Chapter 42: Determinative Duel

Rippertooth snarled as he ran towards Happy Hour.

His paws sank into the sand, but it didn’t appear to slow him down. His eyes fixed on his dancing prey. Body low, he surged forward. No more signs of him holding back his speed remaining.

This was a dog on the hunt.

Happy Hour whirled, Red-eyes locking onto her opponent. There was a clear edge of hatred in those eyes. Anger towards this mechanical monster that ruined her first opponent. A snarl worthy of Virus-Hour appeared on her own face.

The Crowd was going wild.

They screamed out their pleasure at getting the fight they’d been expecting. No matter how later it’d come. Though it didn’t seem to matter how much noise they made, it wasn’t enough to drown out the two fighters.

Rippertooth lunged towards Happy Hour. Mouth agape and teeth flashing in the sunlight. He was aiming for her neck. The idea to clamp down and shake her like a rag doll.

She moved, her shark and jerky movements allowing her to move out of the way of the slower jump. However, she didn’t purely dodge as Jester expected her to. Instead, her leg rose, knife out, and she slammed into Rippertooth’s side.

A howl filled the air as the robotic dog went flying.

With a whine, he hit the ground and rolled. Sand and dust flying into the air. Happy Hour didn’t let up. She rushed towards her downed opponent, throwing herself at Rippertooth with violent purpose.

This was no simple dance any longer.

It was now violence incarnate, pure and simple.

Inside the swirling sand, Rippertooth got to his feet. Little more than a dark outline. Happy Hour kicked forward again, the blade flashing in the sunlight. Before her foot fully extended, she pulled it back.

The shadow of Rippertooth was lunging forward at the approaching appendage. Jaws open to wrap around it and bite it off.

She barely avoided it.

Though her foot was fine, he couldn’t say the same for the extruded blade. It shattered as the steel blade met the chomping power of the much strong metallic teeth. Jester winced as Rippertooth seemed to swallow the blade.

Her first blow, the scratch along his side, vanished.

“Oh, you have to be kidding me.”

He couldn’t look away from the screen as Rippertooth prowled towards Happy Hour. Who returned to her previous anger filled dance. Her humming somehow harsher, even though it kept that classy classical feel.

Players in the stands were clapping along. Their hands adding to the percussion of the song in a way that she couldn’t manage alone.

Whiskers meowed and hissed at the screen as Rippertooth lunged again. Head extended for that extra bit of reach. Happy Hour swatted at his face, hands pushing it away. Both of them fell into the sand.

Little showed on the screen except for the outlines of their wrestling. There was no dance now, though the audience kept up the beat.

It took longer than Jester would have liked for the arena’s filters to turn on.

Once the miniature sandstorm settled, he couldn’t help but laugh.

Happy Hour was holding Rippertooth in a headlock. Her opponent snarling and snapping right next to her ear. His back legs scratching at her bare legs and leaving marks along them.

Together they continued to struggle in the dirt until one of Rippertooth’s legs got some purchase. He pushed, struggling out of Happy Hour’s grip. She groaned, her song faltering as she rolled away.

But not before he caught her finger.

Jester watched in horror as Rippertooth chomped down on the appendage. Sparks flew from the hole, as Rippertooth slowly chewed on the finger.

With an enraged scream, she lashed out. Her remaining knife slicing into one of his ears, leaving a jagged hole in it. Rippertooth backed off at that, still snarling. Black goblets of oil spilling from his mouth.

Happy Hour scrambled to her feet and clutched her hand to her chest.

She was no longer humming.

Oil dripped onto her previously pristine ballerina outfit. The ripple of color appearing to be pushing the droplet down into the tutu. When it landed there, it seemed to be absorbed into the fabric.

For a moment, the two competitors stood staring at each other. As they did, the hole in Rippertooth’s ear fixed itself. Slowly, and not completely. But it was significantly smaller.

“Sick her, boy!” a section of the audience screamed out in unison.

He took that advice to heart. With a renewed snarl, he dashed forward again. Body low to the ground as he charged. There would be no leap attack this time. It was obvious he was going for a tackle. To get Happy Hour on the ground where he could tear her apart.

