Chapter Text
"KNOCKOUT!"
The voice of the ring announcer rang throughout the stadium as the arena shook with pandemonium of all sorts. A shadowy figure above watched below as one of the fighters in the ring jumped off of his opponent, kicking their limp body to the side as he stretched his arms out in victory, waving at the audience who cheered him on. The loser was dragged off by medics while the winner basked in his glory.
Up in the viewing box, Caine shifted, fingers tightening around the spherical head of his cane. The neon glow from the screens below flashed, displaying the live feed of the victor as he exited, signing autographs and grinning through his split lip. Caine's expression remained unreadable—except for the faintest twitch of his jaw.
He didn't look up as he heard the door open, the bright yellow-tinted light from the hallway spilling into the room as a familiar silhouette stepped into the doorway, casting a shadow that brushed the heel of his polished shoes.
"That's another win for the Jackrabbit," the person in the doorway remarked, voice laced with amusement. Caine didn't turn, but the grip on his cane loosened slightly as the door clicked shut behind them. The newcomer stepped forward, the tapping of expensive leather hitting the marble floors accompanying their movements.
"That makes twelve matches in a row," The person mused. "He's undefeated." The person stepped up beside Caine, their reflection emerging in the glass before them, distorted by the neon lights outside. Caine turned to face the unwanted guest.
"The odds are getting quite stale, don't you think?" He said flatly. Able turned to lean against the glass, arms crossed, as he watched his brother with a smirk. His suit jacket was unclasped, revealing glint of silver sticking out from an internal pocket of the finery. He reached into the inner pocket, withdrawing a small flask, in which he uncapped and took a swig out of. He tilted his head back, taking a swallow of the alcohol before he exhaled obnoxiously, turning back towards his brother. "What can I say? The people love a winner," he countered, shrugging.
Caine exhaled sharply, fingers tightening around his cane again—this time from irritation. "They love a winner until they start losing money," he muttered, eyes flicking toward the betting screens where the odds for Jackrabbit's next fight were already scrolling. The numbers were absurdly skewed. "And you're rigging it."
Able chuckled, swirling the flask lazily in his hand before taking another sip. "Rigging? That's such an ugly word," he mused. "I prefer… tipping the scales."
Caine slammed his cane down, causing it to come into contact with the floor with a 'click'.
"You're playing a dangerous game, Able." Caine hissed, his voice low. Able merely shrugged, tossing the flask between his hands before catching it with a flourish. "Dangerous? No. Profitable? Absolutely." He gestured toward the screens where Jackrabbit’s face loomed larger than life, grinning through bloodied teeth. "They *want* to believe in him. They *want* to bet on him. They *love* him!" he exclaimed, slinging an arm over his brothers shoulder as he turned them both to face the arena again, gesturing wildly to the crowds. "Who am I to deny them their little fantasies?"
Caine shook him off, stepping away with a sharp pivot of his heel. "If you're here for your money, I don't have it." he muttered, much to his card-headed counterparts amusement. "History repeats itself once more, brother. Making promises you can't keep," He pressed a hand to his chest, mock-offended. Caine narrowed his eyes at his brother, darting his gaze back to the arena. Noting that he had lost his attention, Able stiffened, his previous demeanor fading. He leaned in, next to his brothers head. "I'll give you until the end of next week." He murmured obscurely before turning on his heel and stepping away, hands slipping into his pockets nonchalantly as he exited the room, slamming the door behind him.
The moment Able was gone, Caine let out a tense breath he hadn't known he was holding, his shoulders slumping slightly as he brought a hand up to rub his temples. He lingered for only a moment longer before straightening his coat and turning toward the door himself. He stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, barely making it a few strides before he looked over to see Bubble at his side. They matched his stride without a word, their usual exuberant energy strangely pacified for the moment. They sensed the tension in his posture, deciding to comment on it.
"That bad, huh?" Caine didn't respond, but the subtle clench of his jaw was answer enough. Bubble looked away as the two approached the elevator, sticking their tongue out to press the button to summon it. The elevator arrived pretty quickly. The two stepped onto it, the doors closing as Caine turned to face the back wall of the machine, which overlooked the lobby.
