Blood-lust and greed seeped out from the patrons of The Venus Lounge and filled its opulent central hall with a tangible anticipation for the night's entertainment. Capricia Morucci poised her perfect chin on steepled fingers and surveyed her domain. What she saw pleased her. The club was performing well on regular nights, but on a fight night such as this, its earning potential sky-rocketed as gamblers, thrill-seekers and fetishists alike poured in from the rain in the hopes of watching a fight to the death.
Of course, the fights were not always fatal; it was by no means a prerequisite. But Capricia understood her public. They came to be close to death, to feel the rush of fear and, for some, the arousal it brought. For many, the violence of the fight would itself be enough but she recognised those who thirsted for more.
She worked the crowds perfectly, passing from one darkened arch to the next, allowing a glimpse of thigh or cleavage for those who sought it, complimenting those whose egos demanded it and flirting with those gullible enough to believe that their chances of finding her favour increased with the amount of money they dropped in her club.
Capricia had 'acquired' the club some years ago from a group of 'Bratva' Russian mob types and had decided to keep the somewhat ostentatious décor. The deep reds and golds adorning the alcoves which surrounded the massive mosaic dance floor seemed to lend a certain 'old-world' atmosphere which she enjoyed.
She paused to check her reflection in a massive gilded mirror and was pleased with what it showed her: youthful, alabaster beauty, framed by tumbles of dark hair, smouldering eyes and just the right amount of curve to the lips. Yes, the Swiss clinic had done its job very well.
She moved to climb the stairs spiralling up to her private box and lowered herself regally onto her favourite chaise-lounge. A trio of beautiful olive skinned boys busied themselves in tending to her as she picked over the luxurious spread they had prepared. Suddenly her nose wrinkled in distaste as she saw a wiry man with an unhealthy pallor to his skin weasel his way past her statuesque guardians. He settled lazily in an overstuffed seat at her side and helped himself to some grapes from her table.
“Uff,” she sniffed. “What is it, Geffen?”
“A new development for tonight's entertainment,” he wheezed.
“What do you mean?”
“A new fighter for the ring.”
“I have two of the best already. You should know, Geffen. You sent them to me.”
He shifted in his seat, his posture betraying his bad nerves.
“B-but this one, she's special. Unlike anything I've sent before. Could be ideal as your new assistant. She's smart like you prefer them and easy on the eye, if you know what I mean...”
Capricia seemed not to hear this, her attention focused on a selection of fine cooked meats.
“You seem a little... over anxious tonight, my dear Geffen. Is there some special reason you wish to introduce a new gladiator into the mix at such a late stage? Perhaps the others are not as skilled as you have indicated?”
Geffen's face dropped in dismay.
“N-no, they're all good. Just like I said in the first place.”
“I'm sure. So who is this new, highly impressive contender?”
“She goes by the name Kunoichi. She's fast. And strong. A classy fighter. I think she would impress you.”
Capricia stared at Geffen, enjoyed watching him squirm.
“Very well, we shall have a three way fight tonight. Make the necessary announcements before bringing the fighters in.”
Geffen's relief was palpable. Capricia had no doubt that he was playing the odds, trying to ensure his cut. She couldn't care less. Leaving Geffen to shuffle away and make ready for the fight, Capricia Morucci basked in the admiring glances she drew from the crowd below, like a regent holding court. In that moment, it felt like she held all the power in the world and she was pleased.
The massive amber neon sign set above the entrance to The Venus Lounge fizzed softly in the misty rain hanging in the night air. The light it cast played like liquid fire across the umbrellas of those stood in open anticipation of gaining entrance to the club, their bodies corralled by a thick red rope into a narrow corridor of impatience.
Brimstone eyes scanned this crowd methodically from atop elongated and segmented metallic necks. The cyborg bouncers posted at the door to the club reminded Domino of praying mantis insects she had once seen in a documentary, their bodies altered far beyond human morphology by designer cybernetics engineers. She wondered if their reverse-jointed legs were purely cosmetic or if they somehow augmented athletic ability.