Happy Hour knew it too. Thus, she jumped.

Her arms spread out, one behind and one in front. Her movements were back to the grace she started the fight with. As she trailed over the speeding dog, her knife appeared. It dragged along his back, scraping up his back.

Once more Rippertooth went tumbling.

Again, Happy Hour charged in, but this time didn’t try for a kick. She dove into the dog, pinning it beneath her weight. They struggled together as she grabbed for her shoe. Her hands were a blur as she dodged the bites and scratches of the hound beneath her.

She needed to hurry, or else he would be free.

While not a powerhouse, Rippertooth was by no means weak. He was twisting and writhing. Every motion an attempt to escape.

Her shoe slipped off as he squirmed out from beneath her.

Jester resisted the urge to cry out as Rippertooth whirled at her. Murder shone in the dog’s eyes.

With her unshod foot, she kicked out. He recoiled as her heel met his nose. Her other foot followed suit. Again and again, they slammed into his head. As she hit him from the sides or below.

Too quick to catch in his mouth.

Her arms moved above her, and he saw even on her back she was posing.

Whiskers meowed his encouragement as Rippertooth continued to be kicked in the head. The dog barking and snapping at her flailing feet.

She spun on her back, unwilling to let him anywhere near her.

It was a ridiculous sight.

There she was in an outfit designed to for the stage, spinning about in the sand while a dog snapped and growled at her.

Jester almost laughed at it.

Rippertooth was running around and around now. His bites catching little but air. Though he was getting closer with each attempt. The clapping was getting louder. Screams for Happy Hour to win appearing more frequently.

Then he snagged her unshod foot.

Happy Hour screamed in fury and fear as he ripped it off her body. Rippertooth lifted his head as she chewed on the appendage. Parts and flecks of metal falling to the ground as his jaws mangled his new chew toy.

She tried to escape, her other foot and hand pushing her across the ground.

Her screams weren’t stopping. The look in her eyes, one he was familiar with. It was the same look that Heather once wore. That time, she’d blown her own hand off with a malfunctioning gun.

Rippertooth approached slowly now. Oil and parts falling to the ground as his ear finished healing. All the scratches were gone too.

Jester wanted nothing more than to look away.

To not see what was happening on the screen. Whiskers was burying his head in the crook of his arm. Metallic nose digging in to his elbow. He didn’t feel it.

With a triumphant howl, Rippertooth lunged.

His jaws were open, and his tail wagged. This was a kill strike and nothing more.

Happy Hour rolled.

Rippertooth hit the ground, and she hauled herself up. With the shoe in one hand, she popped out the knife and stabbed down. It pierced into metal, and the howling was overwhelming.

He was struggling, but she refused to let go. To give up.

Her screams of revenge cut through the air as she continued to stab again and again. There was no kicking. No dance. Though, in a way, it was. This was the finale to her recital of rage.

One that it was clear Rippertooth would not survive.

Because no matter how well he could heal, he needed materials. Ones she wasn’t giving to him.

Holes filled the metallic carcass when she was finally done. Audience cheering and screaming, clapping and stamping their feet.

Winner appeared over her head as she collapsed into the dust.

Those red-eyes staring into the brightly lit sky.

***

On the screen, a bright light enveloped Happy Hour and Rippertooth at the same time.

Relief and worry filled Jester as he watched them vanish from the field. Both screens switching to a view of Sandra and some guy he didn’t know. They were discussing the match. The man crowing about her performance.

Not that he paid that much attention.

Whiskers mewled as Happy Hour reappeared in the room.

She was standing on the teleportation platform. All her missing parts returned without so much as a mark. Her dress was as pristine as always. It was as though the fight had never happened.

That she’d never entered that arena to be mauled by Rippertooth’s vicious jaws.

As her gaze met his, he let Whiskers down.

The cat raced to Happy Hour, and she scooped him up. He meowed in protest as she hugged him. Her arms wrapping him tighter than she needed to.

With slow steps, he moved to her and looked her up and down.

“How do you feel?”

She looked at him; her face was devoid of expression. There was nothing there, and worry over took relief. Robots normally didn’t show any signs of being affected by the bouts. A deliberate choice on the designer’s part.

