South Central Los Angeles, California: Today seemed kind of odd for RinKou. After a pork-less breakfast, Rin left his house with his girlfriend to return Upon arrival, however, something indeed seemed rather odd. A sailor was standing in the abandoned parking lot, seemingly waiting for his arrival. It was Tellos.
Unfortunately for Tellos, the navy he was in is the Village People kind. Not the kill people kind.
Suffice it to say, the fight did not last long. RinKou the bitch killer/cap peeler opened up with his trademarked Tiger Style and closed with the feared Mouse of Humility, perfected in his years of dance halling every day. Tellos crumpled to the ground, unable to tap out or cry stop. The coroners arrived in ten minutes.
At least one person Rin knew died in South Central LA. He'd have to say it was a good day.
Killaly, Saskatchewan: Most of another quiet day passed at the Red River Bakery, and after a brief chat about women and cars CWestfall politely and respectfully asked his boss for the rest of the day off. The head pastry chef was about to agree when out of nowhere a posh English accent cried "OBJECTION!" Setting his law textbook down, Red River Bakery's chief shareholder brushed the dust off his suit and swung a punch in Westfall's direction.
Westfall parried, using his knowledge of physics to land a blow on Huojin's ear, all the while screaming a savage war cry taken right from the latest Boards of Canada album. The Traitor Tamil and the Damn Canadian thus danced the dance of death, both using the techniques as minutes, hours, ages passed by.
Or, if we want to get technical, 38 seconds. Turns out being a science major and part-time pastry chef isn't very helpful when fighting a guy who knows martial arts and has several inches on you. CWestfall lives, but just barely.
Fort Worth, Texas: The post-apocalyptic scenery of Fort Worth provided the perfect backdrop for this fight. In the grim darkness of an independent Texas, there is no further backstory (or infrastructure), only Fight Club.
Seeking to end it before it begins, Goofy pulls out a gun, only to find that it's jammed. For a second, he feels his heartbeat stop, but soon recovers. An enraged Snacks charges Goofy, who messed with Texas a few too many times. Mr. McCoy sidesteps the attack, and kicks uselessly at the Salmon. In the grim darkness etc. etc., taekwondo still sucks.
However, Snacks' anger being what it is, soon the GIF master is able to wear him down. A blow to the head knocks the Texan to the ground, who cries "stop". Seeking to make amends, Goofy helps his friend back to his feet. Inspired by this show of bro-ittude, Snacks starts a career as a trainer with his BRO BRO BRO Gesar.
Chichen Itza, Mexico: It has been centuries since human sacrifices took place at the Sacred Cenote, but that all changed today. After clearing the ruined city of gringo touristas, Rising Phoenix utters three dreaded words: "Argentina. Es. Blanca."
With this, the gods leave Rising Phoenix to his fate, and the power of the Cosmic Race is solely OYID's. His right arm transforms into an obsidian blade, and soon Rising Phoenix finds himself headless, sacrificed to the ancient gods of Mesoamerica.
OYID ate his heart to gain his courage, but evidently there wasn't much of that go around.
Catskill Mountains, New York: BgKnight was on a mission. Not for the mob, this time, or for the European Union, but for himself. Scorpion was a threat to the New Balkan Order, and for that he would be destroyed.
Or would he?
It seemed he would indeed. Scorpion was prepared, to be sure, but not prepared enough. Years of genocide have shedded BgKnight of his humanity, and the onslaught was far more brutal than anything Scorpion could have expected. Strength was no match for skill and ruthlessness, and for every dodge, parry, and counterstrike he managed (which were many), the New Yorker suffered a blow threefold. In the end, Scorpion is forced to yield, but survives only because he is not a Turk.
The Haughs o' Cromdale, Scotland: Serenissima came in by Auchindoon (boond ta the Hielands) and was a wee bit frae the toun when the Great Coinneach upon him came (in tartan trews). A bloody battle then began upon the Haughs o' Cromdale. And so on and so forth.
Serenissima doffs his admiral's hat, and attempts to parley with the gent, but either Scotland has suffered too much at the hands of the English or they can't understand English. Take your pick. Serenissima responds to the charging Scot by drawing his sword, only to find the blade snapped in half by Coinneach's bare hands and himself tossed like a caber.
When Seren lands, he decides enough is enough, and like any good Englishmen, tries to run away to gather an army to punish the insolence. Clambering after him, Coinneach manages to catch up, and despite a sucker punch to the groin, he easily overpowers Serenissima. Just to prove that even Scotsmen can be gentlemen, Serenissima is allowed to cry "stop!". The battle for Cromdale is over, but the war for Britain has just begun.
Hólmavík, Iceland: The search for the Icelandic Dream had not gone well. Like any good Vice documentary, the trip was fraught with peril and angry natives brandishing machetes and/or ancestral battle-axes. They were at the Museum of Icelandic Witchcraft and Sorcery, and having took too much, Gesar knew he was in too deep, while Smyg wanted to press on. This was his place.
To emphasize this, Smyg slapped the Maoist like a bitch (on the part of both parties), and his runic tattoos began to glow. The fearsome combination of Xanax and Sprite suddenly lost its hold on Gesar's psyche, and the inner ruthlessness of all good Maoists returned to him. He began to taunt the Norseman, and the ancient song of leftist infighting began again.
When the mutual name-calling finally stopped, with the curator busy trying to contact Chief of Police Björk, the actual fight began. Smyg rained down his berserker fury on Gesar, but with the Minnesotan used to the abuses and pain of a job in the low-pay high-stress barbecue industry, the blows were suffered with only minimal passive-aggressive comment. Then he fought back, and the song entered into a crescendo. Smyg, exhausted, tripped Gesar up, only to find himself brought to the ground. Much hair-pulling, eye-scratching, and groin-punching began, until the phrase "stop" finally came from the bruised (but definitely not bloodied) lips of Smyg Kommunisten.
Rochester, Minnesota: The Mayo Clinic was in the process of switching shifts when brawling could be heard from Patient TRC's room. It would seem that Orago was in a hurry to get this life insurance money and move to Canada ASAP. Or perhaps he was just out for blood.
At any rate, TRC's football skills came in some handy, and the fight, like the Smyg-Gesar one, quickly turned nasty. The two youths fought back and forth. Bones broke, scratches suffered, and spleens ruptured. But in the end, the craziest man won.
Now Orago could afford to finally rule Wurm Online.
"*stifled sobbing sound* Where have all the flowers gone? *sniff*...and that's it for the Fight Club report! Round two will be reported on Monday, August 5th!"
Current Round: Elite Eight (Quarterfinals)
Same rules as last time. I'll go ahead and start this. Remember, the reports are just flavor, so assume everybody's rested and recovered.
New York Stock Exchange Board Room, New York, New York
Border Crossing, El Paso, Texas
A Smoke-filled Room, Little Russia, London
Allegheny Mountain Tunnel, Pennsylvania Turnpike, Pennsylvania
I know Orago's seen some shit, but I'm gonna flat out say that my guess is that he isn't very physically active. Guy plays a lot of Wurm and Paradox games. We love him for it, but he'll be the first one to tell you most of what he does is sitting at home. So that's manual labor in my favor, as well as patience/willingness to be an asshole. I'm also willing to guess I've been in a few more fistfights than him, though probably not many.
There. That only took three hours. Go ahead and vote, guys.