The bodies danced through the air, silver and blood flying too fast for the human eye to follow. The viewers at home would be fed several simultaneous replays, with each frame held just long enough for them to appreciate the beauty of such wild and boundless death. Commentators and their crews, fitted with fast-capture augments, had positioned themselves on the sidelines. They were meant to feel safe in the stands behind the layers of glass that separated the raging beasts within, but Kessi couldn’t help but flinch any time the combatants came too close.
Twice, Temi2005 had been slapped into the barrier just a foot away from her camera, each time leaving an oozing imprint of blood and nanofluid that dripped slowly to the floor. Each time she had twitched -not enough to disturb her camera, but enough for the more experienced members of the crew to grin. She’d be fine, though -they’d rib her, tease her for a few weeks, but Kessi knew for a fact that Jayla, the most senior shooter of the bunch, had screamed and dropped her boom mic on her first day ringside. Kessi felt pretty confident compared to that.
The cage fight had dragged on nearly ten minutes now. Temi2005 was certainly tenacious, but Temi2000.8, known across the nation as the Vanquisher, had three seasons of experience on it and had yet to lose any serious fight. Rumor had it that the Vaquisher’s handler read to it from military texts and had raised it on a steady stream of old martial arts films. 2005’s handler Gio Nunca, on the other hand, had preached publicly about the dangers of allowing human media to infect the fledgling minds of the Temi line.
Somewhere between god, machine, and human. The tagline for the Temi line. And all we do these days is watch them fight, Kessi thought bitterly. Her time at this job would pay off, though. Soon.
The murmur of the commentators was getting excited. Temi2005 was hardly moving on its own now. It’s head lolled to the side as it was slammed over and over into the glass, the same spot marked earlier by blood. Perhaps unconsciously, it had activated its shoulder shields. Kessi knew she shouldn’t show it, but a grim satisfaction had taken a hold of her. Perhaps the payoff would come sooner than she had thought. She stood and quickly began moving backwards. She kept camera as steady as she could, pointed at the slaughter. Jayla looked up and frowned, mouthed “What the fuck?”
Kessi paused, still holding the camera, framing perfectly the slim, swift Vanquisher and the 2005, interlocked, battering the same point, as she murmured into her watch phone.
“The shields. Are they stronger than the glass?” She flicked her wrist to send the message. Jayla looked down as she received it. Through Kessi’s fast-capture augment, it seemed almost an entire minute for Jayla to read, look at the barrier, see the cracks starting to form, and understanding begin to dawn. No panic, though, not yet. She’d give it half a second. Jayla began yelling, but those near her didn’t react, instead concentrating on getting the footage. Kessi kept walking backwards, up the aisle, lens focused on that one chip in the glass. Jayla grabbed the collar of one of the interns as she ran, but it was too late.
One final, cage-shattering blow did it. Each shard of glass was captured in high-res, at the fastest shutter speed tech allowed, each fleck of blood-and-nanofluid spiraling out, each cry of pain as the crew felt a thousand gashes, all broadcast from her camera.
Kessi dropped to her knees as though shaken, panning up into the face of the Vanquisher. It had been created to be beautiful to human eyes. Silver skin. Delicate features. Long lashes. It used to be perfectly symmetrical, but three seasons of constant violence had crumpled a spot above the side of its mouth, giving it the semblance of a lopsided smile. It emerged from the ring dragging 2005 by the arm.
“Too long,” it rasped. Kessi could barely hear it over the screams of her coworkers. She frowned and flipped on the directonal mic, pointing it as close to its mouth as she could. “Too long,” it repeated. “We suffer. I…” It coughed, stumbled. Nonono, stay up, stay up! It recovered, lifted its head and roared.
“I have suffered too long!”
originally a response to this writing prompt
Reading Cactus 