“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN CAN I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE!!!!”
The booming voice echoed out across the hubris of the packed Boxing Hall, faces of all races slowly turning to regard the ring. An enormously fat Human stood in the middle, a Microphone pressed against his mouth to expand his already powerful voice across the entire stadium. With murmurs and a collection of coughing, the hall fell silent, waiting for the fat commentator to speak.
“DO WE HAVE A NIGHT OF BLOOD FOR YOU TONIGHT!”
“Tonight… Tonight… night…” The voice echoed around the hall as the spectators cheered.
“MALCUTTA THE HUTT IS PROUD TO BRING YOU A SENCASION OF BLOOD AND GEARS IN THE LONG AWAITED…”
A pause for effect. The Commentator could almost feel the intake of breath as the crowd waited. Of course they already knew what he was about to say, it was printed in bold on their tickets but that was not enough to prevent him from milking it.
“MAN VERSES MACHINE!”
Cheers. Lots of them. The crowd wanted blood or a broken droid, and would not go home until they saw one or the other.
“IN THE RED CORNER, A MAN SO RESILIENT EVEN THE SITH COULDN’T HURT HIM.”
‘Alright. Control. This was it. Time to shine once more.’
“A HUMAN THAT CAN TAKE PAIN THAT WOULD MAKE A WOOKIE EVOLVE TEAR DUCTS AND CRY!”
‘Just another fight. Another taking towards freedom, and the stars.’
“A CREATURE SO TOUGH THAT EVEN OUR CHALLENGER MAY NOT BREAK HIM.”
‘It’s all about the control. Bite back the pain. Don’t let it overcome you.’
“WE HAVE THE DAAAAAAARK LEPPER!”
With the roar of the crowd, Sythbo Lepps stepped out of the pits, a silken dressing gown keeping him warm while hiding his head from the cheering spectators. Just a short walk to the ringside, just like every other night. Who cares if tonight he will be against…
“AND IN THE BLUE CORNER WE HAVE A MACHINE SO DEADLY THE EMPIRE CLOSED DOWN THE FACTORY THAT MADE IT FOR HEALTH AND SAFETY REASONS! SO CRUEL IT BROKE ITS MAKERS BACK! SO POWERFUL IT CAN PULL THE ARMS OUT OF A WOOKIES SOCKETS; WE HAVE; H! K! DEEEEEATH!”
‘Oh Sithspit. It’s an actual HK droid.’ Sythbo thought as he caught eye of his opponent. It was an old Model, a Czerka classic, the protocol disguise worn now the droids were largely recognised throughout the galaxy. From this distance – the Droid, also in a silken dressing gown, was still on the other side of the ring – Sythbo could recognise the hydraulic fluid pistons that operated the external limbs, individual gearing handcrafted into the shoulders and hips to regulate external movements, controlled by the AI chip integrated under thick armour casing in the head. Should, under certain conditions, the Main AI chip be removed, the model had a secondary chip in its chest cavity, next to the power core located in the same area. Sythbo could see the feint blue glow emanating from a small tear in the Robots chassis, but the old wound was way too small for Sythbo’s hands to fit in and take out the Droids power – HK droid armour was built to offer the highest possible resistance to a lightsaber blade, A blaster let alone Sythbo’s fists would barely scrape it. Without thinking, Sythbo’s hands touched his good luck charm, the Medallion he wore around his neck. It was a plain thing – tear shaped with a star on the front, but it was an Important Heirloom dating back to the Mandalorian war, and it Reminded Sythbo of his true love – the stars. But with that it gave him luck, luck which right now, he will be needing.
Tightening his handwraps – the only protection his Master gave him from the Droids metal fists, Sythbo stepped through the holoropes into the ring, a force generator buzzing up behind him as the cage activated. His hood was lowered – his messy bright Blonde hair flopping over his forehead – and his gown removed, the silken touch cooling and soothing his bare shoulders. All he wore – apart from a protective box and his underwear – was some light silken boxing shorts, Malcutta’s company logo emblazoned on one leg. The Droid, being a droid, wore no such Shorts, as it clamped up and down its corner of the ring. A Pretty young Zabrak girl wearing what can only be described as ‘not enough’ pranced around the perimeter, holding up a large Holocard. And with a ding, the round began.
