Octagon Freak vs. Warsman

They were back again. The nightmares that had been haunting for the past few months. They were relentlessly realistic and frightening.The people, they were scared... They taunted and retaliated at nothing. They fought, and threw things, and they didn't even know what they were doing. They forced him into darkness; he had no other choice.

No one knows what it's like.To be the bad man. To be the sad man. No one knows what it's like. To be hated, to be fated to telling only lies. But my dreams, they aren't as empty as my conscience seems to be...

No, my dreams aren't as empty as my conscience. They were filled with hatred, anger, and plots for revenge. But Octagon was better than that. He shot up and eyed the alarm clock. It was 11 o' clock, and he could already tell this was going to be another sleepless night. He rolled off of the dirty futon, and strode into the kitchen, the carpet bristles bending at his footsteps.

The cold tile floor froze his feet as he walked to the refrigerator. He opened it, and the old light bulb flickered on. The 'fridge was old and dirty all the time, but Octagon couldn't get his hands on much in this world. He grabbed the half-eaten sandwich from supper earlier, and sat at a make-shift table made from a box and a few, three-legged chairs. He munched on the sandwich sadly, as he thought about what he would do tomorrow.

He would be doing the same thing he always did. He would keep to himself in this old, abandonned apartment building. The contractors said "the foundation was shaky" but it was fine. They just wanted the owners of the apartment building to pay for a new one to be put up. At 11:10, the window crashed open in the kitchen, and Octagon saw a canister rolling around on the floor. It spun in circles and spewed forth an aweful green-grey smog. Another canister joined it, and together they quickly filled the room with green-grey smog. Octagon panicked, and couldn't concentrate on what was going on. Soon, all he saw was darkness, as he body slumped off his stool, the sandwich landing on the floor next to him.

I have hours, only lonely, my love is vengeance that's never free. No one knows what it's like to feel these feelings like I do. And I blame you. No one bites back as hard on their anger. None of my pain and woe can show through...


Soon, the darkness faded away, and Octagon awoke in a brightly lit room. The walls and floor and ceiling were all perfectly white. All accept for the wall to Octagon's right, which was occupied by a large mirror. Octagon looked aound him, and saw his gear laying in heaps. He quickly put it on, and positioned everything. The mirrored wall then spoke.

"Hello. You are being tested in a government, classified program to test both your abilities and your chances at being an applicant." Octagon listened to the cold, lifeless voice as it droned on, he and said quietly,

"Applicant? Wha..." Octagon was cut off by the voice again.

"You will be engaging in combat with the partner that the Facility has paired you with," it paused momentarily. "Attempt to leave this room will result in death. Failure to fight your partner will result in death. Attempting to break the mirrored wall will result in death," it paused again quickly, and then followed with, "Thank you for participating in this experiment. If you succede, you shall be granted your freedom. Thank you again, and good luck."

The machine stopped. It's voice had been annoying to Freak, and it's strange robotic emphasis on "In death," was nearly madening. But before Freak could think about it any more, his "partner" fell into the room, via an opening and closing magic hole in the ceiling. He landed with a dull thud, and began to wake up. Freak didn't want to waste any time, and ran for his target, forming to giant-sized fists of darkness around his own, and jumping up in the air, coming down with crushing force.

No one knows what it's like, to be the bad man, to be the sad man, to be the mad man, behind blue eyes.

Warsman barely remembered what happened the day before - strolling through his castle in the fields of Ireland, playing a flute merrily while supper cooked. Something had taken him out, but he resisted to remember what - a gas of sorts, some foul odor that knocked him cleanly into a dreamlike state.

He memorized their faces as he stagger in and out of consciousness - making note of their features as they rushed him on a wheeled table. His body was numb - extremely so, like he had no body under his neck. He took a peek at his arms and legs: needles and syringes as far as he could see. He heard their voices:

"He's waking up, give him more of the gas!"

One of them placed a plastic mask over his nose and mouth, spraying a green and gray gas from it. He recognized the odor - the one from earlier, in his castle. But its effects were the same.

He began to dream strange things of bright colors and swirling vortexes of doom, gaping maws lined with rows of teeth dancing madly with miniscule arms and legs, their mouths seemingly their entire body as eyes dangled from attenae. Something was in those syringes.......

