Tears of the Hopeless

[Slam]

((GMing approved))

As her foot connected with Shawn’s privates, Becky looked up and saw a face full of pain. She’d hit below the belt, broken the one big rule of fighting, struck someone in the major red zone, and it meant nothing to her. For all of his attacking her, regardless of what she and Yumi were doing before, Shawn needed to suffer hard.

But he didn’t buckle.

She stared at him with a mixture of annoyance and disbelief: what did it take to stop this guy?! She’d kicked him fairly, and that had just annoyed him; she’d kicked him very unfairly in the most tender of areas, and now he was going berserk. If the sheer frustration of being unable to take him down hadn't pissed her off so much, his terrifying endurance would have rendered her frozen again.

Fortunately for her, she could still concentrate enough to protect herself again. Even as he stood over her, another punch shooting out for her face, she formed another shield with her arms as his fists connected hard. She’d have some bruises for her trouble later, but that was far more preferable than getting knocked out.

He only went in for one punch this time though, the momentary lull afterwards alien to the intensity of the fight. Becky wondered what he was waiting for as her arms stopped taking blows, wondered why he wasn’t still trying to bash her head in, when he started to bend down and grabbed for her again.

As the old adage goes: if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. And this time, as her foot shot out towards his nether regions with merciless hatred, succeed she did.

Even with that terrifying endurance he’d displayed before, two kicks to the balls from a red belt were more than most men should have to endure; Shawn came crumbling down to the ground, screaming more swears all the way. However, it was all sizzle and no steak: for the time being, he was well and truly incapacitated.

She’d taken him down.

She finally scrambled back to her feet, bracing herself in case he decided to get up again and earn himself a third blow. When that didn’t happen, her face turned triumphant.

“Yeah!” she screamed, pumping the air and leering at her beaten enemy. “Becky Long, bitch!” She’d won practice fights in the past, more than her share, but this was so much better. It wasn’t a controlled ring, where one mistake would get you disqualified; it was the real deal, a danger of serious injury ever present, a chance of total victory always on the cards, and she’d grabbed the latter with two well-placed dirty blows.

She could’ve stood there forever, savored her win, maybe kicked him a few more times whilst he was down to really hammer the nails in the coffin. Yet as Shawn continued to lay there, hands clutched around his junk in screaming agony, she felt satisfied enough. She enjoyed a fight, but she knew what modesty was, could leave the loser with some shred of dignity. No reason to really rub it in, after all: he’d remember who the boss was for a long time.

“That was fun, Shawn.” She smirked, hauling her bag back up over her shoulder, eyes always on her opponent just in case he pulled that dreaded 180 comeback. “I’ll see you around.”

Taking one last look back as she headed out the door, she couldn’t stop her smirk from erupting into another euphoric grin. If this kept up, maybe she wouldn’t end up dying because someone else killed her in the end.

Maybe being in The Program wouldn’t have to suck after all.

((Becky Long continued in Chasing Dreams))

[CondorTalon]

Welp.

It turns out that the second time hurt quite a bit more than the first time. As Becky's foot connected with Shawn's crotch a second time, Shawn fell backwards, lying on his side.

"FFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" he swore, "Fucking shit bitch!"

He continued to scream out obscenities as he rolled around on the ground. He needed to get up, because now Shawn was on the ground, and she was probably going to jump him, and tables will have turned. He needed to get up, but he was in too much pain to do so.

Luckily, it seems Becky didn't feel like beating him while he was down. She settled for gloating, before walking out the door.

Fucking bitch. You better hope we don't meet again.

He laid there for a while, taking a few minutes to catch himself before standing back up again.

Son a bitch. Now what?

...

He headed out of the cabin with a slight limp, wandering with no particular direction in mind.

((Shawn Bowe-Crooke continued in 100.2°.))