Androids, or at least Happy Hour, it seemed, didn’t have the same restrictions.

“I’ll be ready for my next bout.” Her voice was as devoid of emotion as her face was. Words coming out in a matter-of-fact manner, quick and determined.

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

He paused in his attempt to touch her shoulder. She’d flinched away, eyes going wide. Though he noted she didn’t step back from him. That was something, he supposed.

Once more, Whiskers mewled, getting her attention. The robopet started purring and rubbing his head against her. Jester noted that seemed to be ok. Strange. He would have expected it to be the other way around.

Silence filled the room for a solid five minutes before she spoke again. When she did, there was an edge to her voice.

“I didn’t like that. That was different. Messy. Not right. It’s not what I’m meant to do.”

“Alright.” Jester nodded. “Then we’re done.”

“What?”

He smiled as he looked at her. “You beat Rippertooth. We finished any goal we had here. Let’s leave. Call it done.”

Her eyes moved down to Whiskers, who was still purring and rubbing against her affectionately. One of her hands, the one he knew was holding the shoe, reached up to pat the cat. The purring got louder in response.

“Can we do that?”

“Don’t see why not.”

Jester knew the crowd wasn’t going to like it. A glance towards the screen showed the announcers gushing over Happy Hour. They were discussing the different styles of dance she’s used in the arena.

Sandra occasionally cracking jokes about Rippertooth.

They would get flack for it. But he didn’t care. If Happy Hour wanted to leave after that, she could. It wasn’t like they could force them to fight.

His eyes met hers, and she smiled, then shook her head.

“I’ll stay. The next fight won’t be as long as that one, will it?”

“No.” He kept his tone soft. “It’ll be quick. No way you’ll get damaged in the same way either. But you don’t have to do it.”

She was shaking her saw. A small shiver. Still, there was a smile on her face.

“I’ll stay. It might be fun to fight a champion.”

“Alright. But feel free to give up at any point.”

Happy Hour nodded, and he moved to stand beside her. Neither spoke as they watched the screen. Once the announcers finished, they started the next match.

PollyBoard versus Geardude89.

Jester didn’t know either of them. He’d not bothered to do any research, as he knew who he was up against. Their two robots were vastly different machines.

PollyBoard’s Griffinished was exactly what the name implied. A massive griffin that was equipped with a back mounted grenade launcher. Geardude89’s Deathmachine13 looked like a tank with too many barrels.

There was less noise from the crowd as the two massive robots fought it out. Griffinished took to the air. It’s high speed allowing it to maneuver around the slow, but powerful, shells shot by Deathmachine13.

As it flew, it shot down grenades that were shot from the air by some of the smaller guns.

Jester could feel his excitement rise as he watched it. The spectacle reminding him of watching the fight between Captain Rocket and The Lovecraftian Knight. Two fighters, equally matched.

When a lucky shot caught Griffinished in the wing, it started falling from the air. Deathmachine113’s treads propelling it towards where it suspected its opponent would land.

Cannons fired into the air, but Griffinished dodged using its own explosions.

A single grenade hitting one of the rising missiles, exploding with enough force to knock the flier to the side. It’s one outstretched wing allowing it to avoid crashing into the ground. Instead, it simply landed with enough force to send up a dust cloud.

Deathmachine13 didn’t let up its shots though. All of its cannons firing as quickly as it could.

Avian screeches filled the air as Griffinished took the barrage. It attempted to shoot back. Several grenades flying from the dust cloud. None came anywhere near its opponent.

With all the explosions and bullets flying about, the screen was getting harder and harder to watch. Jester could hear the filters, but they weren’t able to keep up. Soon, all there was to watch was moving eddies of dust.

“They really aren’t holding back, are they?” Happy Hour asked.

“Welcome to the high levels of these fights.” Jester chuckled. “They get brutal.”

She turned to him. “I don’t think I want to fight something like that. Not after today, anyway.”

“You won’t have to. We have other options,” he assured her as the sound of explosions dimmed.

On the screen, he could see two shadowy shapes standing. As the dust cleared, Griffinished looked almost completely broken. Metallic parts covered the ground by its parts. One of its wings was gone.