Awakening in a bright environment, being forced out of the belly of a machine like a child in birth, he grunted at the sudden blare in his eyes. His hands traced the faint patter of footsteps - angry ones. Blindness had made up for itself as Warsman sprang to the side, his sense of touch able to trace the vibrations of ghostly feet.

Sight recovering, Warsman looked at his foe - a dirty, downtrodden young man with enormous black fists. Seeing white everywhere, blood rushed to his head as he stood up again, making him stagger in one direction and then another; nothing seemed straight.

Taking whatever consciousness he possessed at the moment and throwing it at his foe in the form of a fist, Warsman would back away and recover more so, massaging his temples at a soothing pace to clear away the migrane.

Octagon slammed his fists into the ground with thunderous crash. The fists disapated, and Octagon saw that he hadn't even dented the floor. Octagon stood from his leaning postition, and saw really for the first time his frightening opponent. He was big, and ugly. Scars wrapped around his body like worms. The beast took a wobbly step forward, and threw a half-hearted right hook at Octagon.

Octagon watched the fist go by, as he simply side-stepped it. Then the ugly thing rubbed his head. Octagon could tell that this thing had had a much rougher time getting here than he had. Octagon looked at it as it stumbled, and struggled to keep it's footing. Octagon's pity faded as soon as he remembered "in death," and he formed a dagger of darkness in his hand.

Octagon had little trouble approching the creature, as it stumbled about. Octagon wasn't even sure that it had seen him coming. Octagon observed his opponent for a moment more, before raising the dagger high in the  air. He could feel the glass wall behind him watching. Playing its little games with them. Octagon then realized he's been holding the dagger in the air for far too long, and it was seeking, hungering for flesh and blood. Octagon wasted no more time, and guided the dagger straight for the meat that it wanted, right in the back.

Taking in the bright lights, Warsman finally gained some measure of consciousness, but all too late.

The strange blade pierced his flesh with relative ease, but a sensation that was both strange and painful to the cyborg filled the wound - it was like the blade was chewing on him. Out of the corner of his eye, he surveyed his opponent with point-blank detail. He was tired-looking and weathered, something that one would expect of a person who has seen much and told little.

Motioning a hand to rip the blade from his back by twisting his arm around and throwing a punch at the strange man, this time with his usual amount of held-back power, he would feel around for the blade and attempt to rip it out, if he could.

He was still a tad groggy and the room seemed to spin at times, but he shook off these feelings and began to feel like himself again.

"Who the hell are you and why are you trying to kill me?" he asked coldly, his piercing eyes flashing a steely-gray.

Octagon's blade sunk into heavy flesh, and the engeries dug and bit around. The strange creature threw a punch at Octagon, and the force caused him to lose his footing, and stumble back. The creature reached a hulking arm around and tried to snatch the dagger from his shoulderblade. But Octagon swayed the blad handle back and forth so that he could not. Octagon could tell that the pain was awakening the beast from his dizzy slumber, so he kept his distance. Octagon continued to move the dagger from reach, toying with the beast, when suddenly, it spoke.

"Who the hell are you and why are you trying to kill me?"  Octagon had not expected this creature to be able to talk. In his surprise, he almost forgot how to speak himself. The beast's cold, piercing voice broke Octagon's concentration, and the dagger faded away. He studdered at first, but then collected himself, and said,

"You can speak? I had thought you were simply a mindless beast meant to test me in battle," Octagon eyed the creature, his white eyes piercing through the darkness in his cowl. Then it occured to Octagon that the creature had not been conscious when the annoying machine had played it's message. "You don't know why you're here, do you?" Octagon asked. And as the last word slipped from his cowl, a loud buzzer rang, and the room turned red momentarily.

"Inactivity! Move around more!" The wall said. Hearing the message, Octagon formed some throwing knives in front of him, and hurled them towards his opponent.

Warsman sneered at the mechanical voice, but before he could crush where he came from with an energy blast from his right hand, which began to glow, his foe threw daggers at him.

He teleported and reappeared in the same spot to dodge an initial wave, but a second wave of knives pierced into his body, making blood seep from the wounds as the one on his back began to heal. He felt the same "eating" sensation as before and he ripped the things from his arms and torso, throwing them to the ground.

"Of course I don't know why I'm here, do you think I'd be so calm if someone told me to kill another?"

