*Rumble*

The apartment creaked and groaned; bits of powdered debris fell off the flaky cream-colored walls. A man stared into the dust-covered mirror in front of him, his deadpan gaze locked onto his own lifeless jet-black eyes. He had thick onyx locks halfway reaching his shoulders. He stood in front of a gray three-seater sofa covered in rubble, calmly getting dressed. His tanned chiseled face seemingly oblivious to the very present devastation unfolding around him.

"I'm going to be late," he said aloud in a shockingly neutral tone.

While putting his shirt on, he began to admire his body in the mirror.

'I just can't get used to seeing how ripped I am. How strange?' he thought, almost matter of fact.

His physique was so muscular and defined that he looked like a Mr. Olympia candidate, each movement causing his clothes to strain against his rippling muscles.

Out of nowhere, hazy music drifted through the room. The source? A severely cracked TV that was sitting on a cabinet to the left of mirror he was facing, now slanting destitute against the wall. It unexpectedly flickered back to life. 

"Breaking news," a strained feminine voice announced.

"Peace deals between 'The United Countries' and the vertex seem to be up in the air at the moment. They claim that due to the human resistance groups' nefarious intentions and the vast amount of lives lost on July 30th and August 5th, they cannot go forward with the proposed deal. Until however, they have eliminated all of the terrorists. They state 'The Vertex have every right to defend themselves'," she calmly conveyed.

The man's face soured.

'Are you serious? Why are they bombing in the first place if their goal is to just eliminate terrorists?'

'By bombing, you're also killing civilians and even a small number of your own kind for crying out loud,' the man asserted.

'And even if you miraculously wiped them all out, guess what? The people affected might not be too happy and you will probably end up creating more terrorists. It's a vicious cycle,' he continued venting, his face a stark contrast to the supposed turbulent emotions resounding in his mind.

His frustration was interrupted by the monotone voice of the news anchor.

"Also on the news, the 5 known black holes still appear to be expanding, and as previously predicted, may engulf the earth in as little as a year."

A surprising sense of urgency spiked within the previously emotionless man.

'Damn, I need to win the bets I've made so I can get off of this deathtrap.'

'Although…' he pondered.

'I don't know what I'm going to do with my life. I don't even remember anything. All I have is my name… Theodore?… which just... doesn't sound right?'

'I'm probably Greek? Since I can understand the language. Apparently I had an accident while working for the vertex company… Ksamyatam? Which I can't even find. And so I was 'compensated generously' but not enough to afford a vertex doctor to restore my lost memories'.

The anchor interrupted again.

"The UC urges people to join the fight in subduing the false realities, as that will stop the black holes once and for all."

The man rolled his eyes.

'This again?'

'There's no way I'm believing a word that comes from the vertex's puppet, AKA the United Countries' mouth.'

'They don't even let us form groups to fight since it's supposedly 'dangerous' for them—despite their renowned 'hyper-advanced technology.' They want us to go in with small groups? For what? To be slaughtered? No way will I do something as moronic as that. I don't even have someone that I can trust enough to go with me.'

'What could I accomplish by myself?' he remarked scornfully.

'I can't believe news companies are trying to draft us for so called 'war' and from the UC no less, so much for world peace—'

*Bzzt*

*Bzzt*

An unassuming thin black phone vibrated incessantly beside him on the left arm of the sofa.

'Must be the driver.'

As he finished dressing himself, his eyes caught onto 2 unlikely metal objects that were placed on the sofa. A sizable and thick pipe and a sturdy trash can lid—the handle of which glinted expectantly.

"Almost forgot to take these," he muttered nonchalantly.

**********************************************************************************

An hour later

The tremendously large TV display, nearly spanning the width of the arena, showed the images and physical stats of the two fighters.

"Harland is 37 years old but Atkarsh is 50!" an amplified boisterous voice stated, his lack of head hair staggeringly enough not dampening his cheery spirit.

"Unlike a human's miserably deteriorating body, for a vertex age is a thing of pride," the grating voice of the alien but perplexingly humanoid, vertex commentator scoffed.

"…Right. Harland is a whole 6 inches taller than Atkarsh, at 6 foot 4 inches with a 3 inch reach difference."

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the match you have been waiting for! In the blue corner, wearing the blue trunks, weighing 254 Ibs and standing 6 foot 4 inches tall, the current KFC heavyweight champion of the woorl-... humans—The 'SNIPER GHOST'—HARLAND CORRNDERS!!!" the elderly announcer declared grandiosely, wearing a stylish gray suit in the octagon fighting ring.

On the right side of the Octagon was a slightly muscular but athletic, platinum-haired, fair-skinned man. A well-groomed silvery short beard and mustache clothed his face with primitive aggression. He stood tall with infectious resolve, a serious look brewing in his eyes. His unkempt hair motionless.

A polarizing mixture of cheering and booing clashed in the arena. The booing clearly coming from one very alien side of the venue.

"I guess the people don't care for any more meaningless details," the vortex commentator declared.

'Sure, if 'the people' only include the vertex,' Theodore commented dryly.

"In the black corner, wearing the black trunks from the planet of Verticia, weighing 264 lbs and standing six foot two inches tall—THE 'UNSTOPPABLE ANIHILATOR'—ATKARSH!!!"

A robust four-armed figure stood on the left side of the octagon on his many spider-like jointed legs, two connected in the front of his torso and two in the back. Sporting a thick and raven black exoskeleton—off of which even the light did not gleam. Numerous tiny dot-like indentations lining his body. The air around him menacingly still.

