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#Post#: 1496--------------------------------------------------
A Puncher's Chance - Chapter 2 - Knockout from the Inside, Redux
By: RampageSports Date: May 15, 2015, 9:31 pm
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Author's Note: Just a slight change. This time around, the
fight is broken into rounds. So, I used italics for describing
the action, but left the text normal for everything that happens
in-between rounds and post-fight.
[hr]
A Puncher's Chance - Chapter 2 - Knockout from the Inside, Redux
April 13, 2015 - American Airlines Center - Dallas, TX
I'm ready. I'm always ready. If I'm ever going to be the
fighter I want to be, I know that every moment of every fight, I
need to be ready. That kind of focus and determination has
always come easily to me, and I knew I was prepared for this
fight.
Fifteen seconds after it started, I was laying on the canvas.
My opponent had come at me with a series of jabs... trying to
get a feel for her distance and timing. I moved to respond with
a few jabs of my own, when a looping right hook slammed into the
side of my face.
My opponent was also a sometime training partner. She was good,
and she had a lot of experience on me. I knew this was going to
be a tough, hard fight. I knew I was going to have to be
perfect. But, I also knew I could do it. I knew her... I had
taken the best she had to offer in training, and I had stayed
with her.
But I had never taken a punch like that from her before.
The force of the blow short circuited something in my head. I
stumbled away, going down on one knee. I tried to stand
immediately but stumbled again and fell face down on the mat. I
rolled... instinctively ready to defend myself. But what had
happened seemed to surprise her as much as it did me. She was
just standing there, mouth half open at the sight of me trying
to collect myself.
I shake my head and stand up abruptly... panicked that she would
finish me at any second. Some part of my brain struggles to
make sense of what just happened. I try to push it away, but I
can't get my mind settled. Everything I should be thinking
about... my strategy... my opponent's tendencies... my
training... has been wiped away. The fight only just started,
and I'm already in survival mode.
My opponent comes at me as soon as I regain my feet. I put my
guard up and backpedal... practically running away.
Survival is not about looking good.
I gain some space, then plant and kick... my foot sinking into
her midsection as I push her away.
Both of us reset. Finally having a moment to breath, I try to
regain my composure. I had lived to fight on. I try to get
back to my game plan. But, I'm still not right. I don't know
if it was the impact, or the shock or both, but I just can't
shake off that punch.
I try to press the action... working my way inside and launching
a flurry of my own. She counters and we exchange punches for a
while. I'm taking the worst of it, but I reposition and find an
opening. Boom, boom, boom! My fists rip into her body.
My confidence returns as I start to score. I launch another.
She sidesteps it and launches a combo. Left, right.... I eat
them both like a training dummy and stagger away. She chases
and thuds a kick into my midsection. I loop a right to back her
off, but she ducks under it and slams a hook into my side,
followed by another one-two to my face. I jab her off of me and
back away.
She tries to press forward. I loop the right again... she tries
to back out of range, but she's overcommitted. The blow
staggers her, and I go for the kill. I know immediately that I
blew it... she gathers herself easily and beats me to the punch.
Her jab lands square in the center of my face. I catch the
hook that follows on my guard, then grunt audibly as her left
pounds into my side. I retreat, but she follows. She throws
the left, but I guard it. Follows with a crushing right, but I
just manage to duck under it. I see my chance and start
launching combinations. She defends well until I come up and
under with an uppercut that explodes into her chin. She
staggers and launches a kick to try and back me off, but I shunt
it aside and slam a hook into nearly the same spot. Boom...
down she goes.
Now, we were getting somewhere.
She rolls right back to her feet and I fly forward, looking to
finish her. Again, I've misjudged her condition. She's not
nearly as hurt as I think she is, and I walk straight into a
right hand that makes me see stars. I clumsily stumble away.
As I reset, I feel a tickle above my left eye. I unconsciously
reach up and swipe at it, thinking it's a strand of hair that
has come loose from my ponytail. Imagine my surprise when I
look down and find my fingers coated in blood.
The sight makes me furious.
Who am I angry at? Her? Me? Who cares? It makes no
difference. Rage can be a great weapon if you channel it right.
But I don't channel anything. I just charge forward like a
stampeding bull. She stops me in my tracks with a right hand
that lands with a sickening crack. I stagger and she drops low,
hammering a vicious combination into my body. I lower my guard
to protect myself and she lands another flurry to my face. She
steps back and measures me for a kick that literally lifts me
off the canvas and drives me back a full three feet.
The bell sounds.
I don't think I won that round.
