SNF 2014.11 - SLAMFEST 2014: DYRE, SHUT UP AND SLAM

Description: Panic in the crowd!! Ayane has tracked Kasumi here, and gained entry to SLAMFEST by signing up as one of the fighters. However, who could have foreseen this? While the mercenary Dyre was putting on a (handsomely paid) exhibition against a few wrestlejobbers in a side room of the stadium to demo science's latest creation the SLAMSUIT, the CWA comes under attack!! Even worse, it turns out the SLAMSUIT is the victim of SLAM sabotage! Now, under the influence of SLAM enhancing rage drugs, he's SLAMed his way through the wall out into the crowd of the main stage, and is now SLAMing random members of the audience! It just so happens that Ayane was in the middle of interrogating a fight coordinator in a skybox about the people in attendance at SLAMFEST when this happens--it looks like the security team is woefully underequipped to deal with the threat, and the coordinator isn't talking until he can get something organized to deal with the safety threat to the crowd!



COMBATSYS: [Beastie Boys - Sabotage] Judging by the overheads off in this corner of the arena, the event techs have a weird sense of humor. The record scratches wildly. "We can bet so don't you get souped yet / You're scheming on a thing that's a mirage / I'm trying to tell ya now: It's SABOTAGE!" DYRE is ready to SLAM!

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Dyre             0/-------/-------|


COMBATSYS: [Icon of Hire - Fight] The sounds of the percussion and keys ring out overhead, a violent, defiant song. "But people donít like / When you put up a fight / And slowly, ever so slowly, I am losing mine! / Iíll fight (FIGHT) / Fight! (FIGHT) / Fight, or be taken out alive!" AYANE is ready to SLAM!

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Ayane            0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0             Dyre


COMBATSYS: Dyre powers up! [ SLAM READINESS: x128.046 ]

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Ayane            0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0         [E] Dyre


Intermission, a time to get up, get another beer and get ready for another fight, and maybe check out a few of those demonstrations taking place away from the main stage. Unless one of those demonstrations decides to come to you.

The crowd is milling about the stage, the noise of hundreds of conversations and their echoes drowning out most other sounds in the arena. Just the sort of thing you'd come to expect between bouts in a large arena like this one. At least until a man's voice rises over the din, letting out a panicked and wild scream. Most have to look up to see him as he goes soaring over the heads of the crowd, only to land in a pile of folding chairs on the edge of the main ring itself. The man is dressed as a wrestler, one of the amateurs that didn't get a spot in the main ring. So if he's here...

All eyes go to where he went soaring from, only to see another man standing there, looking like he stepped right out of a sci-fi comic. The red and black tights don't look to out of place in the wrestling arena, what does look out of place is the circuitry, nodes, and wires covering his outfit. Written across the back in big silver print 'GRIZZLY IV SLAMSUIT'. The SLAMMER's eyes are wide and wild, blood shot and darting every which way. His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. His already densely muscled frame looks to have been pumped up, veins standing out in sharp contrast under his skin. If he was cast as a super-villain in a comic book, no one would be surprised. Dyre looks like he's easily lost his grip on reality.

Well... moreso than usual.

One man starts to back away from him. The movement catches his eye and he lashes out, grabbing the man by the ankle. The man tries to claw his way free, but instead Dyre lifts him in the air, swings him around a few times and sends him flying off to the side, barreling into a tight knot of the audience.

His wild eyes cast about again, mouth opening to let out an almost inhuman roar.

As the wrestler he tossed towards the stage begins to move, his focus locks on to his victim. He lets out another bellow and charges towards the already injured wrestler, intent on giving him another beating.

"I am asking you for the last time, /where is Kasumi/?" Ayane grabs the organizer by his tie and leans right into his face, which necessitates standing on tiptoes because she's half his size. Somehow this does not reduce the intimidation factor at all; menace rolls off her in waves, most of all from her burning red eyes.

"I-I'm sorry! We don't have a Kasumi on the rolls!" he sputters, before his eyes widen, looking past her to the carnage out on the floor.