Even its beak showed its damage with pitted sections and other scars.

As he watched, Deathmachine13 trundled forward.

It wasn’t undamaged. Some of its opponents’ ordinance clearing hitting their mark. A barrel was missing, and another was bent. Scratch marks covered the thick armor.

Not that it mattered.

One by one its cannons fired into the Griffinished who could do little but struggle away.

Claws scraped at the ground as it was finished off. More and more parts being blown around the sandy arena. The crowd was silent now, almost bored as they watched the clean-up job.

Jester couldn’t help but agree.

This was always the least exciting part of any fight. Still, it needed to be done. The system wouldn’t declare a winner until the fight was totally over.

When Griffinished couldn’t move anymore, Sandra sounded out to declare Geardude89 the winner. There was some cheering at that. A few fans calling out for their favored champion.

Both of the robots vanished as Sandra and her male co-host returned to the screen.

From beside him, he saw Happy Hour fussed with Whiskers again.

Her red-eyes shifted towards the screen. They were showing a picture of Captain Rocket. Sandra talking about the history of the various wins the robot had. Jester nodded as they showed some of the footage from the finals of the Technomancers Cup.

That rocket barrage attack was no joke.

“We don’t have to do this,” Jester said again.

Happy Hour shook her head as they began talking about the type of restaurants that DangerDeathless visited before the event.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”

Whiskers meowed in encouragement.

“If you’re sure.”

The picture of the announcers shrank down to show a timer. At its appearance, Jester motioned to take Whiskers from Happy Hour. She handed over the robopet, before she dusted off her tutu.

“Wish me luck?” She asked.

“Good luck,” Jester said.

As the time hit zero, she was once more teleported from the room.

***

Sandra’s voice boomed out across the arena as a shape materialized above the sands.

“Ladies, Gentlemen and others! Please, put your hands together and welcome to the stage, the one, the only, Captain Rocket!”

Jester winced at the sheer sound that emanated from the crowd at the robot’s appearance. They screamed, shouted and squealed as the victor of the Technomancers Cup appeared in the arena.

The giant-gold plated hand appeared to glow as it popped into existence in the center of the arena. Sand swirled as its rockets engaged, and Captain Rocket rose into the air. It flipped about, using the different missiles to change its trajectory.

Soon, it was performing a thumbs up as it spun in a slow circle.

Players continued to scream incoherently in excitement until someone got the bright idea of getting a chant going. Not a complicated one. A single name everyone knew.

“Five-Finger Death!”

At the sound of its alternate name, the thumbs-up morphed into a set of devil horns. Captain Rocket swinging around as though it was following the track of some metal song. Somehow, the crowd screamed even louder.

Whiskers hissed and buried his head into Jester’s shoulder.

He didn’t blame the cat. This was overwhelming. Even when he sat in the stands for their match against The Lovecraftian Knight, it wasn’t this loud. His ears were ringing.

All of a sudden, a cluster of fireworks went off, somehow still visible even in the daylight.

They, of course, formed miniature hands in a variety of colors. Each a different gesture and size.

The whole thing reminded him of an entrance to an overblown rock star. Jester couldn’t help but grimace. They were already going to win. He couldn’t understand why they needed to show off before the match even started.

To distract himself, his eyes scanned the crowd.

Signs appeared in players’ hands throughout the crowd. They bore either the name of DangerDeathless himself, or Captain Rocket. Hearts and other signs of affections covered multiple of them.

Some even wore hats in the robotic's shape. Each hand hat preforming a thumbs up.

Though now he was looking, he could see NPC robots floating above the crowd. They were being sold from the flying platforms. Jester almost laughed. The Developers really would take every opportunity to make a sale.

After some time, the fireworks stopped and, while waving toward sections of the crowd, Captain Rocket returned to the ground.

Its fingers touched the sand with a soft thump. They spread out, as the palm lowered, as though settling in to wait. As it did, Jester realized he’d yet to see Happy Hour.

As the crowd’s enthusiasm waned, a beam of multicolored lights shot down from a series of drones in the sky. They pulsed and dimmed until the sand beneath them turned into what appeared to be a wooden floor. Pillars of the light sprang up beside them, with curtains and garlands adorning them.

