Bryan Daniels vs. Makoto Takeda - Hard Restart

Mako wasn’t sure how many headbutts it took before Bryan finally let go. That was the thing about using your brain case as a blunt weapon, it sort of made higher cognitive functions hard to process. It was more than two, she was sure of that, and two was one more than she’d expected.

Regardless, it worked, and it well worth the raging headache that happened after she was released. Pain was good. Pain she could work through. Pain was a good friend of hers, and she was going to make sure Bryan was introduced to her,

She fell to her knees and shook her head, looking up to see Bryan on the ropes, reeling just as bad as she was. She was hurting too much for anything complex, but the plan that was going through her head was a simple one. It’d suck for them both, but that seemed to be the order of the day.

With a feral shriek, Mako pushed to her feet and dashed towards Bryan, closing in fast. When she was close enough, she turned her body into a living missile and jumped into him with a spear, trying to take them both through the ropes and to the floor outside.

Throbbing head pains and an overwhelming sense of dizzied wooziness weren't exactly what Bryan was hoping to gain from latching onto Makoto in that bearhug. But it was all he got for going out of his way to end this match relatively peacefully.

After having straightened his vision enough so now he only saw two Mako's instead of four, Bryan briefly contemplated what to do next before the pint-sized biker made the decision for him. Bryan widened his eyes from seeing Mako wildly charge at him like a bat out of hell. As winded as he was, he knew he could drop to the floor and have Mako be sent flying. Thing was, as fast as she sprinting, that type of fall could be damn near unsettling to watch. The type of fall that ends careers.

Dodge now and let fate take it from there...or take the spear and be in for a world of hurt.

Bryan was starting to really hate being chivalrous...

"Oooph!!" Mako's shoulder torpedoed into his crumbling abs with enough driving momentum to send them both tumbling through the middle and bottom ropes. Stumbling and bouncing off the edge of the canvas, the hardest part of the ring, like being in a tumble dry of pain. The model athlete instinctively going the extra mile in being the chivalrous dope by clutching and hugging onto Mako tightly throughout the entire downfall. Shielding her from the worse of the fall until he came to an exhausted stop on his back with his limbs spread to his side, head tilted to the side, and only mumbled groans escaping his lips.

As Mako charged forward, she saw the look in Bryan’s eyes, the realization of what was about to happen. He didn’t seem to be moving or even attempting a dodge, which struck her as an odd choice. He could’ve been freezing up, or maybe he had some kind of plan going on.

Mako wasn’t sure why he didn’t move. After another step, she’d reached the point where she didn’t care.

She plowed into him at full speed and force, and calling the result a car crash wouldn’t have been too far off the mark. Out of the ring they tumbled, arms and legs flopping about, until the two of them crashed on the floor in a heap. Hurting. Aching. Irritated.

The crowd liked it, though. ”HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT!”

With an exasperated groan, Mako sat up and started to stand, giving Bryan a quick kick in the ribs as she rose. With a huff, she grabbed the apron and clumsily rolled her way back into the ring, letting him stay out there as the referee began a count.

”1!”

And of course, Bryan's efforts to keep Mako from getting a rather nasty concussion was met with just as much gratitude as he would have come to expect from the ornery biker. Namely not one word of appreciation and a swift boot to his ribs to compound the aches he was already feeling from the downward collapse out of the ring.

"HOLY SHIT!!! HOLY SHIT!!!"

Well at least the fans were appreciative, though for entirely different reasons.

Bryan half-heartedly rolled to his side after the stiff punt, but remained stationery for several seconds afterward before crawling to the nearby barricade. Pressing his back against it and using it as a sturdy structure to start a progressive climb upward. Fans over the side reassuringly patting him on his shoulders to will him back into the fight, and to take quick cell phone camera shots with a very semi-celebrity. Even with a wheezing cough and an aching back, Bryan would find his way to his feet before making his to the side of the ring and attempting to roll back in at the "7" count.

"8!"

Or eight. Bryan was really crunched for time here...

Mako made her way back in the ring and started pacing, stomping left and right as she waited to see if Bryan would be dumb enough to get back inside.

”2!”

He couldn’t be this stupid. She had the ground, she was going to wreck his shit if he tried to slide in.

”3!”

They weren’t fighting for a title or anything, and if there were any rankings in Tension, Mako sure as fuck hadn’t heard about them.

”4!”

So why push himself so much? What was he trying to prove? Did he like getting his skull caved in, was that it?

”5!

Mako suddenly stopped her stomping when she spied the sight of Bryan rearing his head, clumsily standing his way back up. Should’ve known. The guy was dumb, too dumb to know when to give up. Luckily for him, she could be a damn good teacher when she wanted to be.

”You better stay down, motherfucker!” Mako shrieked his way from the center of the ring. ”You better stay down, you better-”

With a gruff bark of fury, Mako stormed Bryan’s way and reached down, grabbing his hair and hauling him to her level. ”Having fun yet, jackass?” Mako reared back and gave him a quick punch in the face with her spare hand. ”Really starting to work my nerves, you know that?”