"Like hell you don't; she fought the first night!" The kunoichi had been unable to be present to ambush her target before or after due to unforseen complications. "Is she still here? Where is she staying, what hotel?"

Throwing his arms up, the organizer stumbles away from the tiny teenage ninja. "Listen!" he stammers, pointing a wavering finger at Dyre. "Stop that thing and maybe I can help you!"

Her eyes narrow. "You'll do more than 'maybe'," she hisses, even as she leaps over to the ring, velocity wind pulling at her iridescent violet cheongsam, which was the best compromise she and the company could come to when it came to in-ring uniform.

But they widen when she realizes what's actually going on. Blinded by her need to find Kasumi, she had no idea people were in serious danger. With the slightest grimace, she puts her index and middle fingers, swordlike, in between herself and the sabotaged super-suit.

"Hey," she yells coldly, now standing between him and his next victim. "Pick on someone your own size."

Dyre takes a flying leap out of the stands and lands right in front of the injured wrestler, lips peeling back from his teeth in a rictus grin. "The Devil speaks to me from across the Moon."

Yup, completely out of his gourd.

His eyes flash menacingly red for a moment, causing him to grip his skull, shaking his head. "No! No! No! This is mine!" This is what happens when someone of dubious mental stability is pumped full of SLAM enhancing chemicals it seems. The injured wrestler seems to think this is the time to make a dash for it, it is not. As soon as he moves Dyre is ontop of him, gripping him by the ankles. He lifts the muscular man in the air and SLAM!s him into the floor with a solid thud and something that possibly sounds like bone breaking. And then the voice. It's not like the other voices screaming around him, oh no, this one doesn't have that quiver of fear to it. And it pulls his attention. Grey eyes focus on Ayane, narrowing dangerously.

He looks to Ayane, then down to the unconcious wrestler he still grips, then back at Ayane. It seems he has hit a dilemma.

For a moment.

The moment is all he needs to decide, he spins himself about and uses that momentum to send the poor, battered wrestler flying into the arena on a collision course for his new prey.

COMBATSYS: Ayane dodges Dyre's Large Thrown Object.

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Ayane            0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0         [E] Dyre


Ayane artfully raises a violet eyebrow at Dyre's comments -- one of the few people in the world who might not leap to the assumption that someone speaking of Devils and moons is crazy. "What does the Devil tell you?" she asks coolly, even as she leaps over the unfortunate flying wrestler, who goes straight through the ropes to the other side.

Landing up close and personal to Dyre, her hands snake up towards one of his arms -- trying to grab him, spin, and SLAM! him into a turnbuckle. She seems to take no pleasure in the attempt, her face as icy and composed as a corporate CEO at a board meeting.

Except, as she strains to throw him with far more force than a girl her size should be expected to leverage, she cracks the tiniest of smiles, more in her eyes than on her lips. She can't help but love this a little bit, the ridiculousness, the spectacle...

...the competition.

COMBATSYS: Ayane successfully hits Dyre with Irish Whip.
+=+=!= Power Slam! =!=+=+

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Ayane            0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0         [E] Dyre


"Don't you know? No you don't. You don't see..." Right...

Dyre shakes his head, too distracted by the question to put up a proper defense. It seems his mind isn't quite processing thought as well as it usually does at the moment. He takes the blow full on in the back, slumping with his arms over the ropes. When he looks up however, there's only one expression on his face. Anger. Pure and untainted. He is completely and utterly pissed off.

He hops up on the ropes, perched and balanced on it for a moment like some strange bird as he stares down Ayane.

"Ulf wants a taste, I want this one. He can wait."

He's still for a brief second before springing off the ropes, one arm extended to the side as he aims right for Ayane's throat with another inhuman roar escaping from his mouth, bringing the lariat down with the power of his jump behind it.

