies and gentlemen! Tune in tomorrow for all that and more, plus a whole load of exclusive content on our web services. In the meantime, you can catch Chris Toshin with the wrap-up show later tonight. For now though, I’ve been Dirk Wylder.”
“An’ I’m Sam North.”
“And you’ve been watching the first round of the forty third annual Spark Form Work Championships!”
The screen fades to black and the end credits start to roll.
CONNOR FORD - 17:46
“And here,” he says, pointing out another glaringly obvious space for my signature before wiping the sweat from his forehead on his sleeve and turning the page over. “And here,” he repeats for about the fifteenth time since we began. I’d be annoyed by the mantra if it wasn’t that he sounds so damn dead inside every time that he has to say it.
“What’s the matter Carlston,” I growl from behind a vicious smile. “Learning an unwanted truth about your employer are we?”
“And here,” he repeats again, trying to ignore me. Oh, but you can’t ignore me, can you? You lost our little game, and now you have to pay the price.
“Do you know what I find ironic?” I ask casually as I scrawl my name over the next line. “No? No ideas?”
“And here,” he replies.
“I’ll tell you, shall I?” I say slapping my hand down on the page to stop him turning it again. He swallows hard and looks up, barely managing to hold my stare as I continue, “It’s that given what these papers represent, you’d think I’d have a moment of hesitation. But no, sat here signing them, I’ve never felt so bloody alive. Isn’t that funny Carlston?”
Oh the sheer unadulterated joy of watching an absolute shit of a grown man losing the battle not to vomit. Malicious bastard that I am, I can’t help but laugh at him hacking away into the litter bin. It’s almost a shame that I can feel a coughing fit building up as a result.
“Honestly Carlston,” I manage between my own raspy barks. “You shouldn’t make me laugh like that. You wouldn’t want to finish me off before I finish with all the legalities, would you?”
You can see the anger burning behind his eyes at that. He knows full well that I’m mocking him.
Good. Life has mocked me on far too many occasions. Why should I let everyone else miss out on all the bloody fun, eh?
Oh, but look at him now. Straighten your tie, take a deep breath, and walk back to the table wearing those cold, empty eyes. They won’t last boy, your shield is weak.
He flips the papers over, taps two places and says “Here and here,” waits for me to sign them, flips to the back page and points to the first of two lines at the bottom of the page. “And here,” he repeats again, almost managing to remain emotionless.
I scribble my name down and sit back, throwing the pen across the table as I go. I do believe that I may be grinning like a Cheshire Cat.
“Thank you Mr Ford,” he says, picking the pen up and scrawling some illegible mess next to mine. And what was that? Did I see a tear there? He choked it back, but it was there. Oh, this is just too good. “I will inform Emblem that the paperwork is done,” he continues morosely. “You are free to return to your hotel at any time. I shall no doubt see you tomorrow.”
“Oh, you certainly shall,” I shout over my shoulder as he goes to leave the room. “Look forward to it Carlston. I am simply dying to show you what I have planned for that whelp John Forrester.”
And with that I let out another big laugh, this time calming myself before the coughing can start.
Even the fading bloody echo sounds older than it should.
Once I’m sure I’m alone, I sigh, “It’s finally done,” push my robe aside and reach into my jeans pocket. The struggle to get the wallet out is one of those daily reminders of how quickly my body is failing me. “Bastard,” I grunt as the damnable thing finally comes free. Turning the worn down leather mess over in my hands makes me smile. With all its bumps and tears, we may as well be twins. Haggard, old, twins.
I flip the wallet open, pull out an equally worn photograph and chuck the wallet onto the table. “I always march to the beat of my own drum,” I mumble as I run my fingers over the creases across my wife’s face. Were it not for the folds and fading print, her smile would be unchanged for near ten years now. “And I always drag the rest of the world along with me, whether they want to go or not. The Pied Piper of Spark Forming you called me,” I chuckle. “What you didn’t realise was that I was never making my own path, I was simply following you.”
I sigh again, close my eyes and push the picture to my fore
head.
“I’ll be with you soon my love.”