"So," Bubble said, trying to spark some kind of conversation, "what’s the plan? If we keep gamblin' our assets away like this, we-"
Caine cut him off with a click of his teeth before speaking. "We need a new fighter." Bubble blinked, then snorted. "And where'll we find one of those? You want to go and pick up one of those Gummi fighters off the street?" Caine’s mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close enough. "Not off the street," he corrected. "We find someone who *wants* to fight. Someone who *wants* to take him down."
"Recruuuuiting," They squeaked, dragging the word out. "That could work,"
----------
The streets of the Digital City were bathed in the bright lights of billboards that flashed with advertisements, movie trailers, and the current roster of the famous 'Amazing Digital Fight Club'. At the central point of the town, four pillars that resembled crystal shards stood, closing in on an oval-shaped platform-- the Digital Aperture. A place that was the spawn point of some of the greatest fighters to grace the rings.
It was rare for the Aperture to generate activity, but tonight, the air buzzed with static discharge—an unmistakable sign of an incoming spawn. Strangely, in the few occasions that a new player is spawned into the game, no one had been around to see it, despite the constant activity of the city. This time was no different. The platform flickered violently, sending arcs of electricity spiraling upward before a sudden burst of light struck the ground in a wide beam, pouring from a point in the sky that had accumulated in the time that the Aperture had shown signs of activation.
The moment the beam dissipated, a lone figure stood at the center of the platform—silhouetted against the neon glow of the city, their posture rigid, almost bewildered. Their head jerked upward sharply, scanning the towering buildings and the near-blinding flashing of billboards that displayed Jackrabbit’s face, now free of the blood and swelling. The air smelled like cheap alcohol, and the night sky suffered from so much light pollution, not a single star was visible.
The player whipped their head around frantically, stumbling as their legs buckled beneath them. Their hands shot out instinctively, palms scraping against the rough surface of the platform, but the pain barely registered over the disorienting rush of sensations flooding their system. They fell onto their backside, scooting back as they tried to ground themselves. Shifting their weight, they picked their hands up from the ground, staring at their palms, which were white as a sheet. They turned their hands over, the motion causing them to look beyond their hands and out to the bustling city.
The player froze at the sight—their breath hitching as they took in the sheer *scale* of it all. Every sense was overwhelmed. Their fingers twitched—clawing at nothing—before they finally managed to push themselves up onto shaking legs.
Somewhere overhead, a distorted speaker crackled to life, broadcasting a booming voice: "Welcome to- THE AMAZING DIGITAL FIGHT CLUB, new fighter!"
The player flinched at the voice, looking around to try and find its source, but ultimately giving up. Did they say..new fighter? Why was that title familiar? Then it clicked. The player's hands instantly went up to clutch at the sides of their head, trying to lift an imaginary headset from their eyes, but nothing was there. They grabbed and clutched at the skin around their eyes, tugging at it, which caused it to stretch out and retract with a snap in a cartoonish manner.
They froze, staring at their hands again, which seemed to twitch unnaturally, fingers elongating slightly as they moved. Their breathing hitched, and they curled their fingers into fists, squeezing tightly—enough to feel the bones underneath. This wasn't a dream.
A distant roar echoed from somewhere deeper in the city—the unmistakable sound of a crowd chanting Jackrabbit’s name. The player turned toward the noise instinctively, their body moving before their mind could catch up. Their legs wobbled, but they stumbled forward anyway, moving toward the sound like a moth drawn to a flame.
Their first step off the platform sent a jolt through their system, as if their very bones were recalibrating to this new reality. They staggered forward, their fingers brushing against the brick wall of a nearby building for support. The texture felt too real, too..alive.
A sudden burst of commotion drew their attention to a nearby alleyway. They froze, ducking behind a corner, but it was too late. They'd been spotted already. One of the silhouetted figures from the alleyway across the street caught her gaze, and got the attention of the other. The two figures stumbled into the street, both most likely drunk. A car that was speeding by screeched to a halt, giving one of the NPC's a little love tap as the driver laid on their horn. The NPC's kept moving towards the player, though, not seeming to care.