[Are you seeing this, Angel?] she asked over the neural link they had set up, her thoughts translated into audio via vocal synthesis.
[Yeah... freaky. Like aliens or something. The legs look impractical, though.]
[I was wondering about them too. Can you see if you can pull more information on those mods, let me know what I'm going up against if I have to deal with them later?]
[I'll see what I can find. In the meantime, I pulled up the camera feeds from inside the club. Looks like your opponents are an exotic and some ex-military guy, maybe a Spetsnaz tattoo on his arm.]
[Okay, thanks.]
[Oh, and Geffen's on his way back to you.]
[Got it. I see him now.]
[Good luck, Yuki-chan.]
The fixer edged around the bizarre bouncers and made his way over to Domino, who had settled comfortably under the shelter of a coffee vendor stall. He ducked under the low canopy and sat next to her, smelling slightly of wet dog. Geffen ordered a coffee for himself and lit an odd green coloured cigarette.
“Herbal,” he offered in response to Domino's enquiring glance. “Supposed to be healthy. Taste like shit. Want one?”
“After that glowing endorsement? No thanks.”
He snorted what might have been a laugh. Domino wasn't sure.
“Well, you're in. I hope for your sake you're good. Very good. 'Cause the two in there are pure monsters. Why'd you want in so bad, anyway?”
Domino shrugged nonchalantly.
“I hear she pays well, makes for interesting work.”
“If by interesting, you mean dangerous, then yeah. You heard right. She has a lot of enemies, you know.”
“That's why I'm here.”
It was Geffen's turn to shrug. He blew steam off his coffee and nodded over to the club.
“Fight starts in an hour. You want to head in, get familiar with the place first?”
“Sure. Why not?”
Domino followed Geffen over to the bouncers, who subjected her to close scrutiny from those sulphuric eyes. With a wave of a razor tipped claw, they were granted permission to pass through the faux-mahogany doors of the club.
[Anything on these guys yet?]
[Only a little. The reverse knee joints give them a better vertical jump range and improved speed when running. Looks like the neck helps provide three-sixty field of view and the optics are fitted for night-sight and thermographics. State of the art, ten years ago. The whole kit was a custom design worked up for the Papal Swiss Guard at the Vatican. No idea what they're doing here, though.]
[Must be slumming it. That's great work, Angel. Thanks.]
[Any time.]
As Geffen led her through the bustling backstage area of the club, Domino pondered this new information. A self-styled Venetian princess in a former Bratva club with ex-Vatican Guards in her entourage hardly seemed a likely portrait of an arms dealer. She was beginning to understand now that, compared to Koralev, Capricia Morucci moved in very different circles indeed. Which made her a very exciting prospect. Domino sensed she was closer now to Yamada than she had dared hope.
Capricia Morucci felt a tingle of excitement spread through her lower abdomen as she inspected the three gladiators stood below her, ready to fight for her pleasure, their arena a vibrant mosaic depicting a mythical battle waged by angels and demons. She wondered how much blood those creatures had tasted since she started the pit fights.
Already the crowd's murmuring had escalated in pitch as they had caught sight of that night's contenders. Money was flashed readily and in huge quantities as bets were placed. She was, she grudgingly admitted to herself, pleased with Geffen's choices.
The first in line was an exotic: shimmering scales of violet covered her lithe body in its entirety, a clearly functional tail flicking to and fro behind her legs, a series of wicked barbs along its length promising agony to those who incurred her wrath.
Next came the burly Russian, his limbs near bursting with grafted muscle, tempestuous eyes staring coldly from a mask of scars, his jaw set defiantly as she favoured him with a moment of eye contact.
And then there was the small Japanese girl, Geffen's last minute adjustment. She was, at first glance, the least remarkable of the three and yet Capricia felt drawn to her. Perhaps it was the slightly flawed, natural beauty, the fashionable make-up, the loose fitting designer garment she wore with perfect confidence. It was all and none of these things, she decided.
