Heatstroke checked the information on his phone one more time before he landed on the ground: a lone metahuman, hostile, no known accomplices, involved in a robbery. Several reports of injuries and property damage, but no fatalities. By all accounts it was the exact kind of situation he excelled at solving quickly and simply. He'd run in there, let his or his squad's reputation precede him, and then, if he was lucky, get to fight a little besides. The thought spread a smile across his brown face as he leapt through the air. The superhero gripped the high collar of his chestpiece with both gloved hands as the ground raced up towards him. Heatstroke grunted with the impact of his boots along the concrete, taking a few running steps to gather himself like a plane landing on the tarmac. He'd gotten more accurate with his massive leaps across town, but timing his solar powers to soften the landing was often more trouble than it solved. Instead he skidded across the asphalt, trying not to warm it beneath him with each step.
It wasn't hard to distinguish which building had been hit: the block had only one building whose facade looked like some giant beast had taken a bite out of its second floor. Debris littered the floor outside the building, and he considered whether to use the front door or enter via the hole that someone else had already made. The latter made more sense, and glass crunched beneath his laced boots as he looked around.
Tensions are high at a gym near Los Angeles, California. Women from the gym and beyond are gathered in the MMA cage looking to make new friends and hash out their differences. In particular, all except for one of them attend the same college nearby. Mary, a hardnosed boxer has just challenged Jamila, one of the visitors and a Brazilian Jiu Jitsu specialist, to a sparring round. Who wins in the classic boxer vs submission grappler matchup?
A fiery conversation between Simone, college sophomore and rising pro MMA star and Rebecca Meyers, Resident Advisor for a university in southern California and a talented MMA fighter in her own right, has led to this: heated, full contact MMA sparring sessions between Rebecca, her friends, Simone, and her gymmate Jamila. Rebecca’s invited everyone to the gym she and her friends train at, and the leather has flown.
Caught in the crossfire are Theresa and Jennifer, college students, friends to Simone, and Rebecca’s residents.
The last set of sparring rounds saw everyone who stepped up struggle eventually, and in the meantime Jen and Theresa have only previously boxed and are curious about trying mixed martial arts for the first time...
Jennifer McCowan had more questions than answers swimming through her head at this moment. There was a starting point and an endpoint but only confusion in between. It didn't help that her teacher felt ridiculously, impossibly strong, and that every eye in a 10 radius was watching her flounder.
“Rebecca… can you show me again? The first bit… just… what?” The slender woman ran her hand up her forehead and swept a sweaty lock of green hair away from her face. She just wanted to get this right, to impress the older girls who’d deigned to give her the time of day.
“Sure thing, Jen.” The young blonde said with a winning smile. The pair stood up again and resumed fighting stances. At least until the college senior stopped to correct the budding fighter's stance. “Remember, don't stick your leg out like that. I know it's fine for boxing but…” and in one fluid motion the older girl crouched and shot forward, wrapping her arms around the flailing sophomore’s leg and hugging it tightly to her chest. “Here it's just asking to get grabbed and you totes don't want that.” The surly Resident Advisor slapped her resident's pale thigh playfully and backed off.
Jennifer blushed and muttered the advice to herself out loud as she tugged on her gloves; they felt almost nonexistent compared to the big bulky boxing gloves she was used to. Wiggling her fingers while training was still a novel experience.
“Try it on me now, k?” Rebecca waved her in, rousing the lanky brunette from her wild-eyed muttering.
Jen crouched, took a deep breath and crouched, trying her best to emulate her RA's pose. She lunged forward, arms ready and grasping, and locked them around Rebecca’s leg.
Thursday arrived like a hungry predator, looming over Simone until it finally descended on her. Jamila Hayes and Simone Waterson stood in an unfamiliar gym’s lobby, bags strapped over their shoulders. Simone had seen it once; the same gym where Theresa and Jennifer rumbled for the first time, where Rebecca seemed to derive a lurid pleasure from beating up an overmatched kickboxer. It didn’t seem so shady midday on a weekday. The bald, scruffy guy by the front desk appraised them warily but relented when a thin brunette waved him off and called out Simone’s name.
“You’re Simone, right?” she inquired as she approached. Simone couldn't tell at first glance whether she was white or Asian, but she was thin, with freckles and a earnest smile. The woman wore an oversized sweater, her bra visible beneath, and yoga pants. Simone nodded in response. “I'm Kelsey, I'm Rebecca’s friend. Glad you showed up!” the woman said as she led the pair through the gym.
Simone merely nodded again, her body tense, hostile.
“And you are…?” Kelsey inquired of Jamila, cocking her head to the side and touching a finger to her chin.
“Jamila. Simone’s big sister,” the curvy fighter said with considerably more warmth than Simone displayed.