Every single one of their instincts was telling them to start running, but they found themselves frozen in place, unable to move.
As they approached, the light of a street lamp made their features decipherable. One of the guys was some sort of creature made from..what seemed to be hard candy. His face seemed to be molded in the shape of some sort of bird, but his body resembled that of a normal human. The other was identical, aside from the fact that they were skinnier and shorter than the other.
"Oi!" The taller one slurred, stumbling forward. "You new?" He leaned in way too close, the scent of stale, sticky cinnamon wafting from his breath, making the player recoil. The shorter one cackled, elbowing his companion. "Bet ya fifty she runs before you finish asking." He hiccuped, then belched loudly—a puff of sugary vapor bursting from his mouth.
The player scrunched their nose, stepping away from the two candy specimens, only prompting them to follow her. They backed away from them, head whipping around to see that they walked themself right into an alley-- even worse, a dead end.
The two candy birds cracked their knuckles, small chunks of what seemed to be pop rocks sparking from the snapping of their joints as they stepped closer. But before they could lay a finger on the player, the sound of spurs scraping against the ground was heard behind them. Before either of the player's ambushers could turn and investigate the noise, they were both suddenly grabbed by their necks and lifted into the air, their feet kicking frantically as they were held up by a single gloved hand each. The player gasped as they looked up at the towering figure that had appeared in front of them—a silhouette so broad it blocked out the neon glow of the city behind it.
Their savior was also candy-like, but this time resembled some sort of gummy crocodile. He had brown leather cowboy boots, with spurs attached to the heel-- what they assumed was the source of the noise from earlier. Eyes trailing up higher, the semitransparent green gelatin-like substance that made up his body faded into an orangish-yellow as it reached his shoulders. A lit cigarette sat in his mouth, wedged between his sharp teeth that were barred together in a sneer. Cream white beady eyes scowled at the players attackers, before chucking them to the side, causing them to hit a wall, knocking them both out cold like it was some sort of video game.
The player shrunk back, pressing their back against the wall behind them as the gator turned his attention to them, exhaling smoke from the corner of his mouth as he studied them. He tilted his head slightly, lifting a leather-gloved hand to remove the cigarette from his mouth, flicking it onto the ground where it rolled to a stop at the players feet. His boot came up, and hit the cigarette on the ground to put it out as the player scrambled to their feet.
Upon standing up, the player shrunk slightly into themself, noting just how tall he was.
"You're lucky I was around," he drawled, voice rough, but soft at the same time. "These parts ain't exactly the safest for newbies." His eyes, sharp despite their cartoonish roundness, flickered over the player's trembling form, lingering on the scrapes on their palms. "You alright, miss?" his voice, heavy with an Australian accent, asked as he tilted his hat upwards.
The player blinked up at him, as he checked himself. "My apologies," he stuck a gloved hand out. "The name's Gummigoo..but out here the people call me Migo,"
The player stared at his hand, hesitating before they reached out and took it, shaking it slightly. He smiled at first, before his polite expression dropped as he gripped the players hand harder, turning their significantly-smaller wrist over in his hand, narrowing his eyes at the markings on her wrist.
“Yer a fighter,” he murmured, his grip tightening slightly before letting go, stepping back as he crossed his arms, eyes scanning the player from head to toe. The player frowned, twisting their wrist to examine the marking he was referring to—their breath hitching as they realized there was a glowing symbol on her wrist. It was in the shape of a circle with 6 even parts slicing into it. Above it, there was text, that read 'RANK ___'. Beside it, there were three dots and an underlined space that was empty.
"W-what?" their voice stammered out, the only recognizable thing in this strange world.
Migo’s expression darkened as he pointed towards the mark again. "That's the Fighter’s Mark," he muttered, tapping the illustration with one clawed finger. "Means you’re registered. Means you got *business* in the rings." His gaze flicked back to the empty rank slot on their wrist, lips curling into something between pity and amusement. "Or you will, soon as they slot ya in."
