Cold Fusion - A Sci-fi, Fantasy, and Fusion Short Story Anthology

Chapter 3: Allies

As much as Fletch was loath to face a fellow human, he knew that in this type of contest he had no choice. If he truly had been black marked, it was a fight to the death, the combatants going until only one was left. The survivor then ran the very real risk of getting executed anyway, punishment for running afoul of the game masters and their complex rules.

So, as soon as the wolf was down, he was looking for his final opponent. Before he could do anything more than lift his head, however, he felt powerful arms looping under his to cinch in a full Nelson hold. A surge of pain avalanched through him as the cro-mag used his power to both put pressure on Fletch's neck and to hoist him into the air.

"Sorry, Fletch," the powerful human variant said into his ear as Fletch desperately tried to wiggle out of the deadly hold. "But you know how these play."

Fighting to stay conscious, the psy variant didn't reply. He didn't have to. He did indeed know how these types of contests play out. That didn't mean he was about to roll over and give up, though.

Unfortunately the cro-mag had overwhelming strength on him. And, with the pressure on his neck and spine preventing him from repriming his neutral network, there wasn't much he could do to fight back.

"Just relax, little buddy, and I'll make it quick," the cro-mag promised, sounding like crushing out Fletch's life was taking almost no effort at all.

For some reason that sent a surge of anger stabbing through him. Just roll over and give up? Never!

Strangely the anger was enough to send a rush through his network, adrenaline and rage allowing him to somehow push past the pressure that was constricting the pathways. As soon as he felt his energies gather, he was using telekinesis to reinforce his neck and upper spine, bio-electricity dancing over his upper body.

Immediately the cro-mag grunted as the resistance to his pressure multiplied several fold. Then he was throwing everything he had into bending Fletch in half.

It was Fletch's turn to grunt as his vision blurred and began to go red with the dramatic increase in pressure despite everything he was doing to hold the cro-mag's power at bay. As he poured the fading embers of his energy into his telekinetic reinforcements, Fletch began to desperately cast about with his mind for a way out. If he could somehow twist out of the hold and get behind his opponent, he could use a telekinetic garrote to choke the cro-mag out.

But he had to twist out first. With hands big enough to engulf his entire head, the cro-mag had locked the hold in tight. It was impossible to squirm enough to free himself. However, if he didn't try, he was going to die, painfully.

Twist, turn, pull, push; no matter what he did, Fletch couldn't get free. In fact, the hold only got tighter, and tighter. He had to get free, no matter what! He ... had ... to ... get free ...

Fletch wasn't quite sure what happened next. Only that the overwhelming urge to get free filled him completely with a burning fire he had never felt before. Then, with a strange, stomach-churning twist, he was on the cro-mag's back, exactly how he envisioned just seconds ago. There, before he could do much more than marvel at his abrupt change in location, there was a flare of telekinetic energy and he was pulling a telekinetic garrote through the cro-mag's neck.

In one instant, he was being crushed to death. In the next, he was watching in astonishment as the cro-mag's head, now separated from his body, slowly fell from its perch to tumble to the ground. Then he was throwing himself free of the cro-mag's headless body as it followed its former top to the ground, the truncated neck fitfully spurting blood from the severed carotids.

For a long moment Fletch stood there and stared at the cro-mag's cooling corpse, his thoughts churning. The fact that he was the first human to kill another in over 20 years was foremost, followed by wondering how he had managed to free himself from the cro-mag's hold. Surprisingly next in line to be considered was what the pridelord had said about freedom.