“What the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know, but it seems like Titan has made it all the way here, undefeated, for nothing.”
The commentators for the men’s middleweight boxing championship were in disbelief. Sam Thorn, also known as Titan, had been the favorite to win by a landslide. He had never lost a single fight in the seventeen bouts of his professional boxing career. With an impressive fifteen wins by knockout, Thorn had earned his place in the boxing Hall of Fame. The only two that had not been knocked out had been the lightweight and welterweight championship fights that he had still won by unanimous decision. There were even rumors that he had never lost a non-professional match either. However, something was wrong.
—————
Damn, I must have spaced out. How the hell did I lose focus at a time like this?
A well-built young man with several cuts and bruises on his face was sitting in the corner of the boxing ring. Sam and his opponent Mantis were currently resting after their seventh round of the fight. Mantis was a bald and broad shouldered but small man that always had a mischievous grin on his face and devilish glint in his eyes. He was the current men’s middleweight champion. The crowd cheered for both sides. Some wanted Titan to finally be put in his place. Others wanted Titan to continue his streak, and watch him soar into the annals of history. Mantis was the only one paying any attention to the crowd though.
Breathing heavily, Sam Thorn couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling he had been experiencing all day. It was as if the world itself was screaming at him, telling him something was wrong.
Sam had not always had a keen sense for the world around him. It had started after his sophomore year in college, after a crippling headache had caused his family to miss their flight. As the members of his family had scolded him, Sam had watched as the world came to a halt.
A Fragment of the Old Moon the size of a single room apartment had fallen into the Earth''s atmosphere, causing a devastating blackout in the air. Normally, the fragments never had any affect on the lives of people on Earth, but this time it was different. Sam and his family had watched as the plane they had been just minutes late to, plummet out of the sky and crash just thirty seconds after takeoff.
After that day, he had never felt the same level of pain as he had in that moment. It had slowly lessened and lessened its impacts on his health, until it became a feeling rather than a symptom. His dad called it his gut instinct. His mom had called it his guardian angel. Sam was just thankful he had it at all.
Sam had frantically been searching for the cause of the feeling for the last seven rounds, but nothing jarring had stood out to him.
Maybe it’s just my nerves. The only other time I have ever felt this bad since the fragment was the day I…
“THORN, GET YOUR ASS IN GEAR, WHY THE HELL ARE YOU SPACING OUT RIGHT NOW?” Sam’s thoughts snapped back to reality as Coach Morey, better known as Coach Mo, berated Sam as he tried to salvage the current situation.
“THIS IS THE CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH, AND ALL YOU HAVE DONE SO FAR IS SIT THERE AND ACT LIKE YOUR FAVORITE THING TO DO IN THE WORLD IS BE A HUMAN PUNCHING BAG,” he shrieked as he continued his rampage. He leaned down and cupped his worn hands around his mouth, as he looked like he was going to utter something personal to Sam to get him in gear.
“Oi, have you figured it out yet?” Mo whispered. He was well aware of the habits and feelings of Sam, especially when it came to his “special sense”.
“You said it’s only ever been this bad one time right? Well you can always give up that undefeated record of yours and challenge him again later..”
Sam nodded his head, covered in short brown hair with his matching brown eyes. His busted lip did nothing to hide his captivating smile and well defined jaw. If anything, it drew more attention to his perfectly average face.
“Well your feeling has never been wrong before. Just stick to the plan and watch for the tell. Remember, duck, shift left, and then lights out.”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
As coach Mo finished up the pep talk, the bell rang, signifying that the time between rounds was over. As Sam stood up, Mo patted him on the back.
“Listen Sam, just give the signal and I’ll throw in the towel.”
Sam nodded, turned to face the center of the ring, and made eye contact with Mantis.
Strange. Something about him seems off.
The characteristic devilish glint in the Mantis’s eyes had been replaced with a cold, seething clarity. Not blinking a single time, he held Sam’s gaze as they raised their gloves. The ref blew his whistle and the fight was on.