"Wha- fighter? Business? What are you talking about? I'm no-" but he cut them off. "Now you are," he let go of her gently. The player shuddered, hands moving up to clutch at their hair as their breathing accelerated. Migo noticed, and sighed, placing a hand on their shoulder.
"There is..one way you could get out of it," he reached for another cigarette from seemingly nowhere, the fag simply materializing into his hands like some low-budget video game. "H-how?" The player paused, their hands dropping back to their sides. He lit it, taking a draw of the smoke before exhaling it and watching it evaporate into the cool night air. "Do what I did, reject them. Go against the code,"
"But..what does that entail?" They questioned, their fingers twitching nervously. Migo smirked, flicking the ashes off his cigarette. He opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by an expensive car rolling up to the alley, coming to a screeching halt.
A set of teeth exited the car, having a body like a human, but a head of..well..teeth. He wore a striking, immaculately-pressed burgundy pin-striped suit vest, with a white long-sleeved collared shirt underneath. A dark red tie hung from his neck, tightened. He had charcoal dress pants on, accompanied by white and black church shoes. He had white gloves that gripped the head of a black and gold cane.
He gaze flicked up to the two. His eyes narrowed at Migo, but then trailed over to the player as his sensors went off. He'd been notified of the activity at the Aperture, and the arrival of a new player. As one of the head sentient AI built into the game's code, it was his job.
Caine exited the car, having tracked them through the city's surveillance grid the moment they'd spawned in. The cane clicked against asphalt as he approached, his polished shoes gleaming under the neon signs. Migo instantly stiffened, his gummy body tensing like hardening gelatin as he subtly shifted to shield the player with his bulk. "Easy there, cowboy," Caine drawled.
Migo's claws flexed, a low growl building in his throat as Caine stopped just out of arm's reach, his teeth glinting in a smile that didn't reach his hollow eyes. "Now, now," Caine tutted, tapping the cane against his palm. "No need for theatrics. I'm merely here to welcome our newest... contestant." His gaze slid past Migo to lock onto the player.
The player shrank back, their fingers scraping against the damp brick wall as Caine's presence seemed to warp the air around them—static prickling at their skin.
Migo's tail lashed once, sharp and warning, before he spoke through gritted teeth. "She ain't *yours* yet." Caine shifted, tilting his head upwards in challenge. He brought up his hand, snapping as Migo suddenly burst into numerous strips of confetti as he disappeared with a cloud of dust. The player squeaked, terrified.
Caine stepped forward, his polished shoes clicking against the pavement as he approached the trembling player. "My apologies for not coming sooner, my dear," he mused, his voice perking up in a cheerful manner as he wrapped an arm around the player's shoulders as he began guiding them towards his car. "I did you quite the favor. You don't want to hang out with those low-life streetfighters, because YOU, my dear, are going to be a SUPERSTAR!" He exclaimed, throwing his hands up to further emphasize his point.
The player's knees buckled as Caine practically dragged them toward the waiting car, their fingers clutching at his sleeve in a futile attempt to slow him down. "Wait—wait, I don't *want* to fight!" they stammered, their voice cracking under the weight of panic. Caine paused mid-step, tilting his head unnaturally to the side as if inspecting a bug. "Do you want to *leave*?" he questioned, making the player pause.
A flicker of hope sparked in their chest. "I—can I?" Caine's grin widened, his teeth glinting like polished bone. "Of course!" he chirped, pushing them into the car and climbing in behind them. The player yelped slightly as they were shoved into the car. They whipped their head over to the door, but it was already closing, and the automobile was on the move. They looked across the limo, at the other seat to see some sort of..bubble? It had beady black eyes devoid of any soul, a pair or too-tiny glasses resting on its face (body??It was only a head, really.) A top hat, and a bow tie that matched the color of the strange teeth man's tie. The player flinched back as the bubble flicked their tongue at them. They instead focused their attention back towards Caine.
Caine leaned back, crossing one leg over the other as he studied the player with an unsettling intensity. The car lurched forward, throwing them against the plush seats as Caine chuckled. "But leaving isn't as simple as walking out the front door," he continued, drumming his fingers against his cane. "You see, my dear, *everyone* wants to leave. But first... they have to *earn* it." The player blinked, processing that information, before Caine spoke up again. "I'll explain more later. But there are more important things to discuss!" he said, his voice three notches too loud. "Like your name!"