COMBATSYS: Ayane counters Medium Lariat from Dyre with Aya Tsumuji EX.
-@- Dazing Hit! -@-

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Ayane            0/-------/-----==|====---\-------\0         [E] Dyre


Ayane stares up -- and up -- at Dyre as he looms over her, feeling his fury. She instinctively takes a step back, against the heat of that furnace. It occurs to her that maybe she should stop trying to understand what he's saying, and get him to understand what he's doing.

She grabs his spinning arm as it comes for her, and uses his leaping momentum against him, drawing him across her back. Then she leaps into the air to SLAM! them both into the ground, Dyre-first. The floor of the ring shakes from the impact.

"You're out of control! You need to stop fighting. Just stay down."

Yeah, like that's going to happen.

It's going to take her a crucial moment to leap up and get some distance, however, unless she's planning to stay in close... Dyre has a blatant opportunity for some revenge.

One would assume it hard for Dyre's rage to increase any more than it already is. You know what they say about assuming. His eyes go wide as he drives into the mat, but whatever the injuries he sustained from that blow, it only seems to fuel his anger to new heights. "Control is like the Moon!" And then there is the complete and utter lack of anything sensical again.

As soon as Ayane is off of him he springs to his feet, silver energy suddenly flaring around him. There is the sudden feeling that he might have been holding back just a little, and now is ready for a full on assault. "Maybe I will let him bite."

If Ayane doesn't hop away fast enough, he makes a grab at her, getting as much of the fabric of his outfit in his mits as possible, silvery energy coursing through his arm. Should he get her in hand he swings her around, the strength behind his attack feeling anything but natural as he attempts to drive her head first into one of the corner posts as the energy condenses into his fist and explodes at the moment of impact in a violent cascade that turns from silver to the crimson shade of blood.

His eyes suddenly mimic the sanguine shade of his energy.

COMBATSYS: Ayane blocks Dyre's 500 INTERNAL SERVER ERROR.

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Ayane            0/-------/----===|====---\-------\0         [E] Dyre


Ayane agrees, gazing at Dyre steadily as he comes for her. "Control /is/ like Moon. It waxes and wanes." She feels her own control waning as fear rises within her like bile. Trying to get away, she's too slow; he grabs her, and that silvery energy courses through her, making every nerve ending fry with pain.

She shrieks an unholy shriek as she's lifted off the ground, the piping of ten thousand bats, the howling of a pack of wolf puppies, the sound of one pissed-off teenager getting swung through the air. At the last second she manages to get her planted firmly on the post with a loud SMACK, and her arms in between herself and that fist -- and with an explosion of sanguine energy, she's blasted over the corner post and into the crowd, some of whom are dumb enough to be watching instead of running away.

"Get out of here!" she chides them, extricating herself from the spilled Mambo Combo popcorn-hot dogs platter where she landed. Its owner seems appropriately chastened, but keeps staring like there's no tomorrow. She pops her jaw, which is still smarting from when her hands were blasted back into her face a few seconds ago.

Her eyes meet Dyre's from that distance, now sharing hues instead of contrasting them. Then she ducks her chin and charges, ninja-running straight up the ropes and back into the ring, trying to SLAM at him catty-corner across (and hopefully through) the ropes, cute little feet first, in a two-footed tiger kick best known to the public as a 619.

"Get -- control!"

COMBATSYS: Dyre blocks Ayane's Audacious Slam.

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Ayane            0/-------/----===|=====--\-------\0         [E] Dyre


Arms fly up across his chest and face, taking the brunt of the attack as he slides back on the mat a few inches. "No!" Dyre's eyes shift back to grey as fast as they went red. Whatever is going on with him, its more than being a little bit out of control. "Moon is illusion. Moon is a lie! Control is a Moon." Even being able to not articulate his thoughts seems to only piss him off more.

He grips his head again, once more his hands glowing with that silver energy, wrapping and twining through his fingers like mist. His voice goes suddenly cold, dialated pupils seeking out Ayane through narrowed lids. "Ulf will have you now." He launches himself forward, hand extended forward to drive into Ayane's chest and drive her to the ground, pinning her to the mat if he does so, letting out another wild explosion of silver and sanguine energies.