“Oh?” Kelsey exclaimed as she clapped her hands together with delight, “I didn't know you had a sister. Do you train too?”
“Yeah I train,” Jamila said, motioning towards her bag, “but we’re not really sisters, more like close friends.”
“Oh.” Kelsey admitted flatly. “That's cool too. Well, we're all in the back by the cage,” She pointed towards the rear of the gym. ”But the lockers are over there if you need to change. It's only a few of us; just hop in the cage when you're ready.” The young woman said sweetly, leaving the two Binary Star gym members behind.
Jamila and Simone exchanged knowing looks before heading towards the women's locker room.
The familiar sound of leather striking leather rang out through the South LA gym in fierce bursts. A gym’s striking coach and its brightest prospect, a mother and her daughter. Two women at work.
Paff.
Paff paff paff.
Paff paff… paff.
Late mornings like this almost always found the gym empty; today especially so. No more than a handful of souls occupied the place. In the boxing ring, mother and daughter spoke in between the call and response of gloves and shin guards hitting training pads.
“Mom, you’re really gonna get Jazz a fight? Forreal? Like for real for real?” Simone stammered.
“I meant what I said.” Yolanda Waterson replied curtly as she fed her daughter a punch meant to be parried. “And besides, if I can convince ‘West Coast Warzone,’” the Waterson matriarch paused to visibly shudder at the name, “that she’s an actual live fighter with talent and a misleading record who's willing to fight, they'll be more likely to let you out of your contract early. I can think of a few reasons they'd want a ringer on the payroll.” A wry smile crept across her face.
Things are in motion on a fall Monday night at a major Southern California University. Last Friday night, sophomore roommates Theresa Bayan and Jennifer McCowan settled their feud in a boxing match at the behest of their Resident Advisor (RA) Rebecca Meyers, who organized the whole event and fought in the night's main event.
Now they’re ready to get back to class and homework and upcoming midterms, and hope no one notices the new bumps and bruises they acquired last Friday….
Three weeks ago, two women fought an MMA bout in an invitation only club in Southern California. One suffered a devastating, humiliating defeat. Her boyfriend, consumed with vengeance and a talented fighter in his own right, challenged the victor to a fight, anytime anywhere. They’ve agreed to settle accounts in the small gym where Rebecca “Bliss” Myers, the winner hosts her own small-scale fights every few weeks. It hasn’t been long since “Crystal” Claire Zhang lost: now Rebecca’s looking to prove her superiority once and for all while Gunner “Gunshow” Harrison is dying to avenge, his girlfriend’s honor. The modest crowd has no idea of the bad blood these two took into the fight with them. The fight has produced no shortage of sparks, but those sparks are threatening to catch fire sooner rather than later.
“Crystal” Claire Zhang slumped onto the hard stool in her corner of the ring, her chest rising up and down, desperate for air. “Sit up,” her boyfriend chided, and she placed her green MMA gloves on her thighs for leverage as she straightened up and tried to fill her lungs. She'd been in tight spots and desperate situations before, but this had to be the worst night of her blossoming career. Or rather, her blossoming second career, moonlighting as an underground fighter.
On a cool October night, mere blocks away from a major Southern California University, a gym is hosting the last of its scheduled fights. Unbeknownst to the patrons, most of the gym’s staff is gone and it is instead operated by a college student acting as both manager and MC. This arrangement benefits all involved: the owners make money with little overhead, and she gets a quiet place to hold fights without them to not ask questions about just what goes on Friday nights.
The modest crowd of patrons is a mixed group: local MMA and boxing enthusiasts, friends of the fighters, fellow college students looking for a good time on a Friday night, and a few, never more than two or three at a time, of something else entirely. This last group went mostly unnoticed by the rest of the audience but watched intently, not just the contestants, but the impromptu management as well, as if looking for something small and significant.
Rebecca leaned over the top rope of the cozy little gym’s boxing ring and looked out over the gathering crowd, trying a little too hard to relax. This would be fine like it always was. There’d be fights like always, money'd change hands like always, and life would go on, just like it always had.
Nothing to worry about
So why couldn't she shake the ominous feeling that tonight'd be the night when the disparate halves of her life violently collided? The thought gave her more than a little pause. The night was warm, a small blessing of the Southern California weather. Fall and winter didn’t really exist, not in any traditional sense. They were just slightly colder, slightly wetter than the seasons that’d preceded them
Only four fights tonight since one of the fighters had suddenly come down with a “sprained ankle” this week. She’d be paying her a personal visit. In any event she still had enough for a full card. No need to panic.
Keep breathing
The spectators milled about, mostly regulars she recognized. It was too late to stop now. She shrugged her shoulders, exhaled deeply, and muttered to herself.