The cat-woman bounded back to her feet, hoisting the severed limb like a trophy for the crowd to see.
"Oof!" I said.
"She seems in pain," Glacia observed blandly.
Well, that was an understatement. "She is," I said, nodding at the writhing cyborg woman. "Those nerve connections are no joke, but she’s playing now. They’d have shut off almost immediately. Plus," I noted, pointing at the torn cabling. "It was made to break off there. See? No tissue damage. She’ll be able to get that hooked back on no problem."
"Yep," Steve said, nodding his head. "She sure will. She’ll be back in the ring in noooo time. Cyborgs are always getting’ torn apart. Part a the maaaaagic," he said with a flutter of his fingers.
Well, that was true. Beating the crap out of robots was the one way to get really visceral without having to get higher than PG.
Get too bloody in a man to super fight and you’d have the law and angry parent groups up your ass, and I wasn’t sure which was worse.
"Which was your sister?" I asked Steve.
"Neither."
"Hm?" I looked at Steve questioningly, but he just grinned and nodded lazily down at the arena as the cyborg was finally carted out by some medics, the cat-woman making a final triumphant round on the ring. "My sister’s coming on up, and she’s gonna give us a real show. Yes she is."
Curious. Even more curious was that the lights were dimming.
I looked about the arena, feeling a shift in the energy of the crowd.
All leaned forward, eager and attentive. Now what was that about?
The spotlights on the arena below suddenly switched, flashing a bright crimson and purple, detaching from the walls and floating on some drones who descended, a couple bearing cameras.
The large screens in the four corners of the stadium’s walls lit up.
Music began to thump from speakers. A beating heaviness like a pulse of a heart.
The bass was so heavy I felt it in the hollow spots of my body, my skin tingling with the anticipation I couldn’t help but feel.
Steam hissed from the stage below as a trap door slid away.
From beneath, a platform began to rise, bringing forth from the depths a woman for all to see.
Pretty didn’t do her justice.
Early twenties with pixie cut neon pink hair and a leather jacket over a crop top that showed a slim stomach and advertised firm, modest breasts.
Heavy mascara shaded her eyes, and she was nodding away to a pair of truly massive headphones.
Cut off jeans hugged her ass and firm thighs, and her face had that impish prettiness that said ’I’d tug on your balls and you’d get a boner from it.’
She kinda reminded me of Lucy from Cyberpunk Edgerunners, but less mechanical.
But the crowd was here to see trouble, and by the rising cheer that seemed to break from them I could tell hers was a popular act.
"There she is," Steve said with all the pride and love of the devoted brother, his eyes actually moist as his Oakleys slid down, his grin crooked and his baggy sleeves rolling back from his raised arms. "My girl! Miles? Meet Psyren!"
Psyren threw up her hand and flashed a smile that dazzled from every screen around the arena. "Helloooo everyone!" she cried. "And welcome to the show!" Music blared from the speakers.
A bubbly pop thing the audience would have grown out of after they turned seventeen. But that was before Psyren started to sing, and a voice like hers would make angels fall.
"Eh? Ehhhh? Ain’t she gorgeous?" Steve asked me, leaning in close to be heard over and giving me a whiff of cheap rum.
Kinda weird Steve was suggesting his sister at me but I’d seen weirder.
"Sure is," I said, already feeling dread grip me. Yeah, she was sexy. Unbelievably so.
The kind of hot that screams danger, but you want to see how far you get before she tries to stab you with a nail file. But there was more to it than that.
See, in the villain biz, colour coded hair usually meant one of two things: cyberpunks, or psychic powers.
And considering Steve’s powerset, I doubted I’d be finding many mechanical limbs on Psyren.
Steve slapped my back, grinning ear to ear, tilting his head back so far his Oakleys slid back over his eyes and I got a disturbing view of his sprouted nose hairs.
"My maaaaaan," he said. "She is gonna looooove you. Here, come on. I got a spot to meet her back stage. This is gonna be just fantastic."
I’d be the judge of that, but was glad to get away.
I could see the crowd were in absolute rapture, more keyed up than a bunch of gibbons on Ritalin.
People leaned forward on the railings overlooking the pit and their voices rose and fell with the power of the music. And Psyren was only using mild suggestion, I could tell.
Not that she was able to influence my mind. Mental powers didn’t work on me. Largely, this was due to my powers (but I’d also like to credit the fact that I practically tortured for a living once.)
I wasn’t sure of the specifics, but manipulating magnetic fields meant psychics couldn’t get a grip on my mind, other than giving me a splitting headache.
It’s been pretty satisfying having the few who tried get a really shocked look right before I slammed a car into them.
Fucking assholes. But if I was going to be working with Psyren, the last thing that I needed to do was total a Hyundai into her.
Not just because it would be a shame to go full auto on a such an attractive specimen of villainous beauty, but also because I’d hate to lose Steve as a friend.
I wasted no time following Steve, nudging Glacia as I passed to break the influence being pumped from the speakers.
She blinked, losing the slight glassy look and shook her head.
I pointed after Steve, the sound of the crowd and music too loud for me to try and talk over.
She nodded and followed us up from the cheap seats and through one of the exits from the stands.
We moved back into the side corridors, Steve leading the way up some heavy cement stairs, my headache fading as the music grew distant.
We made our way deeper into the Death Rumble, the music becoming less than an echo.
Posters of combatants were plastered all over the walls with dreary regularity. We passed a few doors with Employees Only on them, and a couple goons in security suits who let us pass without issue.
Soon we reached another door which Steve opened after digging out a key card from his pocket, letting us into a muted room washed in faintly purple light.
The whole scene felt weirdly off, as if the air had a viscosity, like we were walking on the ocean floor.
Some scattered couches littered the place along with more than a few bottles of various booze.
There was a scent of cigarettes in the room and something like ozone. A fish tank sat against the wall, emitting a cool light and a shimmer of underwater blue.
Reflexively, I reached out with my magnetic powers, searching for a trap, but felt little other than the usual metal fixtures, wiring, and the studs in the couch. Except...
Ah, interesting. I pointedly did not look at the purple lamp above us, which in addition to its electrical wiring, also had a microphone hidden in it.
How curious, albeit not unexpected. With a tweak of my power I jerked out the power supply, killing it at once. There. That was better.
While I did that, Steve collapsed into one of the couches, loose as if he were made of rubber.
His head tilted back until he was staring at the ceiling, so relaxed I could understand why some people assumed he had stretching powers.
But hiding your real strength is a villain’s greatest asset. Well, that and mental illness.
"Eyyy, Miles? You know, you can stop wandering about like that," Steve said, rolling his head to look at me. "Just relaaaaax. She’ll be here soon."
I realized I was pacing and did as he suggested, slumping into the couch opposite him.
Glacia ended up sitting beside me, albeit at the far end, holding herself there so stiffly she probably could have sat in midair.
What did she have to be so nervous about? I was the one who was probably about to take on a telepath.
I tried to relax with mixed results. Though the whole room seemed designed to soothe, I only felt more tense.
It was almost a relief when the door opened again and Psyren made her appearance.