JOHN FORRESTER - 17:58
Happy, happy, happy, humming happy happily, singing in my head to keep the worries in the back-ily.
“Any physical fatigue?”
“Want me to dance again?” I ask the physician before nodding back towards Carnival. “We could do the whole entrance again if you like?”
He rolls his eyes. “A simple ‘no’ would suffice Mr Forrester. After all, a simple lie is easier to sell or so they say.”
I laugh. “If your scans have already told you that I’m tired, then why ask?”
“They don’t,” he says with a sly smile, “You’re over-selling it. It makes it obvious.”
“You got me Guv’nor, it’s a fair cop,” I say in an atrocious Cockney accent while hanging my head and throwing my hands out for the Doc to apply the handcuffs. Instead of cuffing me, he gives my wrists a tap with his stylus and continues making notes on his tablet. I run a similar routine pretty much every time I play pro, and as far as I can tell, not one member of the medical team has figured out how much of it is me intentionally hamming it up. Or if they have, they think it’s just me being me and don’t pay any attention.
It kinda is me being me, just not in the way they think. Well it is, but not entirely. There’s definitely me in there, but there’s me too. No, wait, that sounds a bit too dissociative identity disorder-y. I mean, there’s a degree of ‘TV me’ but there’s also the ‘hiding behind all the bouncing off the walls me’. I give a quick glance over to Carnival to give my brain a quick visual reminder as to why I’m battling the Surge this way. Bless her, she’s been stuck standing in place for a while now. She won’t mind though, she understands why these checks are important.
“Readings are still high but dropping slowly,” says the implant-checking-person.
“Any emotional Surges Mr Forrester?”
“Probably,” I giggle. Laughter is important. That goes all the way back to my childhood. I remember my Dad coming home once and looking so upset, and seeing him upset made my Mum upset, and that in turn made me upset which then made both of them more upset because I was upset which was in all pretty upsetting. It wasn’t until years later that I really understood that the upset was because Dad had lost his job. It wasn’t his fault or anything, the company closed and didn’t give the staff any pre-warning, but in some ways I think that made it worst. He was big on taking responsibility for your actions, so if he’d screwed up he’d have probably dealt with that better. The point is, my ten year old mind associated Mum crying with Dad crying and I knew that I was crying because Mum was crying and that Mum and Dad were extra worried because I was worried, so BAM! If you’re hurt, then people who care about you get hurt too.
It took Dad a long time to find a new job, and he used to come home feeling bad pretty much every day. Seeing how that affected Mum just kinda cemented my reasoning for me, so I made a point of not showing how it affected me. I didn’t want to make it worst for everyone, you know? So what I did was get really over the top with all my silly little dances and good-jokes-when-you’re-ten-but-actually-not-what-would-traditionally-be-called-a-joke-when-you’re-an-adult-jokes because that made my parents smile and seeing them smile made it easier to bury stuff. That’s why I was always so careful sneaking out to play Spark Forming with the other kids actually. It was an escape that my early teenage self needed, but I didn’t want to leave my parents worried. If I’d been rebellious I’d have intentionally made enough noise to wake them. That said, by not being rebellious, you could say that I was being rebellious against the expected moody teenage stereotypes, which would mean that I really was rebellious after all. Wow I’m repeating myself a lot tonight. I’m thinking in one-word circles. Weird.
Concentrate John. Where was I? Oh yeah. What can I say? When you’ve become a young master at keeping everything in, it becomes easier to amplify the other stuff. Either that or just make your mood up.
It’s really the same now. Whenever I see Carnival upset, it does hit me, so that reinforces the part of my brain that still thinks like a ten year old, which in turn then sends me into ‘what can make this person happy’ mode. In Carnival’s case, that could be anything: strength, jokes, playing punch-bag for her mock tantrums. Sometimes beer too, she likes the odd beer every now and then. No wait, she likes to not have a beer every now and then. The rest of the time, she likes to have a beer. Ooh, circles again. Which takes me back to the start of the train of thought. Surges make your mind do funny things. In my case, it likes to try digging up fifteen years of old worries. If all that were to come out then Carnival would … nope, hold that back too. Dwelling on it is an ally to the Surge and its nefarious plan to upset people you’re close to. Instead of giving in, I shall instead continue to sing happily to myself about the rock and roll lifestyle and living how I want to and life being crazy and all that stuff.
