Chapter 22: Gold Plate

“…what?” McKinley asked between gasps of air as blood trickled down his lips. “How…?”

LBJ suddenly grabbed hold of the golden cross hanging around McKinley’s neck. He grinned, throwing it up into the air before slamming his fist down onto the necklace.

As before, his attack stopped after hitting the cross before continuing onwards, crashing into McKinley’s armor, denting it inwards. McKinley coughed hard, shoving LBJ away as he jumped back from his opponent.

“These attacks of yours,” McKinley muttered, taking the golden cross into his quivering hand, “could it be…?”

“You said it yourself,” LBJ replied with a smirk. “Protective Tarriff stops the momentum of any `incoming’ attacks that strike something you’re wearing. On the other hand,” he said pressing a fist into his open palm, “if I continue with my attack while touching something you’re wearing, then it no longer counts as an `incoming’ attack, does it?”

McKinley stepped back.

“That’s…”

“That’s ridiculous!” LBJ exclaimed in a perfect imitation of McKinley’s voice. “You had no way of knowing my EP would work that way!”

LBJ pushed his hands out in front of him.

“That’s why I shoved you earlier,” he continued in his usual voice, “and why I slammed into you when you tried spinning around; I was confirming that pushes maintained their force as long as I made them while touching your armor.”

McKinley stood still, his mouth agape.

“Does…does that…”

“Does that mean,” LBJ repeated in McKinley’s voice, “you started plotting all this the moment I carelessly told you the details of my EP!”

LBJ shook out his head.

“My planning started before the match even began.”

He pointed to a group of McKinley supporters desperately waving their tin paraphernalia in the stands.

“The moment I entered the arena and saw how much your fans loved tin,” he went on, “I decided to throw in a couple of insults at your beloved metal armor when I told you all my haphazard guesses about how your EP worked in detail. And as I suspected,” he said with an evil grin, “that little provocation was all you needed to eagerly correct all the errors I made in my explanation!”

McKinley tried to speak, but no words came from his mouth.

“You thought you were invincible!” LBJ shouted, taking a step forward, “So you got relaxed, dropped your guard; allowing me to get in all the hits that I needed at the start of the fight! On the other hand,” LBJ spoke, pulling back his shirt and revealing a glistening gold plate with a deep cut across its center, “I always come prepared for a fight!”

“That plate…” McKinley murmured, “…when did you?” he widened his eyes. “When you thumped at your chest…just before our final exchange of blows…that’s when…”

McKinley stopped talking as LBJ stood directly in front of him, his enormous frame covering McKinley’s body in shadow.

“Now I reckon those attacks you just took were the first real hits you’ve felt since getting your EP, putting your entire body in a state of shock; right?”

McKinley tried to respond, but not before LBJ snatched the necklace dangling from McKinley’s neck.

“That means you’re a man without your senses,” he continued as he tossed the cross up into the air, “and regardless of how defensive your EP might be…a man without his senses…is a man without protection…”

He shot a vile grin as he raised his arms overhead.

“…virtually helpless!” he screamed, slamming his fists down onto the floating cross.

His hands froze upon impact with the necklace, then plummeted down, smashing the cross directly into the crown of thorns atop McKinley’s helmet.

McKinley’s body crashed onto the floor, his helmet rolling off to the side as Taft rushed to his side. Taft gave a quick scan of his body, then raised his arm up into the air.

“The fight is over!” he exclaimed. “The winner, is [Landslide Landon], Landon B. Johnson!”

In the stands, Hayes stared out in disbelief.

“…to set up so many traps so far in advance…” she whispered quietly, “…LBJ is truly a monster!”

“McKinley was the all-around better fighter,” FDR spoke up. “Even at the end, he could have still turned things around if he kept his cool.” She gave a slight smirk. “But then he went and fell for LBJ’s final trick.”

Hayes clicked her tongue.

“By purposefully pointing out every place McKinely went wrong, LBJ managed to take control of McKinely’s damaged psyche. Those psychological attacks, together with his unexpected physical ones, left McKinley unable to even consider going against LBJ’s actions.”

JFK stared at McKinley’s unconscious body, then gave a light smirk.

“…way to go LBJ,” he mumbled under his breath, then ran out to the stadium halls. “Hold my seat; I’m going to go out and congratulate LBJ on the fight!”

JFK jogged through the coliseum, spotting his ally shuffling down a neighboring hall.

“Congrats on the big win, big guy!” he shouted with glee. “Though of course, I always knew my trusted partner was going to pull through!”

JFK walked towards LBJ, but slowed down his approach as he noticed a look of rage spread across his face.

“I saw it,” LBJ mumbled, “I saw it!”

JFK furrowed his brow, his mind racing to the conversation he had with FDR just before the match.

“What…what all did you see, big guy?”

LBJ glared at JFK.

“Somebody was waving around a McKinley sign after I won!” he screamed, “And on my side of the arena no less!”

JFK blinked softly.

“…okay?” he replied with confusion. “But who cares about one measly sign anyhow? Almost everyone was cheering your name after that awesome final hit you gave!”

“Almost everyone,” LBJ snarled, “but not everyone!”

He walked on, barely taking notice of JFK’s presence.

“I swear…I won’t stop; not until every man, woman, and child out there is screaming my name!”

=====================================================================================

=====================================================================================

SCHEDULE UPDATE. From now on I’m going to shift to a schedule of posting only on Fridays in order to minimize the chances of having a hiatus. However, if anyone who’s reading this far feels like the pacing is off with this new schedule, then I can go back to bi-weekly at the cost of needing a hiatus around the end of fight 8.

Look at that Sign! The final scene in this chapter is a reference to a campaign trip Lyndon Johnson made on behalf of John Kennedy’s Presidential campaign. As one colleague wrote, Johnson "jumped like was shot and told a companion `Look at that son of a bitch ! Look at that sign there!’ There was one [unfavorable] sign! It wasn't a foot high. There were thousands of signs, and that was the one he picked out. `Goddammit look at that sign’...but that was typical Johnson...it had to be unaninmous as far as he was concerned."