His eyes shift once more between grey and red, this time, the change seeming to stick. "Hello..." His voice as changed, still deep, still wild, but this time gravelly and even more feral sounding than before.

COMBATSYS: Ayane dodges Dyre's 308 PERMANENT REDIRECT.

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Ayane            0/-------/----===|=====--\-------\0         [E] Dyre


Ayane's eyes flicker over the suit, then up to Dyre's pulse, thoughtful. Her fists clench. "I think you need to sleep this off," she suggests softly. "You and Ulf. Something /else/ is affecting your control. What did they do to you?"

An unknown 'they', but between the suit and the signs of probable drug use, this seems well above and beyond any sort of demonstration.

He drives her to the ground, and any further commentary is arrested by the simple expedient of her breath being knocked from her lungs. As the energies course around them, she grits her teeth and rolls, forcing her body out of the way, out of the pin, and thus out of the explosion.

Its aftershock blasts her towards a corner post. It's her turn to leap up on it. "Hello," she returns to the red-eyed persona, flying down at him with the simplest and most noble of the SLAM arsenal: a simple horizontal chop, right to the neck.

COMBATSYS: Ayane successfully hits Dyre with Light Chop.

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Ayane            0/-------/----===|=======\-------\0         [E] Dyre


The strike connects with his neck easily enough, despite a delayed attempt at a defensive posture. He bares his teeth at Ayane as he dips to the side, crouching at the edge of the ring, baleful red eyes staring her down. "It's wonderful. I can let loose like this. Pure adrenaline, pumping through my blood. Glorious." Why does the bloody eyed version of him seem more sane than they grey eyed one? Who knows, but it does.

He dashes in again, bounding on hands and feet instead of just running like some crazed animal. It's not until he's in close that his hand shift for the laced up boot of his SLAMSUIT, fingers looping through a pair of rings barely visible above the top of the shoe. As he dives in close he whips out the small punching dagger, aiming it's sharp point right at his opponent's tender middle.

It's not like it's a sanctioned match or anything.

COMBATSYS: Ayane interrupts Illegal Weapon from Dyre with Heavy Clothesline.
-@- Dazing Hit! -@-

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Ayane            0/-------/--=====|=======\==-----\1         [E] Dyre


"Then I'm glad I'm your opponent," Ayane replies firmly. "Let loose on me, rather than these pathetic men." Her heel gently kicks one of the unconscious wrestlers nearby as she steps around him. One of his fans, in the audience, jeers at her viciously, waggling a sign. They're ignored.

That is because she is very busy dealing with the man bounding to her on hands and knees -- with a dagger. Frowning, a most forbidding expression, she shifts her weight to the right, turning what might have been a fatal gut-wound into an unpleasant scratch, and in the same motion, shoves her extended right arm right across his neck. The fabric of her shimmering sleeves is very soft for a clothesline, but the ground, which likely follows, is very hard. SLAM!

Her lips withdraw upwards with pain as she feels out the wound on her torso with her left hand. Her fingers come away bloody. Simply outlasting Dyre may no longer be an option -- she's on the clock, now, before blood loss catches up with her and slows her down to a fatal degree.

"Stay down," she demands again, but a new note of weariness in her cold voice indicates that she expects this will not be the outcome.

Sanctioned match or not, the crowd is alive, all eyes on the two as the lavender haired teen was tangled with the raving SLAMSUIT wearer.