He said, taking in the example his foe set for him as what was going on. Teleporting a second time, he reappeared behind the strange man, his hands dangling near his throat.

"I can do that all day if I want."

He smiled evilly, vanishing into a cloud of purple-black smoke before reappearing in front of this new opponent, a fist outstreched to pummel him in the lower torso.

"I'll rip you inside-out!"

Octagon saw his tactic of staggering the knives had worked. The disctractoin wave went by as planned, and the second wave sunk into the beast's thickened skin.

Angered, the beast grabbed the knives, and tossed them, and they disapeared before they ever hit the ground. The beast teleported behind Octagon, hands threatening a choke. He said something, and appeared before Octagon, landing a low uppercut.

Octagon acended, and then flew back a few feet before landing on his belly. His armor absorbed most of the blow, but the pain still lingered. Octagon looked up at the giant, and said,

"Well, the wall over there wants us to fight. I don't know why, but if we don't the wall will apparently kill us. So either one of us kills the other, or.....," he lowered his voice so that the wall couldn't hear him, "we find a way to get out of here and destroy the wall..."

"Well, the wall over there wants us to fight. I don't know why, but if we don't the wall will apparently kill us. So either one of us kills the other, or.....," he lowered his voice so that the wall couldn't hear him, "we find a way to get out of here and destroy the wall..."

The man's words were low and silent, yet Warsman chuckled some.

Teleporting in front of the foe, he aimed a hand to force him against a bright wall by his throat.

"They will merely get more, kill us off and get more." He said in a harsh whisper.

Vanishing again, he reappeared in front of his new foe, this time both fists aimed specifically for the place he had struck earlier, unwilling to let the possibility that he could regenerate pass by. Leaning in close, he said:

"We continue to fight each other for a while, lead It into believing we're about to kill each other and then---"

He was cut off by a beam of light that shot from a turret in the ceiling, leaving a mar on the perfectly albino floor which disappeared as the tile it had burned flipped over into a new face.

"Insufficiency! Less speech!" said the voice from behind the wall.

Warsman charged again, hands into fists and feet ripping through the silent room angrily.

Octagon looked at the mad man, as he was lifted into the air up against the wall. He teleported away, and started to say something interesting,

"We continue to fight each other for a while, lead It into believing we're about to kill each other and then---" the man was cut off as a turret shot a laser out in warning. The machine spoke again, more annoying than ever. It wanted them to fight more, and talk less. Well, Octagon could do that if his opponent could. They would just have to find another way to communicate.

Warsman then attacked in a flurry of punches and kicks, which Octagon suffered the wrath of. His suit kept him together, but each blow was more painful than the last. Octagon rolled to his feet, and was about to attack when the room buzzed, and five platforms of different heights came up from the floor. Octagon stood on the lowest platform, but soon teleported to the center, and highest platform. He charged an energy ball, and hurled it as his opponent with deadly force.

Then he backed off-center of the platform he was on, and formed a sword in each hand, waiting for his opponent.

An orb of swirling energies came barreling at the cyborg as the floor erupted into platforms of varying height, the opponent taking a perch on the highest one. It was fast and Warsman barely had enough time to reach up a hand to absorb it at the cost of burned fingers. Shaking off the hurt, he leaped at his foe, hands clenched into a fist-hammer, before bringing it down upon him with crushing power and speed.

The room began to sprout a sprinkler system in the ceiling, spewing droplets of heavy rain on them, somewhat simulating a hostile environment. Water poured down his body in an instant as the lights dimmed, making it seem like a nighttime thunderstorm.

Warsman smiled and vanished once more, reappearing with an uppercut aimed for his foe's chin. He would chase this man down, but not kill him....yet.

He began to speak with him again in a low whisper, continuing where he left off:

"We break down the glass, kill whoever's doing this, and escape. Then we fight outside of controlled conditions."

Landing on a rising platform, which was about ten feet in height, he crouched low on all fours to be able to counterattack once his opponent retaliated.

Octagon stood waiting, when Warsman came suddenly, and attacked, but Octagon jumped back, barely missing the attack. Just as Octagon was about to attack, a few sprinklers sprouted from the ceiling, and the lights dimmed. The wall was simulating a late-night storm. 