Sam reigned his focus in, ignoring the lingering feeling, and decided that enough was enough. His mind entered the flow state, and he started acting like Titan for the first time that night. He started taking noticeably less punches, and was throwing many more of his own.
Block, step right, right jab, block, swing right.
The clock dwindled down, seconds turning into minutes, and Mantis finally showed his tell.
After many hours watching and studying Mantis’s film. Coach Mo had noticed something. It was small, almost imperceptible. Sometimes when Mantis went for a left jab, he would scrunch his face to the right, almost shying away from his punch. The problem was, every time he did this, his guard with his right hand would drop a little bit. This left his right side open to a quick attack.
It’s now or never. Duck, swing, and…
—————
CODE CRIMSON: ALL UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ARE TO STAY IN THEIR ROOMS. ALL AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ARE TO ACTIVATE THEIR GEAR FOR COMBAT AND HEAD TO THEIR SUPERIORS IMMEDIATELY.
The droning alarm greeted Sam as he opened his eyes from another interrupted night of sleep. The metallic coffin of his room was now tinged a slight red color.
Damn, how come every time I get some sleep I always end up dreaming about that day?
“Oi, Rise and shine,” a husky voice called from above.
“Do you think they get a kick out of waking us up during the only time they allow us to sleep?” Sam sarcastically responded.
“I mean, it’s not like we can tell the time in this claustrophiles heaven they call a room anyway.”
Indeed, the only things inside the room besides the two men and their bunks was a strobe light currently shining a violent red around the room, and a singular door leading to the outside world. Outside of the cramped room, a hulking dreadnought had come to a complete halt in the middle of the Southern Ocean. Speaking of the outside world, there had been dead silence from the rest of the ship since the roommates had started talking.
Strange. I wonder what’s taking the ship so long to start protocol.
As Sam was wondering to himself, his bunkmate climbed down from the top of their bunk.
“It’s always a relief to see your face Coach,” Sam told the well built man as Coach Mo’s face was illuminated in the pale red light.
“I told you to just call me Mo, kid,” Coach Mo said as he stared at him, no emotion betrayed on his trained face.
“And I told you to call me Sam, or at least Thorn,” Sam retorted.
“Ok ok, we both have things to work on I see,” Mo said as he sat down next to Sam.
As the two discussed the dream that Sam had had before they were rudely woken up, the blaring warning in the background suddenly changed.
DIPLOMACY REJECTED, SWITCHING TO ANTI-TERRORIST TACTICS. FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE.
Even though the men were situated many walls of metal away and were located on the bottom fifth of the ship, the sound of the dreadnought''s rail cannons still reached their ears as a subtle heartbeat, proving that the ship was alive.
“Damn terrorists, why can''t they just let prisoners like us be handed over in peace,” Coach Mo wondered out loud.
“Hey, be careful you moron. If the brass hears you say that, they might stifle our rations for the next couple of days again. All of this could be avoided if you would just refer to us by our official names. The Vanished,” Sam scolded his old mentor.
“Well we haven’t officially “Vanished” until we have crossed over that border have we?” Coach Mo argued.
“Well assuming this terrorist attack fails, just like the rest of them have, that day will be coming sooner rather than later,” Sam, fed up with being starved before, switched the topic to
Several more minutes of railgun fire later, the light in the room stopped flashing, and a new message was announced over the intercom system.
TERRORIST THREAT ELIMINATED. RESUME REGULAR ACTIVITIES.
The men were about to attempt to go back asleep, when a familiar but uncommon voice took over the intercom.
“Passengers, this is your captain speaking. I believe that we will have no further incidents with terrorists for the remainder of our journey. ‘How can you be so confident?’ you ask? Well, as soon as we get this ancient piece of junk up and running, in approximately ten hours we will reach the boundary of the dead zone. You have been warned. I have no idea how the enemy will treat you, but my guess is that the treatment you have received so far on this journey will seem like a vacation compared to what those animals will put you through. Get some sleep.”
The two men turned to look at each other.
“Well shit,” they said in unison.