The bubble-creature—Bubble, the player recalled—snickered, their tongue flicking out again as they adjusted their tiny glasses. "What's your name, player?" Bubble asked, their voice unnervingly chipper. The player hesitated, their fingers digging into the seat cushions. "I... I don't know," they admitted, the realization dawning on them like a punch to the gut. Their name—did they ever *have* one? No, of course they did, they just-- couldn't remember.
Couldn't...remember.
"Why can't I remember my name?!" They panicked, hands going up to pull down at their sideburns. Caine just laughed. "No one can remember their name once they enter the fight club," he explained. "One of the only things I *don't* have control over is your mind," he mumbled quietly, causing the player to look up. He noticed their gaze, and immediately changed the subject. "But, I can help you come up with a new one!" With a wave of his cane, a miniature slot machine materialized, as he pulled the lever.
The player flinched as the machine spun rapidly, letters blurring together before stopping abruptly with a *clunk*. "Hows about XDDCC?" he asked, reciting the absurd name that had been selected. The player opened their mouth to voice their opinion, but Caine laughed obnoxiously again. "Right! Terrible!" he pulled the lever once more. 5 clanks sounded, before he looked at the selection. "What do you think of..Pomni?"
The player blinked, still slightly dazed from the abrupt amount of absurd information that was overwhelming their senses all at one. "Yeah, I guess that's fine, b-but the exit-?" Caine grinned, ignoring her as he tapped his cane against the floor of the limo once again. "Pomni it is!" he announced, as if it were some grand proclamation.
Pomni opened her mouth to ask again, but suddenly the car swerved, before screeching to a stop again. She glanced outside of the tinted window across from her, at the intimidating-looking building that they had stopped in front of. Caine opened the door, and then grabbed her wrist, pulling her out of the car. She stumbled a little, before regaining her footing as she looked up at the massive building.
It seemed to be made primarily out of tempered glass- it was slightly holographic, but the windows were dark enough that a passerby couldn't see inside. It had a few rows of shallow steps that led up to the entrance, and a planter median that split the stairs, with two adjacent waterfalls flowing downwards towards a small pool at the bottom of the concrete. Pomni whipped her head back towards Caine, who was already ascending the stairs, cane clicking against the glass-like material as he went, Bubble trailing behind him like some sort of lost puppy. She hesitated, glancing back at the car-- only to realize it was gone. She had no choice other than to follow-- the temperature was dropping, which made her digital-skin grow goosebumps.
It felt..weird feeling these types of in-body sensations in an out-of-body experience. Frankly, she didn't quite know how to feel. But Caine seemed to know what he was talking about, and she trusted that he could find a way for her to leave. The way he..got rid of Migo was odd, though. Maybe it was in her best interest? He didn't seem like a threat, but clearly, Caine had other powers that she didn't so maybe he sensed something wrong. But that still didn't explain-
She was dragged out of her thoughts by Caine's booming voice. "Welcome to your new home, Pomni!" he declared, sweeping his cane toward the towering glass structure. Pomni blinked—her eyes darting around before Caine ushered her inside. "N-new home? But what about the way to leave?" she brought up once again, causing Caine to pause, his demeanor shifting as he continued into the building as Pomni followed.
Inside, the lobby stretched impossibly high, its ceiling lost in artificial skylights that mimicked a night sky—though no stars twinkled. Screens flickered along the walls, displaying clips of brutal fights, flashing odds, and looping replays of Jackrabbit's latest victory. Pomni's eyes never left the screen as she watched the clips, but Caine quickly pulled her along, leading her up the stairs with Bubble bouncing behind them. At the top, Caine paused before a set of ornate double doors, turning to Pomni with an unreadable expression. "There's only one way to exit the fight club,"
He pushed the doors open with a flourish, revealing a massive suite. It had large windows that reached from the floor to the ceiling, a floor with a hexagon pit in the middle, obtainable by the small flight of steps leading to the area. It had a kitchen area, a living room, and then a few doors bordered the interior walls of the room. Near the hexagon pit, a large projector hung from the ceiling, displaying an oddly clear projection on the glass windows, that were illuminated by blue LED's.