"Okay, I've just about had it with this test!!!" Octagon shouted in anger. He turned to face the wall, when a fist put Octagon to the floor. He looked up dizzily, and heard Warsman say, 

"We break down the glass, kill whoever's doing this, and escape. Then we fight outside of controlled conditions."

Octagon looked up as his opponent disappeared again. He pulled himself up, and found his opponent crouching on a mid-level platform. The rain poured down, and drained into the holes where the platforms had raised. A crack of thunder, and a flash of light appeared. Freak shielded his eyes, and thought to himself,

"Now they're trying to distract us with loud noises and bright lights? This is complete bullshit...."

The rain made Octagon's cowl heavy, but he tried to ignore it. The rain was kind of nice actually, because he's worked up some heat roughhousing with Warsman, and it was a welcomed oppurtunity to calm down. Octagon then ran toward the edge of the platform, and hurled an engergy ball at Warsman, and then teleported in a flurry of energy attacks and waves from all angles. Then Octagon teleported himself to the platform right across from Warsman's, and watched the darkness fly around him.

A flash of light - some kind of false lightning.

"This is complete bullshit." He heard the stranger say.

"Couldn't agree with you more." The cyborg thought.

Avoiding the black orb with an instant to spare, his legs and arms spread wide as he forced himself skyward to evade the thing, Warsman teleported as did the stranger. The cyborg matched each of his foe's moves and blows, his knuckles red afterwards for meeting each of his opponent's furious attacks.

"Yes, more fighting!" The voice from the wall said.

Warsman cast it an angry glance as he settled back down on a platform, which slowly rose to match the ever-changing terrain. This time, the ground began to fill with a fine sediment and the ceiling erupted into a blaze of hellish lights.

"Gah!" Warsman said, shielding his face with both arms as he ducked from the sudden brightness.

Octagon flipped around with the man in air for awhile, while they struggled to gain leverage on one another. Warsman fell back to his platform of choice, as did Freak. Then the platforms all changed levels again, and the floor erupted into a fine sediment, and the room lit up like a Christmas tree.

Octagon shielded his eyes from the light, and stepped of the platform, and walked into the sandy substance.

"What is this?! A F@&king day at the beach?!" Octagon shouted, enraged. His vision was coming back to him, and he could see Warsman was also having difficulties adjusting to the light. Octagon teleported over to him, and put him in a fake choke hold, and leaned his head in close to Warsman's ear.

"Listen, we'll never be able to fight under these kinds of conditions. This is crazy, and that wall is going to kill us before we can even finish this. Let's say we bust outta here? I'll even let you make the call..." Octagon was still pretending to strangle his opponent, and had his back turned to the wall, so it would never know the difference.

The arm wrapped around his neck with the intent of disguising itself as painful. Wars only followed this ruse in the hopes that his foe had some idea of breaking out of here - which, coincidentally, he did.

"Listen, we'll never be able to fight under these kinds of conditions. This is crazy, and that wall is going to kill us before we can even finish this. Let's say we bust outta here? I'll even let you make the call..."

Wars smiled as he drew a fist forward and let his elbow slam at his foe's ribs, with the usual held-back power so that it would only cause a bruise at most - it had to be convincing. He would then reach out to grab the freak's throat and thus pin him to the platform they were both battling on, which was lowering as the ceiling darkened and a light mist settled in, the floor turning from a pile of sand to a raging river at the height of its freezing temperature. The "sky" was gray, now, and it seemed like they were trapped on the only platform in sight in the midst of all this.

"Okay, you piece of sh!t," the cyborg said, trying to make what he was saying convincingly cruel while disguising his true intention - an agreement.

"We only have one chance for you to survive in the same room with me and that is if you do something drastic."

He threw a half-hearted punch, more of a smack really, and leaned in closer to the guy.

"I'm going to throw you into the wall!" he whispered harshly.

Octagon listened to what his opponent had to say, and then Warsman attacked him, but Octagon could tell that he was pulling his punches. The room was wet and cold now, and the two were still going at it, and Warsman was talking empty trash talk.

Warsman leaned in, and said,

"I'm going to throw you into the wall!"  And with that, Warsman picked up Octagon and tossed him toward the wall. Octagon flew at soaring speeds, and braced his face with his arms before the impact. The glass shattered, but there was a problem. The mirror had been a fake, and a brick wall was hidden beneath it. Octagon crashed into it, and fell to the floor in a daze.