And backstage, as the non-televised, production parts of the event are slowly being worked on (or rather, being worked, as in sabotaged), an eye watches the monitors catching the match as cameramen struggled to keep up with the action. Smiling to himself, a man in a grey pinstriped suit watched on rather intently. Smirking to himself, he pulled the trilby off his head to wipe his forehead...revealing the noxious green and purple mohawk underneath. "Interesting," he whispered to himself, eye on the assassin as he scratched his chin with a discerning look

Pulling a tech aside, the trilby'd man quickly asked, "Who's the girl with the hair?" "Huh? S-sir, I don't know, sir. She's not on the official talent list." "Huh...interesting. THanks." Pushing the tech aside, Vyle smirked to himself. He has his own surprise he has to get ready for...but it's clear he's thinking SOMETHING. AFter all, a guy raving about the moon in a suit like that draws attention. Standing on level fooding with someone that crazy out of the blue without any sort of announcement? THat's certainly something worth delving into more....

Dyre hits the mat on his back with a solid thud, bouncing slightly from the impact. He cackles like a mad man as he rolls to his feet, barely letting the attack slow him down. He comes up in a crouch, arms across his knees as he brings the blood stained knife up in front of his face. "The blood pits are so much more fun, but this will do." He holds the knife under his nose, inhaling the scent of the blood on the edge before tossing it aside like a bit of useless garbage.

He shakes his head a few times, as the suits gives off a few errant sparks. "No.. no.. not yet.."

In a flash he's leaping at Ayane. No running start, he just uncoils like a spring, flying at her with arms extended, attempting to take her down with just the force of his size alone. Maybe he doesn't truly understand the concept of wrestling, because should he pin her to the mat he goes into a full on ground and pound, slamming his fists into her with an almost wild abandon before finishing the assault by rolling off and sending a mighty kick to send her flying at the ropes.

COMBATSYS: Dyre successfully hits Ayane with 503 SERVICE UNAVAILABLE.

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Ayane            1/-------/=======|==-----\-------\0         [E] Dyre


Size does matter. Ask any professional, any expert; all things being equal, the larger fighter will take apart the smaller fighter every time. And while she's gotten lucky thusfar, Ayane's luck runs out as the suit-er-powered superSLAMer bowls into her, smashing her onto the mat. She makes a hushed grunt of pain each time his fists land, which rises into a hiss of agony as she's kicked into the ropes.

But she's not out of this yet.

Using the momentum of the ropes like a slingshot, she flexes into the impact, then explodes out of it, head-first instead of feet-first this time, the pretty bow her bandana is tied into flapping in the breeze of her passing. It's spattered with blood -- her own, which flew up on her way back, and now impacts her as she plows through it, towards Dyre.

Size does matter, but somehow she's trying to heave with her sinuous, ninpo-honed shoulders, such that he is lifted up upon them, and then SLAMed down to the mat once again. It's a powerbomb made more brutal by the look in her eyes. "I see your suit is sparking," she growls, in the same moment that she makes her move.

COMBATSYS: Ayane successfully hits Dyre with Brutal Powerbomb.
Glancing Blow

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Ayane            1/-------/=======|====---\-------\0         [E] Dyre


Dyre crouches low as Ayane comes in for another blow, looking like he's going to attempt to take the blow head on. As she nears he attempts to move like a bull fighter, dipping to the side. As he does however, the suit lets off a spark near on of his knees, causing the join to stiffen. He doesn't fully clear the attack, instead taking the blow from one of Ayane's shoulders, sending him rolling along the mat.

He gets back to his feet with a shake of his head, and a few more random sparks and sizzles. Even his drug addled mind knows this game is almost at an end. Bloody mist like energy seethes through his hands again as he brings them up, both palms facing Ayane. He lets out a wild roar as the energy explodes from his palms, almost uncontrolled as he lets it roar in a near blinding flare that fades to silver as it burns itself out.

As before, as his attacks change color, so do his eyes. They return to grey, through they're still blood shot and crazed, almost worst than before. He wears the look of a cornered animal, one ready to fight with its last breath and take down its attacker with him.

"You'll bleed for this.."

COMBATSYS: Ayane dodges Dyre's X Fortune.

