017 SANTIAGO VS SONIC
Expecting her to question how he acquired the skill, Damen braced himself for a round of interrogation. But Dorin simply walked away, saying nothing.
"She didn't ask me? What's the deal here?" Damen wondered.
Relief washed over him.
At least he didn't have to explain anything embarrassing. Maybe the gym has privacy policies. Dorin doesn't dig into things that don't concern her, he reasoned.
Damen pushed himself through the entire twenty-four hours, rotating between the Spinning Tunnel and the Defensive Training Room. Sweat poured, muscles screamed, but he didn't let up.
Now and then, he caught sight of Dorin passing by on her rounds, her gaze lingering on him for a moment before moving on. She was the gym's administrator—of course she checked on trainees.
It was nothing unusual.
There was nothing to worry about.
By the time the day ended, he had what he came for. The basics of both Summon Shield and Flash Dash were his now—two skills ready to grow sharper with practice.
-----
Just before leaving the gym, Damen froze at the flicker of the TV above the reception desk.
"Melrose City has been gripped by a sudden surge of mass shock and hysteria," the anchor reported.
The segment cut to interviews—wide-eyed artists and shaken bouncers from the Black Owl club. Then the cameras shifted to his middle school, where reporters hounded his classmates for clues about Thames and Onda's heart failures.
Damen's stomach twisted. "What the hell is happening? Will they trace this back to me?"
The broadcast moved on, but his pulse didn't slow.
"Several gang members were found murdered in the Black Owl club car park. Their bodies had been burned to remove evidence. Police suspect it's the work of rival gangs."
His heart slammed against his ribs. "Am I alright now? I won't be discovered?"
The screen faded into the next story, but Damen barely registered it.
He stood rooted beneath the television long after the report ended, lost in thought, the weight of his actions pressing heavier with each passing second.
-----
In the days that followed, Damen settled into a steady routine.
He kept training at the same gym, and Dorin made no fuss over the new skills he'd developed. Between sessions, his mining app hummed in the background, pulling in massive amounts of DemCoins.
The program even upgraded itself.
There were few flashy new features, but the mining range had expanded—now sweeping across two city blocks.
Still, Damen resisted the urge to absorb fresh attributes from his targets. He knew that if he was too greedy, eventually he would be caught.
Instead, he stockpiled coins, keeping his head down and drawing as little attention to himself as possible.
Before he knew it, a month had slipped by. The quiet days ended as the middle school exams loomed on the horizon.
-----
Damen finally had his ID in hand after he turned sixteen.
For once, he had no desire to return to Heroes Gym. The monotonous routine was getting too monotonous. The risk of getting caught by the police waned and the news of Mad Cat and the gangsters' murder has become old news.
"I guess lying low for a month is enough. Nobody's coming after me now," he muttered.
Damen headed for the city's only Meta MMA Ring—a massive stadium built for competitive matches between meta-humans.
Inside, the place buzzed with energy.
At the counter, he noticed not only ticket sales but also a betting station where odds shifted with the crowd's confidence in the fighters.
"Who should I pick…" Damen wondered aloud, scanning the fighter list. None of the names meant anything to him.
He placed his bet anyway to try out the system. Later when he walked out from the betting station, a familiar voice called him, "Damen! There you are."
Mikey Rolands, Damen's only friend, jogged up towards him grinning happily.
"Hey, buddy. Long time no see," Damen said, smiling back.
Since he started his special training in the gym, he'd barely seen Mikey—just the occasional chat over the phone. This was their first real outing together in a month.
It was also Damen's first time at a fight with him.
Before, he'd always turned down Mikey's invitations to the MMA. He was either too busy working, or too broke to pay for the entrance ticket.
"What the hell, man? You shot up like a tree—and your face… did you get work done or something?"
Damen had shot up in height from absorbing Strength attributes, though part of it might just be his growth spurt kicking in. Nutritional food was free flowing in the gym canteen.
"Ah, nothing crazy. Just growing up, I guess. I switched to contacts too—guess it changes my look a bit," Damen said with an easy shrug.
"Different? You look like one of those guys from Sneakers now," Mikey said, half-joking.
"Sneakers?" Damen tilted his head.
"Yeah, the band. A month ago, they had an accident at a club. They're back now, performing again, but…" Mikey frowned. "They don't look the same. Like… something's off." He spoke like a true fan.
"Right, it could be something to do with the accident," Damen said lightly, careful not to explain that he'd stolen their looks.
Suddenly, Mikey's eyes dropped to the betting tickets in Damen's hand. "Who'd you put money on?"
"Santiago," Damen said.
Mikey nearly choked. "Are you serious? Santiago sucks. Go get your money back. Why the hell would you pick him?"
"The odds," Damen shrugged. "One pays ten."
"The odds are high because he's guaranteed to lose," Mikey shot back shaking his head.
-----
The match began.
First into the ring was Santiago—a mountain of a man with muscles bulging in every direction. His defining feature, though, was his grotesquely oversized arm shaped like a massive crab pincer. One strike from that arm was said to shatter stone.
"Boo! Boo!" the crowd jeered.
Damen glanced at Mikey. "He looks strong. Why do you think he'll lose?"
"His strength is exactly the problem," Mikey said flatly. "That pincer arm weighs him down. He's dead weight against the wrong opponent."
Then the challenger stepped onto the stage.
"Sonic!"
The arena erupted in cheers.
A short man appeared, lean and wiry, without half the muscle Santiago boasted. He looked almost unimposing—yet the crowd adored him.
"He doesn't look like much. One good hit from Santiago and he's finished," Damen muttered, snapping a picture with his phone.
"That's where you're wrong," Mikey said. "He's true to his name. Fast as sound. Santiago will never touch him."