Bryan never really knew what was good for himself most of the time. Whether it was not having that extra Margarita before making it one too many. Not overtly flirting with the gorgeous red-head in the sports bar who walked in with a line-backer for the NFL. Or in this case, staying outside of the ring, taking the count out loss, and prevent himself from being walloped by the pint-sized biker who clearly had it out for him for some reason...

...but what kind of man would he be if he punked out like that? Not one that the fans love cheering for, that's for damn sure. The beloved fans he was doing all this for...well, including his own aspirations for fame and notoriety of course. And it was those clamoring fan-girls, and probably boys, that got him back into the ring with a heaving groan right before the nine count. Aching muscles, sore joints and all. Just a shame that he didn't even have time to celebrate that small miracle, as someone smaller walked up to him, tugged him back to his knees by his hair, and socked him right in his kisser.

"Huhhg!!" Bryan belted out and sagged as far back as could given that Mako's grip on his hair kept him from teetering back even further. The male models sagging arms remained limped at his sides, clearly too rattled and worn out by the strike and the spear to the outskirts of the ring to offer any reprisal or resistance...well, except for...

"..Did...did anyone evah tell ya how cute ya look when yer angry?~..." Bryan tiredly mumbled out thanks in large part to his rattled sensibilities, offering Mako as friendly a smile he could manage given he was staring up at the spiteful girl who was the cause of his aching frame and sore left cheek.

The crowd, of course, booed Mako as she lifted up the gaijin, hating the treatment she was giving him in this match. Why, she couldn’t quite understand. She was one of their own. Maybe a little dirty, but she hadn’t even cheated in this match yet. Not really. She could do so much worse.

She was winning, she was a conqueror, but all they wanted was for their little redheaded hero to succeed. Needless to say, this did nothing to improve Mako’s sour mood.

Bryan’s little taunt didn’t do it, either. In another, happier universe, maybe his joke would’ve gotten her to laugh, defrosted her. They could’ve been friends, and spent the night comparing histories and problems in their lives, bonding for some real fulfillment.

In this universe, though, Mako just let go of Bryan’s hair, reared her leg back, then swung it forward with a swift, powerful shin kick to his chest, making sure to throw all of her weight into the move for maximum effect. "Nope." She sneered his way, like he was a little cockroach who'd dared to crawl on her boots. "Not even once."

Maybe that would knock some of the humor out of him.

*Ah shit...here it comes...* This was about the sum total of Bryan's thoughts when he noticed Mako rearing her leg back way behind her. It was barely a millisecond of time to react to what was no doubt going to be a world of hurt for his wide-open pecs. It would have been hard enough to dodge if he wasn't already feeling like a punch-drunk boxer on the verge of tipping over anyway.

But considering he was still reeling from being shoulder tackled out of the ring with only a sock to the jaw to for his efforts for getting back into the ring, that kick may have been going slow as molasses and it still would have connected.

*Thwack*

Bryan whipped back down to the canvas from the echoing shin kick that left him sprawled out with his limbs spread wide before the towering, yet still decidedly pint-sized biker girl. The model athlete now wincing sharply both from the blinding lights and the throbbing pain in his caved in chest, wheezing and coughing slightly in his efforts to get some air back in lungs. Though once he did have the air and capability to say something in a raspy voice...

"...prolly cuz they're all 'fraid to. Don't make it any less true though...heh...*cough*...hurts to laugh..."

Some of her gang members were always asking Mako where she’d learn to kick like she did, how she managed to pack so much power into her little frame. They figured she had some tragic backstory, like she’d learned from some great sensei, only to abandon his peaceful teachings and go her own way. Something corny like that.

The truth was more boring - she’d just taught herself to keep from getting beaten up..then, later, so she could beat other people up. She didn’t need to go to a dojo to get good at kicking things, and she had a feeling that Bryan would likely agree.

The kick hit dead on and left him reeling on the floor. Sprawled out. Hurt. Clearly in a world of pain.

And yet, he was still fucking talking.

Mako couldn’t even tell what he was muttering, and she didn’t much care. She raised her foot up and dropped it hard on his chest, digging the heel into his muscled pec. ”Gonna stay down? Had enough?”

She leaned forward pressing her weight down to turn it into a pin. The referee slid over and started the count.

”1…!”

In a match where Bryan couldn't exactly say he was having the best of luck, he may have inadvertently been granted some when his own raspy voice and the booming audience both kept Mako from making out what he had just said in his deliriously beaten down state. The model athlete pretty sure that if Mako did hear him, she would have responded with more than just a stomp to his pecs...not that it didn't hurt anyway.

"2!"

Laid out and spread-eagled with mounting aches all over his sweat glistening frame, Bryan was in worse shape than he thought he would ever be in considering the diminutive size of the surly biker girl. It was embarrassing enough to be have his ass handed to him like this, but the fact that he was reeling from a girl two thirds his size made it that much more "special". But that lightweight size, and the fact this pin was hardly a professional rollup or anything like that, made it easy to kick out of.

Which he did, just after the two count. The model athlete rolling over to lay on his chest while gradually attempting push himself back up, a steady and rhythmic clap from the audience now sounding off as their way of willing him onward.