The room flashed a dark red. The platforms sunk back down to be level with the floor. The sediment was pulled away by a vaccum system, and the rain stopped.

"You were warned. You were told not to break the glass. You were told it would result in death....," there it was again, that strange, robotic emphasis on "in death." The voice now crackled over a speaker system, and the room remained in its red hue.

Drones popped up from the ceiling and floors and walls. They all targeted Octagon and Warsman with lasers and rockets. But Octagon didn't know it, because the impact had rendered him unconscious.

"Crap."

Wars ducked aside as the drones fired whatever weapons they had to offer, making either explosions or scorch-marks on the perfectly pale floor. Angered by that damn voice, Warsman yelled as he threw a punch at the brick wall, shattering it as he did so. However, it had already begun to reform - some kind of regenerative substance with the consistency of brick. Wars, against both his better judgment and his gut instinct, put the one he was fighting over his shoulder, throwing himself along with the stranger through the hole he made as it closed.

Sighing with triumph, he put the stranger down and leaned against the now-sealed off wall, but his eyes darkened as a peppy female voice came from overhead.

"Hey! You must be the ones for testing today. I'll wait until your friend wakes up and then you'll give me a good show, okay?" said she.

Wars sighed again as he was allowed time for preparation this time, making most of it by striding around the room as the brick wall was once again covered by thick glass.

"There is no way out of this room!" The voice chimed in again. "You're going to fight or die!"

Octagon's vision slowly returned as he pulled his head off the ground. He looked around, and saw a white room, with white walls, floor, and ceiling. And there was a big mirror too. It was much better than the last room.

Wait. It was the last room. Almost exactly the same room. Octagon was guessing that the process would start over now, and this place probably had a myriad of rooms just like this in everydirection. He tried to make it look like he was still knocked out, but shifted his head slightly, and said,

"What if we make it look like you killed me? If you win, maybe they'll show us the way out of here..," Octagon saide in a low tone.

"Hey! Is he awake yet?!" asked the voice impatiently.

Wars knew he was trying to talk to him, so he looked from the strange man to the ceiling.

"No, he, um, talks in his sleep."

"Well tell him to hurry up and stand on his feet or he's gonna get shocked!"

As if at the press of a button, large devices with tongs, electrical current leaping in-between the prods, descended and ascended from both the ceiling and the floor. Wars, being weak to electrical power this potent, shuddered and took to his feet, ready to run in any direction the guy wanted him to.

"Hope you have a plan." The cyborg harshly whispered.

Octagon was fully awake, and was ready to let the computer know it. He stood to his feet, and shook off his weariness. He looked over at the mirror in disgust, and then looked over at his opponent. He teleported up close, and kneed the giant in the gut, and whispered,

"Oh yeah, I've got a plan." With that, Octagon teleported around, unleashing a flurry of attacks that were mostly for show, but still moved Warsman around a little bit. Octagon continued to fight, while he thought about his next move, and then it came to him suddenly. He landed in front of Warsman and yelled angrily,

"Come on. HIT ME!!!!!!! I DARE YOU!!!!" Octagon shouted so loud, his voice quivered slightly. And as Warsman came closer, he was about to attack, when Octagon flashed a black wave that filled the room, masking the attack from the wall.

The probes backed away once the freak started to pummel the cyborg, the voice in the wall yelling cheerfully.

Wars was only following the motions of his foe's attacks really for fear of the electrical probes coming out to attack, but once the guy taunted him in his face, that just tore the line apart. Wars threw a blow at the guy's face with full defensive force, hoping to at least knock him away and out of the cyborg's personal space, though he would've easily sailed across the room.

"What the hell was that?!" Wars yelled, seeing the blackened wall, knowing it was blind, but not deaf.

"What plan?! Are you trying to get away from me?!" The voice cried out sharply.

"No ma'am!" Wars replied.

Coming in close to the freak, he whispered harshly, reaching out for his throat.

"Shut the hell up about a plan, you idiot."

"I wasn't aware that the wall had such good hearing," Octagon choked out. Then he teleported away from him, and recovered from the assult. He then stood, and watched Warsman. He was finished playing around with him. He was literally going to have to piss off the cyborg in order for the plan to work. The wall would be able to spot any further acting or conspiracy.