Pomni hesitated at the threshold, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. Caine strode past her, his cane clicking against the polished floor as he gestured grandly toward the projector. "The way out is simple," he announced, his voice echoing off the glass. Pomni's breath hitched as she stepped into the room behind him. He continued, "To exit the fight club, you must complete the game."
"A-and how might I do that?" she muttered, blinking up at the screen, in which Caine motioned to. "Simple. You must climb the ranks and win the championship—only then will the exit be unlocked." He swung his cane towards the projection—the screen flickering to display a leaderboard with names accompanied by a headshot. The names read as followed:
At the top, read "JACK" - - RANK '5'
Followed by:
"THE AMALGAM" - - RANK '4'
"SLINK" - - RANK '3'
"KINGPIN" - - RANK '2'
"LIL' LADY" - - RANK '1'
Pomni swallowed hard as she noted the empty space at the bottom—rank zero—where her name would soon be slotted in. "You'll start at the bottom, of course," Caine mused. "But with proper... motivation and training, you could rise quickly." His bottom tooth, one made out of gold that stood out against his otherwise pure-white teeth, gleamed under the projection's glow.
"And if I lose?" she whispered. Caine's grin widened impossibly further. "Oh, my dear," he chuckled, leaning his cane against her shoulder, "then you'll simply *try again*."
He released his hold on her, walking away, but as soon as she turned her head back to the screen, he was on her other side, a hand extended. "The choice is yours,"
Pomni recoiled—but not from his proximity. She recoiled from the realization that she had no choice at all. But the one choice she could make could determine her future. There was no escape other than this one. What did she have to lose?
Her eyebrows furrowed as a smile of determination grew across her face. Her pale-skinned hand reached out to grasp his in a firm handshake. He tightened his grip around her in the same manner, as they shook hands. Pomni felt a slight tingle in her wrist before turning it over once again, seeing the markings on her wrist, but this time, the text above the icon suddenly changed to say 'RANK 0'. The three dots beside the text glowed, as the previous empty space to the right of the dots suddenly warped into a new symbol-- one that resembled an open jaw that was identical to Caine's head.
The projection on the window behind them flickered to life once again, as the screen shifted to show the leaderboard once more, but this time, a new name was slotted in at the bottom. It simply read:
"FIGHTER" - - RANK '0'
Pomni's eyes flicked up to the new name on the leaderboard, before looking back to Caine. He looked down at her, slightly meanicingly, before letting go of her as his cheerful demeanor returned. "I must warn you, though- the fight club is not for the weak,"
"I'm not *weak*," she immediately responded. She'd been told that all her life, and she was sick of it. Now she had the chance to prove herself.. maybe not in the most ideal way, but it was still something. Caine turned towards her at her tone, but just chuckled.
"I think we're going places," He said, his tone darkening. Pomni simply nodded, not phased by his shift in tone.
Caine stepped towards Pomni, straightening his cuff links before speaking again. "We begin your training tomorrow," he murmured. "For now, get some rest. You'll need it."
----------
Caine was alone in his room, having sent Pomni to bed after showing her around.
His fingers twitched around his cane as static flickered across his vision. His eyes flickered red a blue, his systems sparking a little as he twitched, fingers spasming as they curled into fists. The exit—there was no exit. At least, not in the way Pomni thought. The championship wouldn't grant her freedom; it would chain her deeper to the fight club. His form distorted for a split second, pixels scattering before snapping back into place. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head to clear the error.
What she didn't know, couldn't harm her.
Just like all secrets in this purgatory. It was safer that none of the players knew of the exit. They couldn't have another-
His system glitched again as he pushed the thought of that horrific event into the back of his mind.
That wouldn't happen.
Not again.
He'd made the best decision for her. He'd told her what she needed to hear, what kept them playing. And right now?
She needed to play.