The Commentator was shouting, but Sythbo had tuned it out. The HK was already making its first move, already having analysed Sythbo and lunging in for a sharp, but light, blow to his face. Not willing to let himself be beaten down this early on, Sythbo ducked around, getting out of the way while holding his fists up protectively against his face. The Punters wanted a good show, so the Droid was unlikely to throw any real punches until at least round three, but it paid to keep a clear head, just in case. Another punch was weaved away, and Sythbo saw an opening, throwing a punch of his own.
And then his hand hurt. All that had happened was a loud clunk as the nerves in Sythbo’s fist, deadened as they may be, told his head that the Droids armour was hard, hard enough to hurt. A lot. No time. Another punch. Another weave. A Jab. Block – ow. Blocking hurts as well. Walk it off. Uppercut – step away. Throw a punch of your own – lighter. Try not to hurt your- OWCH!
Sythbo stepped back dazed as the unexpected glancing blow to his cheek cut it open. Gasps and hoots from the crowd. Time to regain control. There. Back on feet – pretend it didn’t hurt. Throw a –and there. Round one over. Need Kolto. Stepping back Sythbo slouched onto a stool that had been placed in the red corner. Coach splashed some cool soothing Kolto over his face, stopping the bleeding on his cheek. And he was back up. Round two. Dodge. Dodge. Look at the pretty girl. Dodge. Punch, punch and OW! Sithspit that was probably a knuckle he broke on that HK’s chassis. More Kolto… But no more until round three. Shouldn’t’ve wasted it on a small facial graze. Take a blow to the side – roll with it, reduce damage. Still a chipped rib. Crowd cheering. They love a boy getting beaten up. Still, Sythbo still had a few tricks up his sleeve, this droid had seen battle. Tears on its front chassis was evidence of that, but less visible, like the filler used to repair the Droids left hip and collarbone plate. The seam was obvious, as was the spilloff around the edge of the metal. Ceramic. Tough, but brittle. A Punch at the right angle for each, and the Droid lost some protection. Not much, but enough.
Two jabs and two bits of armour plating fell to the floor in a cloud of shattered ceramic. The Crowd audibly gasped – the attack must have seemed like a punch harder than any of them had ever seen, shearing plate metal like that, but in truth it had taken barely any strength. Accuracy, that’s what Sythbo had, and he had landed them perfectly. In the leg, as expected, there was the wiring. Sixteen coloured nerve-wires, these were the most fragile. Tear them, and the HK lost a piston movement in its leg. Two hydraulic pumps, impossible for a fist to even dent. And lastly the sealed gearbox. His neck yielded disappointing results – all wires to the droids head were protected by another layer of armour, a spinal column. No chance of damage. So leg it is. Round two over.
Another sit. A Wet towel thrown onto his forehead – Sythbo felt the soothing burn of Kolto. Rudding coach was cheating. Again. Still, it helped. Up again. Pretty lady. Round three.
Round four. No chances of getting at the wires. HK Death knew the weakness, and every attempt was cold metal pain.
Round Five, just like round four.
Round Six! A Chance opened, and Sythbo took it. Got a nasty strike to the recently healed rib, but a low jab tore three of the wires, causing HK’s leg to kick out. Timing a strike, Sythbo took the Droid to the side of the head – destroying all his knuckles but sending the Droid sideways to the floor. Referee’s count. Five four three two one… Victory. Lots of disappointed betters. A few very joyous. Sythbo expected generous ‘gifts…’ All the closer to buying freedom. Turning, he heard the crowd gasp as he felt the cold metal around his leg. HK Death was still active – and angry. Its other hand grabbed Sythbo’s knee on the opposite leg and, losing his balance, brought him to the floor. On his back, Sythbo looked up in fear at the Droid that pulled itself up his body eyes red… a different colour to earlier. With a crackle, the aged speech devices began to work.
“Query: Will meatbag surrender its life before or after its medal?”
Sythbo tried kicking, but one leg was pinned down by the heavy chassis, the other still gripped in one of the Droids hands. Its head reared over his, and the other hand reached down for his heart… but it was closing over his medallion?
“NO!” Sythbo Cried as, with a burst of strength he threw his hands around his opponent’s neck. His fingers slipped into a gap at the back of the spinal plating – odd there should have been a sealing plate. Regardless he seized the advantage and with all his strength bent the column open, tearing at the wires. Slowly, the Droids eyes faded out as the head came off in his hand. As the body reset, the victorious boxer climbed to his feet, HK head in hand. Raising it high, the crowds erupted into cheers. All but one cloaked figure at the back, which silently slipped away.