"What the f*ck are you doing?" Stephanie McMahon says as the
cutman sets to work on my eye.
"Losing," I reply.
"You're not doing anything we talked about."
"I can't get to her."
"You're getting to her fine," Steph says, "but every time you
hit her doesn't mean the fight's over. Stay smart and protect
yourself."
I stare angrily at the canvas, disgusted with myself. I know
I've been fighting like I have no clue what I'm doing. I could
feel it... like I was just trying to hang on the whole time.
"She caught you early, and you've been fighting half-assed ever
since," Steph continues. "Now calm down and do it like you're
supposed to."
I nod absently. She's right. I've been stupid, but I'm still
here. She hurt me, but I'm far from done.
As the seconds clear out for the start of the second round, I'm
feeling encouraged. What happened in the first was mostly my
own fault. She's not beating me. I'm beating myself. That's
something I can fix.
Little did I know I would never get the chance.
The round starts and I'm concentrating on being smart...
careful.
We close and she jabs to bring my guard up, then lands a solid
right to my midsection. I try to shrug it off.
Smart... careful... BOOM!
The left hook rips into my cheek. I bring my guard up
instinctively, expecting a follow, but she steps into me and
slips her hands behind my neck, tying me up in the clinch.
Immediately I'm on guard for knee strikes, and I loop my hands
behind her back and pull her in close. She was ready for the
move, and unloads with a series of uppercuts.
One! Two! I shrug. I squirm. I thrash. I pull away. I do
whatever I can to get free or put some part of my body between
my face and those fists. She holds tight and pushes me against
the fence. Three! Four! I work an arm free and throw an
uppercut of my own. She slips it perfectly and blasts me with a
looping right hand. I desperately claw for any way to gain some
control of her, and I come up with a fist full of her hair.
Legal? No. Do I give a sh*t? F*ck no! I'm getting killed
here. I don't care if I rip the hair right out of her head. It
doesn't help, though. She just shakes me off and hammers
another hook into my unprotected side. I blindly jab at her,
landing a solid shot to her chest that finally backs her off.
My body heaves as I try to take in precious oxygen. I'm hurting
everywhere. My side is throbbing and my face is beginning to
swell. I'm going to have problems seeing, soon.
My opponent sees all of this. She sees how hurt and desperate I
am. Like I said, she and I know each other. We're even kind of
friendly. If she saw me on the street looking like this, she
would be worried about me. She would try to help me. She would
probably even call an ambulance.
Right now, she was stalking me... looking to finish me off.
As she comes again, I try a series of low kicks to keep her at
bay. My technique is sloppy and uncoordinated. She wades right
through them and lands another punishing hook. I step back out
of range, and I don't even have to check this time. I know I'm
bleeding again.
I kick again and take another blow to the face in response. I
have lost all track of what I'm doing. I have no plan and I'm
not paying to attention to anything. I'm just blindly lashing
out and hoping something good happens.
I look like a little girl who accidentally wandered into the
cage.
Blood, mixed with sweat is now pouring down my face. It runs
into my eyes, further limiting my ability to see.
I kick again... like it's all I can think of to try. The result
is the same as her fist slams into my face.
She fakes the jab and I fall for it with ease. My punishment is
a vicious front kick that crushes my breasts against my ribcage.
She comes again, and I desperately clinch and tie her up. It
almost seems like she let's me. I'm too beaten and exhausted to
be a threat, and she knows it. She seems content to get a
little rest of her own. I'm sure beating the sh*t out of me is
very tiring.
She pushes me off with ease, and launches another flurry. I've
trained so long and do hard that my guard comes up
automatically, but she scores with two or three more heavy
blows. A new cut opens on my nose.
I stagger around, confused and defenseless. She nails me with a
looping left hand, which opens a wound below my right eye. I
stumble, but don't fall. As I come upright, she hammers me with
combination after combination, opening yet another cut below my
left eye.
Finally I can't take any more and I drop to the canvas.
I instinctively roll over and try to stand. The ref takes this
as a sign that I'm capable of fighting on. No one with two eyes
and half a brain would agree with her. My blood is
everywhere... running down my face, neck and chest... staining
my top and the canvas below. My vision is badly impaired, and
I'm not defending myself with any sort of intelligence. None of
that seems to concern the referee.
I would discover later that this same ref worked a fight earlier
in the night that featured my stablemate, Emma Watson.
Apparently, that one ended when she declared a phantom injury to
Emma's opponent. The resulting outcry... which included some
damning comments from Emma, herself... led UMMA brass to take
the ref aside and read her the riot act.