*Thunderous applause from vertex side*

Theodore crossed his arms.

'Come on Harland, I know you have what it takes to win this round. All you have to do is survive one round. Just one.'

The referee, an aged dark-skinned man with dreadlocks, came between the fighters. His black-and-white striped shirt the only remaining sense of familiarity.

"I hope for a clean fight. Good luck Harland—you're going to need it," the referee uttered conspicuously loud.

'Wow….even the referee is trash talking.'

"FIGHT!"

"This is going to be a very hard fight for Harland,even with the reach advantage. Atkarsh is a vertex and as you know, they are very well known for their ridiculous strength and their tough exoskeleton. So he's going to have to aim for the joints since they are much softer than the rest of the exoskeleton. And he definitely can't grapple him—since you can't choke someone that 'breathes through their skin'," the human commentator detailed.

The two fighters stepped forth. Harland having adopted a side on karate-like stance, his right arm up protecting his body and chin, his left arm fluidly hovering in front of him. He shuffled towards his opponent cautiously, maintaining the position of his lead left leg, his face etched with grim determination. Meanwhile Atkarsh looked at Harland, his compound eyes mockingly becoming two slits.

*Ptoo*

Atkarsh spat out his equally black gum shield—sending it flying to the colorless floor. Then he raised his chin and spreads his four arms in provocation.

The human commentator's eyes narrowed in complete disbelief.

"No way, this is just plain disrespectful. His arms are down, chin up, and no gumshield. Right now, he is defenseless," 

"Ha, defenseless you say. He needs to make it a fair fight for the human,doesn't he?" the vertex commentator sneered, his voice dripping with ridicule.

"Well… The question is—will Harland take it?"

The human commentator elaborated.

"If he does decide to accept the, what looks like a free attack. He can either target the leg joints or the head since the body is too well armored to even be considered. This is a very tricky situation. Even if he goes for a leg kick, then he'll be in range of Atkarsh's counterattack, as Atkarsh can take a strike to give one and you don't need me to tell you that being hit by a vertex—even once—can easily end a career," 

"If by career—you mean life, then I agree!" the vertex commentator cackled.

"..."

Harland continued his ginger advance. When as his back leg was about to touch the canvas—his feet executed a short rapid shuffle, his back leg muscles contracting explosively, sending him leaping to Atkarsh. His hips turned clockwise violently and his right arm bent into a hook. 

*Crunch*

That landed squarely on Atkarsh's chin. His eyes went wide with shock.

Slight cracks appeared on Atkarsh's chin, which had been turned slightly due to the punch. Small exoskeleton shards flew into the air. Harland winced, immediately retracting his hand and back-stepping out of Atkarsh's attack range. While crimson liquid seeped from the cracks.

"Oooh!!!~ So daring!! He actually went for the hook and it landed flush! That definitely hurt him. He must not have realized how much the padding would protect Harland's hands. I'm sure that if he wasn't wearing gloves, then he would have definitely broken his hand but even still, it seems to have really hurt his fist," the human commentator blurted, his voice strained with fervent excitement.

"That's unbelievable! How dare that human? If he didn't have those gloves—this fight would be over!" the vertex commentator seethed.

"But the majority of combat sports use padded gloves and if you compare them to the KFC gloves, then I would say the 'King Fighting Championship' gloves are on the smaller side."

"Unlike you weak humans, we vertex do not need any sort of pathetic protection for our hands."

Theodore's back straightened.

'Nice! I was counting on your cockiness Atkarsh. That's one bet won. Now Mr. Sanders, you just need to cook well enough to survive round one,' he thought jovially, contrasting his ever-present deadpan expression.

Atkarsh looking stunned, traced his left hand's fingers over the novel formation of cracks—the fingers picking up traces of blood. Snapped out of his surreal daze, his building anger surged. His compound eyes gleamed ferociously at Harland, his eyelids shuddering. He bent his double-jointed legs and arms in unison—soliciting a slight stir from Harland in response.

'Is he going to jump?'

Without warning, his legs released the built-up force, sending him soaring to Harland. His arms crossed before him in a X shaped block. The duo now face to face. Harland's body violently twitched—throwing a left hook whilst attempting to side step to the left in response. Hoping to avoid the deadly retaliation.

*Crash!*

Despite reacting relatively quickly, he was not ready for the speed of the lunge. Atkarsh's arms crashed against Harland's chest. The impact rattling his body and crushing the air out of his lungs.

*Thud*

Harland's left hook landed lightly afterward. His body flew backwards a few steps—barely managing to remain standing.

*Sharp inhale*

Harland began breathing deeply in order to restore air to his depleted lungs.

"HA! HA! HA!" meanwhile Atkarsh's body released visible bursts of misty air in mirth. His many hands clutching the back of his head in glee as his body shook and his lips formed a euphoric sneer.

The human commentator braced himself against the white table in front him

"INCREDIBLE! Atkarsh jumped, crashing into Harland from such an unprecedented distance. And Harland, stepping to the side, threw a check left hook in response, but Atkarsh was just flying through the air too fast and with too much force. He couldn't land it properly and the force threw him back a bit, nearly sweeping him off his feet! This is just unbelievable!" he gushed.

What do you think Samir?" the human commentator asked, sounding restlessly giddy.

Samir raised his chin.

"Well Joe. The human champion should of, as they say on your planet, just let the sleeping dragon lie. His ignorance was his downfall. He should have understood his worth sooner." 

"W—…" Joe stopped himself from responding.