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Ayane            1/-------/=======|====---\-------\0         [E] Dyre


Wounded and winded, Ayane sees an end coming for her as sure as her father's ultimate technique or her other father's other ultimate technique, which despite the pedestrian phrasing is a fairly major compliment on the threat-o-meter. That explosive energy could reduce her to ash, and she knows it. So, instead of following up on her dubiously successful body block, she gives up her advantageous position to cartwheel backwards, out of the way. The soles of her shoes are warped by the edge of the blast, but still she lands so lightly that, were the mat a lake, not a ripple would spread.

There is, however, something there near her feet that could spread, given a chance. During a previous act of violence in the ring, an edge came up, and now the tip of a rocket is snaking out.

The kunoichi palms the firework with a flick of her wrist, and then sends it towards him ablaze, furious green sparks everywhere. This was supposed to be part of the next act, but it seems that the main event has come early.

"I'll bleed," she declares, her eyes burning as coldly as the heart of a storm, "But you'll burn."

Still backstage, the Triby'd man continues to stroke his chin. The suit is a very interesting concept...he's going to have to find whoever provided it, considering. After all, a few dozen of suits like those could....

Oh, but the leakage problem is going to be something he'll have to worry about too. In any case, he finds himself swapping between both the crazed plot, as well as the lithe girl as she seems to be set to take advantage of all those suit leakages. The more he watches, the more he believes that neither would be good on air talent...but perhaps...

*Beep beep beep* "Hello?...it's me. Once tonight is finished, I'm going to send you some footage from a match. No, an unsanctioned one, going on right now. Trust me, you'll be interested in this. No, just the regular..." Eyes flit around, covering the bottom of his phone as he makes sure none of the people yet to be 'replaced' are in hearing range. "...appraisal. And send it upstairs."

COMBATSYS: Dyre fails to interrupt Large Thrown Object from Ayane with 403 FORBIDDEN.
# Disabling hit! #

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Ayane            1/-------/=======|


COMBATSYS: Dyre can no longer fight.

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Ayane            1/-------/=======|


"If I burn, we both burn!"

Dyre launches himself at Ayane as she sends the firework his way. He reaches up and snatches it out of the air, running with it towards his opponent, wielding it in his hand like a dagger as he runs at her, screaming like a madman. Though being crazed and hopped up on SLAM drugs does not make for a very good judge of fuse lengths. So halfway to Ayane the firework goes off in his hand. The suit protects most of his skin but the suit still takes a massive hit from the exploding firework. Sparks burst out all along the circuits and joints, electrocuting the man inside.

He drops to the mat, siezing as the electricity courses through him. Then with one final jolt of electricity the suit's power dies, Dyre himself losing conciousness inside. Hopefully, no one would hold the mercenary to blame for this incident, though who knows.

After the sparks fade from the explosive finale, Ayane is nowhere to be found, gone as swiftly as she arrived. More swiftly, actually.

In reality she's a hop, a skip, a wallrun and a jump, back on the fifth floor, wherein lies the coordinator she was interrogating earlier.

Her eyes are like ruby slits as she glares him down, heedless of the blood dripping down her own front.

"Where. Is. /Kasumi/?"

COMBATSYS: Ayane has ended the fight here.


As the fight finishes up, and the suit and the pilot are left to the mercies of security and medical staff, the man in the back scowls. The camera missed the lavender girl's escape, meaning he can't quite pursue her enough to give her a proposition. Oh well. At least the man in the suit is still there, and looking like he won't be going anywhere anytime soon. That'll make things easier to-"

"Boss, it's time." Damn. Looking back to the man, dressed like a production crew member, the trilby'd man nods. "Right. Take these then and meet me outside," He says, removing the hat and unbuttoning his suit. Tossing the jacket into the 'crewmember's' man arm, he sneers. Propositions will have to wait.

"Oh...and have someone find out where that girl went. I'm going to have to make her an offer. And go to the infirmary, find out what the hell that suit is," the man known as Vyle notes, stepping out of his suitpants, and quickly replacing them with his wrestling pants. "It's time for us to shine, kids...."

Log created on 19:12:33 11/18/2014 by Dyre, and last modified on 23:48:29 11/18/2014.