The Cage- Tag Brandon

From Create Your Own Story

"Brandon! My man! Hey, dude, maybe you can make that little trick work this time!"

Brandon Looks at you. He is not happy, but there's nothing he can do about it. Within the rules, anyway. Hopefully this six-foot-plus, black bandana and wifebeater-wearing, handlebar mustachioed tower of muscle with "ONE PERCENTER" tattooed around his neck will follow the rules. Hopefully.

"Okay, Brandon, I need you to challenge someone. Not the goody two-shoes that just tried to sentence you to an early death, though; someone not in the winner's circle. Think you're up to that task, Brandon?"

Brandon doesn't seem to like being called that. He probably hasn't been called that in a long time, except maybe by law enforcement officers and judges. Maybe the name he prefers is tattooed on him somewhere.

Oh, there it is. "B-Dog." It's tattooed in a heart, right next to "Linda."

"Take your time, Brandon. And if you break any rules in here, I'll break YOU."

Well, that's a relief.

Brandon puts his anger aside for the moment and assesses his situation, which clearly sucks. He's got four people to choose from: an old square, a bitch in a business suit, daddy's little college girl, and the Beav. No matter which one he challenges, they can call for a popularity contest and protect themselves from the assault on their domestic bliss by sentencing his ass to death as a family.

As a square fucking suburban sitcom family.

...is he actually thinking that? Or are you just thinking he's thinking that?

"Man to man," he says, pointing at the Middle-Aged Man. "Try to hide behind the fucking tie and there are no more rules in here, no matter what HE says."

"Duel," comes the reply, without hesitation. Brandon seems taken aback; he probably wasn't expecting that to work. He almost definitely wasn't expecting it to work that quickly.

"YES!" The Speaker throws his arms up in the air. "Brandon chooses to mess with the bull! Give him the horns, Principal! And seriously, the rest of you? You do NOT want to miss this fight. This is gonna be awesome. I was hoping these two Brutes would throw down."

Huh?

"Oh, man, we're off to a GREAT start, guys. Super serious. I just want to say I'm really proud of all of you. Alright, time for someone to die! Square off, gentlemen!"

Brandon looks at the Middle-Aged Man.

"What's your name, man?"

"Rick."

"Nothing personal, Rick."

"Likewise."

Fist tap.

"Alright, that's enough of that shit. FIGHT!"

And do they ever. Both of them are moving entirely too goddamn fast. Punches, blocks, and kicks quickly degenerate into grabs, dodges, and rolls. All at least three times the speed of possible.

Neither combatant seems to have a handle on his own newfound quickness, let alone his opponent's. Even Brandon, doubtless the more experienced fighter of the two, is an amateur at this speed. That, and Rick is just a tiny bit faster than him somehow. If he wants to gain an edge, he's going to have to neutralize Rick's speed so he can afford to stop using his own. He needs to corner him.

"Come on, stop dancing! Will someone land a punch or something? Please?"

Rick is dancing like a jet-powered butterfly. The hurricane of speed he can call on is a great equalizer; he just has to keep his footing and wait for Brandon to slip up, then dart in and cripple him. The two orbit each other counter-clockwise (they're both right-handed) around the center of the Cage. Rick just needs to wait for his opportunity...

...and Brandon decides he's had enough. He roars.

It's not as scary this time. Rick doesn't have the Speaker's self-control, though; he runs away from Brandon in terror. "Away from Brandon" happens to be directly towards the Sorority Girl in her corner, whom everyone had forgotten about during the fighting.

Rick, in a blind, animalistic panic, tries to pull her out of the corner so he can hide behind her. She screams and kicks him - nearly halfway across the Cage. Wow, that girl's got some leg strength.

And Brandon is pissed. He doesn't give Rick any time to recover. He dashes, putting his full momentum into a kick to Rick's kidney. It's not even a fight anymore.

Brandon just keeps kicking, each steel-toed impact generating a thumping sound that resonates through the cage. You can feel the sound. He punctuates each kick with an unintelligible grunt or curse or cry.

Then he completely loses control and starts biting.

"Oh my God." The Professional-Looking Woman puts her hand over her mouth and looks away.

An unmistakable growl escapes Brandon's throat, and quickly turns into a low gurgle as he laps up Rick's blood like an animal. Like a fucking animal.

"Aw, shit! I think we've got a winner! Let's let the Hulk finish his meal, and then we'll finish up for the night."

A few minutes later, Rick dissolves into a pile of ash as Brandon mauls a fresh limb, looking for more blood. Brandon stands up. The entire front of his body is red. Underneath that, something is definitely different. He seems... less reasonable. More like The Speaker.

Brandon rubs his belly. He seems calm, and his skin has a healthier glow to it (under all the blood). He looks satisfied. You're still thirsty, and that blood smells way more delicious than it should.

"So tell me, B-Dog - can I call you B-Dog? I just want to say that you sure as shit impressed me today. You're rough around the edges, but you're adapting quick. I get the feeling you're genuine Sabbat material. Please prove me right. How you feeling, man? You're in the Winner's Circle with Judas there, and you get to tag the next challenger."

"Her," he says, pointing at the Sorority Girl. A look of terror takes her over and she begins crying. Brandon shrugs. "It's gonna happen sooner or later. At least this way you get to pick who you're up against."

The Speaker nods. "Whatever. Okay, the Frat Mattress gets to issue her challenge first thing tomorrow night. Get some rest until then. And if any of you go suspiciously missing between now and when I come back, I'll be very upset. Sleep tight, bedbugs." The Speaker leaves.

B-Dog walks up to you, smiling. He puts his arm around your shoulder. He leans over to whisper in your ear. "If you challenge me, I'll start believing in God." He gives you a condescending pat on the head and sits down with his back against the bars.

"So what are you all doing tonight?"

Do you:

• Talk to B-Dog
• Talk to Sorority Girl
• Talk to Teenage Boy
• Talk to Professional-Looking Woman
• Look Around
• Get some rest

Current Status

• Safe, you think
• Really thirsty
• Pretty damn scared

Inside the Cage

• You (Winner's Circle)
• B-Dog (Winner's Circle)
• Sorority Girl (Tagged)
• Professional-Looking Woman
• Teenage Boy
• Five Coffins

Outside the Cage

• No one