Apparently, she's decided she won't make a mistake like that,
again. And if I die as a result, so be it.
When the ref fails to intervene, my opponent steps forward and
pounds my beaten body. She drops knees to my chest. Stomps
land everywhere. She looks like a sadistic killer trying to
finish off a helpless victim... brutal, considering we both
seemed to respect each other before this started.
She would tell me afterward that none of that was what it
seemed. She was just trying to find a way to end it. She
didn't want me to stand up and force her to pummel me again. My
will to stand is unstoppable, though, and she finally gives
up... unwilling to continue the merciless attacks.
With little other choice, my opponent goes all in. Brutal body
shots... a sickening kick that snaps my head around... more body
shots. She's throwing everything she has, trying to put me out
of my misery.
Then, the unthinkable happens.
The bell sounds and the round is over.
My opponent looks at me sadly... her gloved fists held
motionless in front of her... as I sway helplessly.
Another punch or two was probably all it would have taken.
Now, she's going to have to watch me stumble out for the third
round, just so she can continue the beating.
The seconds pour in and Steph guides me back to my stool.
We look at each other as the cutman tries to figure out a way to
do something with my face. I can see it in her eyes. She wants
to stop it. She probably should. But, she knows I'll never
forgive her if she does.
"Can you continue?" she asks.
We both know it's a stupid question. She knows I'm going to say
I can, even though we both know I can't.
I would rather risk injury than quit.
"It only takes one punch to turn it around," I croak.
She smiles and shakes her head.
"Fighters," she says dismissively, as if she wasn't one herself.
Suddenly, a voice cuts in from outside the cage.
"Stephanie!"
It's RSI owner, Richelle Winterfeld.
Steph keeps her eyes on me. She and I both know why Richelle is
there.
"Steph!" Richelle barks.
Still, McMahon doesn't turn.
"Stephanie!" she calls, slamming her fist down on the apron.
"Dammit... look at me!"
Finally, Steph relents and locks eyes with Richelle.
"You have to stop this, Steph," the owner says.
Steph looks back to me as the ref calls for the seconds to
leave. She has only a split-second to make her decision, and I
plead with my eyes for her to let me fight on.
"Try not to die," she says before turning and heading for the
cage door.
"F*ck!" I hear Richelle exclaim as I gather my strength and
force myself to my feet.
The final round starts, and there is literally nothing left of
me. The corner personnel had no luck patching me back together,
and blood is still flowing from my face. I'm barely keeping
myself upright, and I hold my guard up loosely in front of me.
I told Steph it only takes one punch, and that's true. Too bad
I'm not capable of throwing it.
She comes straight at me, unloading with a series of
combinations.
Jab, cross, hook. I offer only a paltry defense, and her fists
bludgeon me like hammers. I stagger, stumble and fall to the
canvas.
Finally, it should be over. The ref checks to see if I'm still
conscious... if I'm still trying to fight on.
Like an idiot, I am.
With no stoppage signaled, my opponent tries finishing me on the
ground, again. She kicks at me, hoping I'll quit.
I don't.
Finally, she backs away again and lets me stand. Immediately,
she attacks. A hook to my chin. Another flurry to my head. I
lash out with a desperate high kick, but miss so badly I stumble
and fall to the mat on my own.
Again the kicks and knees rain down on me. I hear her screaming
at me... pleading with me to stay down. She sounds like she may
even be crying. It goes on much longer, this time. She doesn't
want to have to knock me down, again.
Through it all, I just keep trying to stand.
Once more she is forced to relent and let me up. You can see on
her face, that this is it. I am totally helpless, and she wants
it to stop. I won't let it end, so she's made up her mind to
put me down for good.
She unleashes a powerful right loaded with everything she has.
Her form is perfect and the impact is brutal. My head whips
right as blood and sweat spray off of me. I stumble back
against the cage. She comes at me without hesitation. She has
no choice but to finish me.
Her jab snaps my head back, positioning it perfectly for the
straight right that follows. I know the left is coming, but I
have neither the strength nor the will to try and defend myself.
It slams into my face and the world starts to go dim. She
follows that with an uppercut that explodes under my chin,
driving my head up and...
My next conscious moment comes nearly fifteen minutes later. I
would eventually be told that they tried to revive me in the
cage, but I was never coherent enough to stand. The decision
was finally made to remove me by stretcher.
I remember not one moment of any of that.
Dr. Patricia Leone's face is looming above me as she shines a
penlight into my eyes. Though I am battered and beaten over
most of my body, the only pain that registers is in my head.
