The Iron Price [FWC]

If one had to pick all the locales where an unscrupulous deal could be conducted, they would likely conjure up any number of sundry images. A back alley, dimly lit and reeking of garbage, with rats racing through the shadows. Some dark meeting room at the top of a skyscraper, with unnecessarily long table and tinted windows. Perhaps a bombed-out building with crumbling walls and delapidated floor, shunned for decades.

Anesthesia did love a good cliche, but for this meeting she chose something notably less hackneyed: a coffee shop in the middle of Tokyo, in the morning. An odd choice for her, and even odder still was what she wore for the occasion. Instead of her usual revealing attire, she was dressed in a grey sweater and blue jeans, perfect for the chilly weather. While it would hardly count as a disguise, in some ways, that was exactly what it was - people were so used to seeing her in revealing outfits that they scarcely recognized her when she wore something more mundane. She was simply sitting there in a corner booth, sipping away at her latte in one hand and reading her newspaper in the other.

Calm. Cool. Collected. Much unlike her companion, nervous shifting about in the seat beside her.

”I still say this whole thing is dumb.” Sista A let her opinion be known for the fifth time today, and for the fifth time, she was summarily ignored. ”Why are you hiring help when you have me? You want to throw away money, find a stripper.”

”Because,” The word was laced with a sigh. ”I have other plans for you. Other objectives. I want to keep you focused, my dear. Frankly, I thought you would approve on having a lighter work load."

Sista A clicked her teeth and huffed, sounding not unlike a child who couldn't get her way. ”Oh, bullshit. Like I'm stretched too thin for this? Please. Just let me do the work. I can handle it, easy, and it won't cost you a fucking dime.”

Anesthesia caught of couple of schoolgirls gazing their out of the corner of her eye, but a quick stare their way convinced them to mind their business. ”Your sudden concern for my financial well being is duly noted.” She finished up her latte and motioned for the waitress to bring her another, feeling quite refreshed already. ”At least wait until you meet our potential mercenary. She comes with a solid resume, a good record. You might be impressed.”

”Pfft. Doubt it.”

”We’ll see.” Anesthesia checked her phone - if their guest was a punctual sort, she’d be arriving soon. ”And do try to be a little less sullen when she arrives. First impressions are important.”

Mercenary

It was an apt description for the woman who rounded the corner at the end of the block just then, making her way to the agreed upon rendezvous point with an unhurried, confident stride. 

She was well equipped to deal with chilly, late winter morning, dressed in a black wool coat that reached down to her calves, cinched tight by a belt at the waist that accentuated the hour glass figure of the powerful body it adorned. Dark camo-fatigue pants shown just barely over polished black boots. The collar was lined with fur in a distinctly Russian style and would have stood out on the streets of Tokyo even if the woman wearing it wasnt taller then many of the men she passed. Right on time, ever the consummate professional when a potential payday was at stake, Zarya Volkov, the Iron Soldier, stepped into the coffee shop. 

She was the sort of person who thrived in the outlaw sport of Pro-wrestling, that oddest of businesses that attracted everything from star athletes to otherwise unemployable criminals. Zarya was a potent mix of both extremes, an olympic level athlete and military veteran who had fallen to outright criminality before discovering the fight game. She was never quite right after her military stint. It wasn't like the movies, where the hero faces adversity, stares into the abyss and comes out a stronger, better human being in the being. In reality, sometimes the result was someone like Zarya, who emerged from those trying years with all the worst aspects of her personality boiling to the surface, a volatile, borderline sociopath. 

She scanned the coffee shops interior, finding Anesthesia easily enough, having the advantage of knowing who to look for. Her companion, Sista A, Zarya recognized as well, but she gave the other woman no acknowledgment whatsoever. This was business, a matter between a mercenary and her potential employer. The Iron Soldier slid into the booth, sitting opposite of Anesthesia, motioning the waitress over and ordering a cup of Russian tea. 

"Good location. "Zarya remarked in a rich, lightly accented contralto, her lips curved into a faint, devilish smile that didn't touch her dark eyes. " They serve a decent cup of tea. It makes me think of home... and get all nostalgic."