Octagon lunged forward, sending an energy wave out ahead of him, and then forming two daggers in his hands, and appeared in front of the beast, and aimed his daggers for the chest.

After that little stunt, Octagon backed off, and hurled grenade like energy orbs all over Warsman's side of the room

"I really hope he doesn't kill me for this," Octagon thought to himself.

The freak was obviously done with trying to work with Wars, as he unleashed some serious attacks on him.

"Oh, you don't want to play anymore?!"

Wars took the knives in stride and smote his fists upon their hilts, sending them whirling straight back at his foe accented with a coat of blood upon each blace. Orbs flew out at him after this scenario, each sending clouds of black fog into the air that stung the cyborg's eyes as each of them detonated with furious power.

Wars staggered out of the cloud, clawing at his face trying to rub his eyes clean of the foul sting. He caught sight of a blur in the pale white room and bolted at it, his eyes watering from the burn.

The knives came flying back at Octagon, but he waved them aside, and they disappated.

Octagon saw his opponent stumble out of the smoke, and try to attack him. Octagon wanted to dodge this blurry-eyed attack, but if his plan was going to work, he would need to take as many hits as possible. He stepped into his opponent's grasp, and let him attack.

The wall didn't seem to notice what Freak was up to, and some rocks jutted up from the floor.

The knives came flying back at Octagon, but he waved them aside, and they disappated.

Octagon saw his opponent stumble out of the smoke, and try to attack him. Octagon wanted to dodge this blurry-eyed attack, but if his plan was going to work, he would need to take as many hits as possible. He stepped into his opponent's grasp, and let him attack.

The wall didn't seem to notice what Freak was up to, and some rocks jutted up from the floor.

The guy was frail and if Wars was any more sane, he would worry about snapping him in half. However, he was pissed off beyond caring about that at this point and forced Freak into the wall. The glass was harder than in the other room, Wars had studied it before and it was thick, powerful, and built to adapt to an attacker's level of strength, something Wars had already made it keen to by busting through it.

Inside his mind, Wars spat at himself for making escape more impossible. However, as he backed away from Freak, he noticed the floor had an echo under it. Calming now, the cyborg waited for the guy to get back up.

Octagon had made the sleeping giant angry. It had awoken, and had blindly rushed his way into Octagon. Warsman pinned Octagon to the glass wall. His back slid up the wall smoothly, with a squeaking noise. Octagon looked into the beast's eyes. They had lost all compassion, they were as cold as steel, and just as hard. They pierced through his skull, and straight into his mind.

Warsman's forearm was laying across Octagon's throat, pinning his windpipe closed. The world around him was fading to black, and the white room disappeared behind Warsman. Then only his glare was left in Octagon's field of vision. As soon as Octagon thought he was going to fade out forever, he dropped suddenly to the floor.

He had gained enough strength to look up at Warsman. He glared down on him with a different pair of eyes. They were aware. Octagon could sense that Warsman knew that something was up. He knew something that would lead them out.

"What are you DOING?! Finish him off! You'll be victorious, and have your freedom again! KILL HIM!!!! KILL HIM!!!!!!!!" the machine babbled on and on. Freak glanced up at Warsman, and whispered,

"Do it."

Wars didn't know what entered his mind to make the nerves contract and send orders to clusters of muscle in his legs to make them bend. All he knew was that it was helping the escape.

An elbow collided with the floor, which shattered as the flesh made its furious contact, followed by a set of ribs and eventually the full weight of the cyborg being concentrated on one point. The machine went into a frenzied panic as Wars crashed through the floor, plummeting into an abyss of shattered glass and blood. There was a crash, flesh against stone, and Wars looked around him - a rocky plateau surrounded by dark sand and blaring winds. The sun caused him to shun away from the perfectly blue sky.

There wasn't a reverberating droll in the air - it was outside, but it still wasn't safety.

Turrets burst from the sandy rocks, each aiming twin cannons at the cyborg and humming with the taste of combat.

"Oh.....crap."

Forming a cross-guard with his arms, Wars took the brunt of the attacks, but his skin grew marred and burned. Teleporting, he made a mad dash for the desert, unaware of his foe and the armed guards who followed after him, joining in the firefight that was clearly in their favor.