He smiled as he saw what it was, a holographic stage.

In its center was Happy Hour. Her outfit twinkling in the stage lights that now shone upon her. Her face was lit by a radiant smile, and she bowed to the ground. Cheers rose from those wearing red armbands.

However, she waved them to silence before placing a finger on her lips.

When the crowd was silent, Jester could hear the music that played. A classical piece he recognized from a multitude of Christmas films. With slow steps, she made her way across the stage.

On her toes she crept as the music slowly building, before falling quiet again.

Jester found himself captivated by the small and perfect movements. Each time she gave a part twirl, her upper body stopping at the perfect moment with the beat. She never stopped, each move flowing into one another with perfect form.

As the song closed, she spun herself off the stage. Sand flew up as she sped across the stand. Now far out of sync with the tempo of the song.

The song stopped at the exact moment she reached Captain Rocket. Each of its fingers was twitching as it moved left and right like a crab. Happy Hour’s smile never waved as she dropped into a curtsy.

“I hope our battle will be more fun than my last.”

Her voice was almost inaudible when compared to the music and the crowd. They were cheering now. Several were on their feet, applauding. One even tossed a rose over the wall. It wafted down and landed in the sand.

In response to her statement, Captain Rocket raised two fingers in the air. It clapped them together with a loud clang. To which Happy Hour dropped into another curtsy.

Let us begin!”

Sandra’s voice appeared again, met by cheers and the stamping of feet from the crowd.

The best thing Jester could say about the fight was the fact it was short.

As soon as Sandra called for the match to begin, flames spread out from Captain Rocket. Happy Hour dove away as the giant hand rose into the air. Fingers flexing to control its flight.

Happy Hour made a leap, an attempt to grab the thumb before it got too high in the air.

She didn’t make it.

In a rapid movement, it shifted its fingers around and flicked her out of the air like a bug. With a cry, she slammed against the wall. Her body fell limply to the ground, before she struggled to try to rise to her feet.

Jester could see the effort she was exhausting.

It wasn’t enough.

Before she could get herself upright, the rockets fell. Explosions detonated all around her. They flung her this way and that. Her terrified face was on the close-up for him to see in vivid detail. Twice more, she slammed into the wall. Only to be ripped away again by the next wave of force.

Her arms struggled to move. Fingers grasping at the sand to drag herself away.

Jester didn’t look away.

Captain Rocket was falling now, and falling fast. It’d kept two of its rockets to allow it to control its descent. They were streaming fire as the giant hand fell, fingers splayed out. Happy Hour looked up.

There was nothing she could do.

The massive bulk of the steel hand crushed her into the sand. As though god himself slapped her into the ground. Jester could see any of her, but it wasn’t over yet. With devastating slowness, Captain Rocket once more rose.

Slow and jerking, it hovered, the hand curling into a fist.

Whiskers meowed and tried to struggle out of Jester’s grip, but he wouldn’t let the robopet go.

His attention focused solely on the action displayed on the screen.

A blue box filled his vision.

The match was over.

In some ways, it surprised him it had even lasted that long.

When Captain Rocket unclenched its fingers, Happy Hour was gone. In seconds, she was standing before Jester. Once more fully healed, as though nothing had happened.

Red-eyes met his.

Behind them on the screen, the crowd was going nuts. Players were screaming and hollering. Applause drowned out any attempts Sandra was making to add commentary to the end of the fight.

Jester ignored it all.

His focus was solely on his robotic partner.

There was no expression on her face as she stared at him. Her face in that blank maid’s mask he was so used to seeing. Whiskers meowed again and forced his way out of Jester’s arm.

Happy Hour scooped him up and patted the cat. Then she looked at Jester again.

Her lip twitched. Once, twice, thrice.

Then she laughed. He joined in, and together they stood in that small room in hysterics.

“That was a beautiful performance at the start,” Jester said as he finally got control of himself.

“Thank you Jester, it’s the most right I’ve ever felt. Do you think they’d mind if we went home? I think I’m done being destroyed today.”

He smiled and nodded. “Who knows? Let’s give it a go.”