Release the Kraken
The fighters readied themselves for the next round. Mindy, a good athlete through and through, was breathing deeply; the better to fill her lungs with oxygen and bring her heart rate down. On Janice’s side things were more chaotic. Her coach was offering advice and Janice was ignoring everything he said. One of the assistants interrupted; handing Janice her phone. “Your grandmother wants to wish you well.”
The referee watched carefully. In the modern generation, kids can’t unplug for even an hour. A fighter dicking around on a phone between rounds wasn’t particularly uncommon. It usually meant the cocky bastard was destined to lose. In this case, it was probably moot point. He’d been up there in the octagon with the two of them. Having seen the fight closer than anyone, and also having seen more fights than anyone there, he knew the likely outcome. Janice wasn’t a great fighter but she, or he, or it… was simply in the wrong class of fight. Janice would eventually destroy a weaker opponent who should have never been put in proximity with machinery of that size.
Sooner or later the meathead would flatten Mindy with one of those all out full body punches. That would end the match. He’d seen those punches up close and personal. Janice wasn’t a fighter; he was a puncher. He gave absolutely not one shit about fighting style. He didn’t do fancy footwork because he liked to plant his feet and have that much more leverage on each punch. He didn’t block worth crap because he apparently didn’t feel pain. All he could do was punch, but he punched so hard that’s all that mattered. Mindy didn’t belong in this fight. It was too much. With one of those swings, Janice could take out a Clydesdale. Mindy was fast but she was human, and more to the point female. The referee was honest and dedicated to his profession. He’d let the fight go until it was ended. But he didn’t like it. He hoped the punch that inevitably took Mindy down was a glancing blow. The poor girl would have to relearn the alphabet if she got tagged solid in the cranium. He sighed.
“It’s your lucky evening Gerald.” Gertrude was scarcely audible amid the ruckus.
“Grandma, I’m busy.”
“Of course you are dear.” Gertrude soothed. “I just wanted to say, you won’t have to worry about being busted tonight.”
“What? I’m in the octagon right now, can we talk later…”
“I’ve disposed of every bit of your ‘supplements’. You’re on the dope Gerald. I can’t abide that.”
“Grandma! That’s sports medicine!”
“Bullshit! You’re a goddamn junkie. But now it’s flushed. In fact, I threw out everything you own.”
“WHAT!”
“Everything. All you have now are two cats… er… one cat. It’s back to square one for you buddy.”
“GRANDMA!”
“You’re a man. Grow a pair!”
The phone went dead.
If the earth and everything on it is just a sphere rotating through space, the sun is the center of all. If you stood on the sun. No, if you stood in the exact center of the sun, you would be the exact center of all creation. All that ever has been and all that ever will be would be out in space, rotating around you. You would know all, you would see all, you would be all things, and you would implode in a fiery inferno. That’s exactly what Gerald did.
Gerald crushed the phone with his hands. He smashed the jagged bits into his forehead and leapt to his feet.
Outside in the parking lot, 346 firearms of every caliber, construction, and capacity were aimed at a white Audi. The air was taught. Fingers lingered near triggers. Sights were aligned and blood pumped strong.
One man, outfitted in almost as much armor as the bomb squad (there was a bomb squad stationed at the parking lot because of course there was), approached the car. Countless eyes followed his every move. It was go time!
Gerald stood in his corner, feet planted apart, arms held wide, and let out a howl. It was directed straight up… at the universe itself. It was a deep booming terrible sound. The manifestation of countless drugs mixed up in a single insufficient skull. Boiled to froth in estrogen and testosterone… at war with itself, a man become creature. A soul burned white hot until it was rage made human.
Fists clenched. Every muscle taut. Veins bulging, heart pounding, the beast’s eyes swiveled down from the heavens to seek that which it would destroy.
Out in the parking lot, a tentative hand clenched the Audi’s handle. It pulled. A small electronic chirp sounded as the car’s alarm sent a notice to it’s owner.
Back in the arena, amid a screaming audience witnessing the birth of Chuthullu, Robert’s eyes were dazzled from looking at the lights. He couldn’t really see what was going on and he was distracted when his phone vibrated. He took it out of his pocket and held it. It made a small chirp.
Robert’s eyes focused on the screen. A minor alert on his car alarm. He’d better check it out. He touched the “Acknowledge” button and it made a second chirp. Then Robert’s eyes focused from the screen in the near view to the angry red eyes of hell… not 15 feet distant.
Gerald’s stare shifted down from the terrible murderous pain of the universe and focused on the instantaneous point of all fury. There it was. The thing which must be destroyed; Robert’s phone.
“KILLLLLLLLL!” Gerald screamed a battle cry against the world and launched toward Robert.
The referee, who’d been watching the whole scene was well out of the way. The maniac had lost it!
Mindy assumed she was the target. She leapt to the side, rolling on her shoulder and coming up like a cat. The round hadn’t started yet!
Gerald flung his body into the octagon’s protective fence and the whole thing swayed slightly. The horn blew, signifying the beginning of round two. Mindy, baffled, shifted to the side and brought her arms up to guard position. The referee decided it was time to retire.
“KILLLLLLLLL!” Gerald grabbed great handfuls of fence and vaulted upward.
An engineering professor, seated two rows behind Winston, recognized the sound of self tapping screws pulling from the aluminum housing of the octagon. He didn’t stop to wonder the tensile strength of the netting, or the torsion properties of self tapping screws. He jumped up and ran. The students, trained for years in the fine art of indecisiveness, sat there like meat on a butcher’s table. Winston and his wife nodded at each other and began inching to the left. Robert, frozen, saw death coming.
Mindy figured it was her best chance. She pivoted and swung a wicked roundhouse at Gerald’s exposed back.
He swatted at her like King Kong annoyed by a biplane. He connected with her ankle and sent her flying. The referee danced back, letting her fall.
“KILLLLLLLLL!” The screws on the octagon’s upper side gave out, forming a line of little jagged shark’s teeth. Gerald ignored them and dove headfirst off the top. Screws raked his body and some anchored into his shorts slowing his progress. He pulled against them like a man who feels no pain and will never feel pain again.
Mindy danced back to her feet and circled around toward Gerald, who was half in and half out of the ring. The referee waved her back and she complied. The material of Gerald’s shorts was in tatters. Never taking his eyes off the evil cell phone, Gerald pushed over the top, slipped in his own blood, and fell onto a mascara streaked irrelevancy in the audience. His shorts, already torn, snagged on Mascara Girl’s many piercings. Gerald lunged forward, dragging Mascara Girl with him. Then, with a swoosh, Gerald pulled out of the spandex, leaving Mascara Girl with a jock strap hooked to her nose piercing and a view she would never forget.
Gerald launched at the exact place Robert had been standing a fraction of a second earlier, breaking the now empty seat.
Robert was running like his life depended on it; which it did. He could have dropped the cell phone but his generation was incapable of such a thought. He merely pelted for the door in a flat out linear panic. It was justified. If Gerald, a swinging naked force of nature and human wrecking ball, had to reach through Robert to get that phone, so be it. Robert fled through the open fire doors bounding like a deer. Gerald crashed through the crowd just a few feet behind. He was gaining with every stride. And then they were out of sight.
