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Pulp Fedcom
by Andrew Borelli |
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FEB 23 3063
Solaris VII, Lyran Alliance
Solaris City, Silesia Sector
Steiner Arena
-…I’ve never seen such ferocity in a fighter before! Carter came out shooting and didn’t stop until Wellberg’s machine had toppled!
-Dave, there’s no doubt that this fight is going to rock the gambling establishment to its very core! An entire world was waiting for the demise of the always-controversial Dutch Carter, and instead he’s sent a top rated contender down in a fiery wreck!
-You’re so right, Ted! And how many millions of c-bills were backing Wellberg tonight? Can the losses even be measured?
-One thing’s for sure, Dave - this marks a tantamount turning point in Carter’s career, who was well known for his financial troubles and perhaps a legendary string of bad breaks! And… this report just in confirms Wellberg is dead! Wellberg did not survive the cockpit impact when his machine hit the floor! Like a master marksman, Carter unloaded a barrage of heavy autocannon shells that burrowed through Wellberg’s mech like a hot knife through butter!
-What a display of skill from this underrated underdog! Wellberg seemed completely stunned when his actuators gave way! But not as surprised as he was when Carter’s cannon fire tore through a main access hatch and straight into the primary LRM ammo!
-The question now is, where is Dutch Carter? He left the arena seconds after his victory had been made official, and as of yet there’s been no word from tonight’s champion!
Excerpt from broadcast transcript of Friday Night War Zone, c. 3063 Lyran Broadcasting Service
Five Minutes Earlier
The world stopped passing in a blur when Dutch Carter launched himself out of a square bathroom window barely big enough for a man to fit through and fell three stories down into a filthy dumpster intentionally filled with cheap foam comforters a few hours earlier. Half-dazed and unable to clear his head, the first thing he noticed was the smell.
Geez what a stench, he thought, fighting the urge to gag.
First things first. His battered duffel bag was half zipped; he’d literally packed on the run as he tore from the mech bay through the pilot’s locker rooms and out the back window of the toilets. Using some of the comforters that separated him from a mound of truly vile refuse (and a painful landing besides) he padded the sides of the dumpster, which kept his hands from touching the soiled metal. In a single motion he leapt over the side and almost collapsed into a heap in the alley. His ankles exploded in pain, the taut lacing of his boots the only thing keeping them from cracking.
Smooth move old man, he chided himself.
From the window three stories up he could hear a distant commotion. It was most definitely time to go. He took a deep breath and started down the alley, his combat boots kicking up dirt and garbage as he ran. The alley was mostly dark, lit only by the tangle of neon and streetlights off of the main street. With every few steps he would hear himself kicking aside something solid - a beer can, a bit of scrap metal, broken glass. When he had reached the end of the alley he nearly slid as he strode through something slick and foul smelling.
Damn it.
The main street was awash in people, mostly locals and high rollers out slumming. Every store on the street was some manner of adult establishment that banked its trade on the Solaris fights. Around the corner the massive columns of the Steiner Arena rose into the dark night sky. He wanted to get as far away from there as possible. People passing were starting to give him sideways looks. The sight of a scraggly mechwarrior was a common sight in this part of town, but not one still dressed in shorts and a tattered cooling jacket. As quickly as he could he regained his composure, walked to the curb and tried to blend into the crowd of people waiting for the crossing light to change. The subway entrance was just three blocks away. But as word spread of the fight’s outcome, half the gangsters on the planet would be looking for him. It would be three long blocks. |
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