“And we’re stable,” says someone by my left arm.
“Same here,” says the implant checker.
“Good,” says the head guy with the tablet. “Now, Mr Forrester, I understand that with the television tapings being over for the day that you will probably want to leave the arena as soon as possible but, given that it took nearly twice as long for your readings to stabilise this year, I would highly recommend that you rest first. I suggest that you return to your changing room, order yourself a drink or some food and relax for half an hour before you head back to your hotel room.”
“Right you are Doc,” I reply as I half-leap to my feet and suddenly realise that I may have buried my balance along with everything else. Luckily for me, a wall jumps out and catches me before I can crash to the floor. For some reason, the looks of abject horror on the medical team’s collective faces when I turn around sends me into a fit of laughter that almost foils my attempts to say, “It’s cool, it’s cool. I totally meant to do that in an ‘I totally didn’t mean to do that’ kinda way.”
The head physician sighs audibly and shakes his head before telling his team, “There is no point in trying to talk him down or offer help, so don’t concern yourselves too much. Mr Forrester, please be careful.”
“Will do,” I reply with a cheery smile and a slightly off-balance salute. I wait until I’m sure that we’re alone before taking a few slow steps across the room. Concentrating on the movements like this works pretty quickly, so I suppose I could head straight into it rather than launching myself precariously across the room, but it’s all part of the performance so I totally have to do it. Really, I have no choice in the matter and it’s totally not because it’s fun. Having now regained the ability to stand still, I look back to Carnival with a smile and she responds with a roll of her eyes and a grunt, then starts heading to the door. Ooh, that means she’s in one of her playfully annoyed moods. I bet I know what it’s about too.
Yay for play time.
LANA DE LA CRUZ - 18:00
“I’ve got to hand it to you,” I say as I scooch up onto the table, “That was a fantastic match.”
“I am glad that you enjoyed my performance Miss De La Cruz, it is just unfortunate that I was unsuccessful.”
“Pah, you came close. That was far more than I expected.”
“Of course,” he replies. “You designed me to have quite the capacity to analyse and learn. I simply performed my task as required.”
If he’s only acting to my specifications, then that means he played the way he did because trying to take John out of the tournament early was a desirable addition to the plan. That’s a shame. When he started talking about Hong Chan earlier, I thought he may have been lying when he said he wasn’t jealous. Unless he’s lying now. That’s probably just wishful thinking on my part though. Which would mean that I’m not really any closer to replicating Robert’s work. Maybe I’ll give Finn version 5.3 a few tweaks tonight after our meeting with John.
“Miss De La Cruz?” he asks, head tilted in an imitation of curiosity.
“Sorry, mil
es away. Did you pick anything up from Carnival?”
“Perhaps. I noticed that there was a slight spike in electrical activity before it performed each action. When I scanned my own Spark Form, I could not find any trace of a similar spike.”
“So, what are we thinking? That the increased activity is symptomatic of the modifications?”
“In a manner. I am certain that it only performed the moves that John Forrester played, and the data charge card effects also appeared to be correct. If we are to continue working with the theory that it has achieved a level of sentience, then it is possible that the spikes were representative of it deciding to follow the instructions sent to it from the cards.”
“Huh. You know what, Finn? That’s not a bad theory. Did you get anything else to support it?”
“Once we had returned backstage, I gave it another quick scan in passing. The spikes in activity continued each time John Forrester spoke, albeit on a smaller scale. I took the liberty to compare the readings to my own historical data. Its fluctuations are quite varied, my own are relatively consistent. It is of course possible that this is because I am programmed to run similar algorithms each time I presented with a situation. In Carnival’s case, it may be running a far more varied set of calculations.”
I nod. “Good. That’s a good start. Anything else to report?”
“Yes. We may need to make some modifications to Meera Thorne’s systems before its match tomorrow.”
“And why would that be?”