And that pain is excruciating. It feels like someone drove a
nail right between my eyes, straight through to the back of my
skull.
As the fog begins to clear, I hear voices.
Loud voices.
"It's your job to protect her!" Richelle screams.
"No, it isn't!" Steph answers. "That's why there's a ref and
doctors and all those other idiots sitting at ringside!"
"None of them were doing it, Steph! You were the only hope she
had!"
"Don't put this on me!" Steph snarls. "My job was to try to
help her win. She's a big girl. She decides for herself if she
wants to fight on. If it had been you, would you have wanted me
to stop it?"
"What?"
"Don't 'what' me. You fought. You know how it is. What if you
had been her? Would you have wanted me to stop it?"
"What the f*ck does that have to do with anything?"
"Shut up, both of you!" Trish yells. "She's coming around."
A moment of silence passes before Richelle speaks again.
"I can't do this, now."
A door slams. A moment later, Steph's face comes into view.
"Hey," she says softly.
Steph never speaks softly. Obviously, I must be dying.
I try to speak, but no sound comes out. I weakly bring my hands
up to my throat, as if trying to figure out where my words went.
Steph and Trish work together to sit me up. It's no easy task,
since I'm too uncoordinated to be much help. When the mission
is finally accomplished, Steph hands me a bottle of water. I
take a long pull, then look at her and try the speaking thing
again.
"I'm sorry," I manage, glancing over at the door.
She knows I'm talking about the argument between she and
Richelle.
"Don't worry about it," she answers. "We'll work it out."
I stay still for a few moments as I try to get my bearings.
Trish is on the phone, but I can't make out what she's saying.
Honestly, I don't really care that much.
Suddenly, my thoughts flash to my opponent.
"Joss!" I exclaim as I try to jump to my feet.
The attempt goes terribly... my legs are completely unable to
support me. I would have fallen directly to the floor, if Steph
hadn't grabbed both my arms and pinned me down to the training
table.
"Maybe no standing, quite yet," she says.
"You're lucky Steph was there," Trish says, covering the phone's
mouthpiece with her hand.
Her tone seems to indicate she thinks I'm something of an idiot,
but maybe I'm reading too much into it.
"I'da let you fall," she finishes.
No, I think I read it right.
"Joss has already been here," Steph explains. "Dragon, too. We
told them you were going to be okay. I think Joss may kick your
ass again, the next time you see her, though."
"I couldn't just quit," I say.
"I know," she says. "I think Joss knows, too."
"And Richelle?"
Steph shrugs. "She's protective," she says, "but she knows."
Trish ends her call.
"The ambulance is out back," she says. "The transport team is
on the way in."
"I don't think I need to go to the hospital," I protest.
"That would explain why I didn't ask you," she replies.
I look to Steph for help, but she shakes her head.
"Trish says you go, then you go."
If I could stand up, I might walk out. Since I can't, I
consider that maybe Trish is right.
"Couldn't hurt to get checked out, right?"
"Well," Trish says, "guess there's a chance your brain isn't
completely dead."
#Post#: 1504--------------------------------------------------
Re: A Puncher's Chance - Chapter 2 - Knockout from the Inside, R
edux
By: Dragons Den Date: May 20, 2015, 4:43 am
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:( Ouch. You weren't lying when you said there still wasn't any
happy yet.
Still a great read though! And I'm loving the inner
thought/perception style of writing, too. The first person
perspective is great.
I guessed who it was okay, but not quite as quickly this time.
Had to actually think for a moment! But it was still very
doable. Nice work!
I'm glad she's alive and well enough. Oh, and fantastic work on
the action, as always. Top stuff, and I'm looking forward to
reading the next chapter! :)
#Post#: 1505--------------------------------------------------
Re: A Puncher's Chance - Chapter 2 - Knockout from the Inside, R
edux
By: RampageSports Date: May 20, 2015, 8:38 am
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I never promised you'd know right away who it was. I just said
you'd know. ;)
As for the unhappiness... I actually based this one off of the
actual fight log. Usually, I only glance at these one-sided
fights. It doesn't usually take too long to get the gist of
what happened, which is all I need for the magazine articles.
Since I wanted to use this one for the story, it became the
first of it's kind that I've read in detail. And, I have to ask
a serious question. Does the sim sometimes just turn the
referee feature off at random? Because, in reality, any ref who
let this fight go on the way it did would be out looking for
work by the end of the night. :P
Thanks again for the compliments (and for reading :) ). I hope
to have the next chapter up sometime today.
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