Certainly the girl had good taste. The black linen wraps covering her wrists and ankles paired with the baggy ninja style clothing was a very current trend in Tokyo. This girl wore it well, allowing just enough skin to show to add a hint of allure to the plain, almost utilitarian outfit. So, Geffen had been right about her looking good but could she fight?
It was time to find out. She nodded curtly to each of them. The exotic snarled her readiness while the Russian behemoth fired off a neat salute and the Japanese girl offered a shallow bow. Capricia waited for them to separate and assume their positions on the killing floor.
With a hand signal from her, the lights dimmed so that only the glow of the table lamps in the alcoves remained. A hush of anticipation hung in the air as every conversation in the club came to a close as one. She waited, hand held aloft theatrically, a wooden beater between her fingers, soaking up the sensation of power this moment always brought her.
She struck the ornate gong at her side and spotlights swept the arena floor in concert with its reverberations. The fight had begun. Despite her desire to remain composed at all times, Capricia found herself clutching the balustrade railing of her private box in excitement as she leant forward to better watch the proceedings.
The exotic appeared most aggressive initially; she had dropped into a broad stance typical of dragon style Kung Fu before stalking the other two fighters, her hands extended and held like claws ready to rend flesh. Suddenly she closed on the kunoichi and launched into a violent leap, unleashing a merciless series of attacks designed to gouge eyes and target nerve clusters.
The kunoichi sprang into a sequence of defensive back-steps, struggling to keep her balance as she somehow intercepted each strike from the deadly exotic. Capricia watched the interplay with curiosity, as she had not expected the Japanese girl to be so easily surprised.
She saw it then, a flash of something in the girl's expression, the briefest lull in the mask of exertion she was wearing. There was a serenity there, a self-assuredness which told Capricia that this 'kunoichi' was playing to the crowd, playing to her. Had her pride not prevented her, she would have congratulated Geffen on his find.
The Russian was also intensely focused on the exchange between the two females, perhaps looking for an opening. Despite his bulk he seemed agile now as he stalked them, his stance loose and ready, conveying little information about his fighting methods.
The dragon-girl screamed in frustration as each and every one of her attacks glanced off what seemed to be a shaky defence. Why could she not find a way through? She lashed her tail around in an arc to cover her retreat as she backed out of her combination attack. Reptilian eyes regarded the Japanese girl with nothing less than hatred. Clearly she did not enjoy being toyed with. She hissed and spat impotently at her, her torso lurching snakelike as she conveyed her displeasure.
Her anger had blinded her to the Spetsnaz's approach and he locked the exotic down with a crushing grapple hold. Panic flared in those yellow eyes as the dragon-girl realised her error: if he could take the fight to the floor, she would suffer a massive disadvantage.
Capricia's heart was pounding now, her breath caught as the exotic squirmed against the inevitability of the giant's skilled grasp. In an incredible feat of flexibility, the exotic managed to turn her head just enough to spit in the man's face, her lips peeling back to fully reveal a wicked row of fangs. He howled in agony has white hot acid splashed on his face, causing him to reflexively release his hold just enough for the exotic to escape. She rushed after him as he backed away, acrid vapour rising from his cheek as her 'venom' eroded his skin.
Now the exotic held the advantage and she pressed it, her claws tearing at his arms as he tried to bat her away in confusion. The crowd cheered and booed in equal measure as it became apparent that the Spetsnaz trooper was near his end.
A blur of motion intersected the two and the exotic reeled away from her cruel assault on the Russian as her jaw shattered in a halo of blood. Her garbled shriek stunned the crowd into sickened silence as fragments of jawbone rained onto the mosaic.
Somehow everyone in the room had forgotten the unassuming Japanese girl amid the tangle between the two favourites. Even Capricia, who prided herself on enjoying a good eye and expansive knowledge of combat techniques, had disregarded her in the mêlée. Now all the attentions in the room were laser-focused on that one figure, that one tiny figure dressed all in black.
Copyright © A. Flood 2010
Copyright © A. Flood 2010