Still smiling, Zarya leaned in closer, her voice a low growl of a sound barely above a whisper, her eyes shifting between both women to include Sista A." That said, I'm not a morning person, and if it turns out you're, as the Americans say, yanking my chain, I'm going to hurt you both."

"But there's no need for that!" She learned back in her seat, tone suddenly loud and  gregarious. "Much better to be friends, dah? More profit, less jail time."


She chuckled darkly to herself before glancing over her shoulder. " Now, where is that whore waitress with my tea?"

Sista A wasn’t quite what to expect from their guest, since Anesthesia seemed obsessed with it being a surprise, no matter how much she prodded. If that was what she was going for, it worked, because even though she couldn’t guess who the merc would be,  she wouldn’t have ever guessed it was what came in through the door. After all, she’d have thought Anesthesia would hire a human being, not a tank with legs.

Sista A had never seen this woman in the ring before, but she wagered that was because she was new. She had to be. The average Friction wrestler weighed around 120 lbs and rarely got over five and a half feet tall. This woman looked like she could eat the average Friction wrestler and still have room for a kawaii or two. She cut an imposing figure, drawing eyes from around the room as she made her way over. For her part, Sista A tried to keep her astonishment to a minimum, not let her surprise show. It wasn’t easy.

Anesthesia, for her part, barely seemed to notice the woman’s approach, keeping her eyes on the paper until Zarya finally spoke.

”Tch.” Sista A was willing to let their new ‘friend’ speak, but when she threatened them, well, she had to respond in the reflexive way. ”Watch your fucking mouth, Natasha. You're big, but I’ve knocked bigger bitches out before.”

That was a blatant lie, but Sista A sold it well.

Anesthesia merely sighed and calmly looked over Zarya over, taking her in with a small, but approving, nod. ”Ladies, ladies. Threats are hardly a good way to start off a friendship.” She looked between them as the ‘whore waitress’ came over to serve Zarya. Judging by the grimace on her face, she spoke English. At least enough to know what ‘whore’ meant. ”Zarya, this is my associate, Aisha Taylor - Sista A, as she’s called these days. Aisha, this is Zarya Volkov, a rather promising prospect I’ve had my eye on.” She neatly folded her newspaper and set it aside. ”Be polite.”

”Yeah, yeah.”  Sista A sneered and leaned back, blowing it all with feigned indifference.

Zarya accepted the cup of steaming liquid with such gracious manners it was hard to believe she'd just insulted the poor waitress moments prior. The fragrant tea filled the air between them with the scent of citrus and cinnamon.

"Don't take it to heart. My words... just playful banter, dah? It's how these things go. A few insults, threats of bodily harm, nothing serious. Now we all know where we stand. No need to be nervous." Zarya explained to both, though it was clearly in response to Aisha. The bigger woman had started to focus more of her attention on Anesthesia's companion. 

It wasn't that she pegged Sista A for a liar, she couldn't tell one way or the other. Rather, Zarya was sincerely interested in finding out if this familiar looking woman could back up her own trash talk. Where has she seen that face before? She peered at Sista A, a predator considering a potential meal, before letting the matter go for the time being. After all, she wasn't here for a back and forth, she was here to secure a deal that would meld Zarya Volkov's two favorite things in perfect harmony. Hurting people and getting paid for it. 

Zarya took a sip of her tea, glancing at Anesthesia over the rim of the cup. "I believe you had a job for me?"

Sista A didn’t exactly seemed pleased by Anesthesia veiled order, but she had enough sense to keep quiet for the moment. She honestly wasn’t sure how she would fare in a fight with this woman. Just to look at her, she dwarfed even Dixie Clemets, a true powerhouse. Speed would be her best advantage, but she knew better than most that could only get you so far.

Anesthesia, on the other remained professional, even though she shared the astonishment at Zarya’s size. She’d seen it before, but that was a wholly different thing than an up-close view. She almost found herself wishing she and the Iron Soldier had wound up as enemies - it would’ve provided her with opportunities to inspect her body more thoroughly. More intimately.

Another time, perhaps. For now, business.

”You believe correctly.” She templed her fingers together, just below her chin. ”There is a certain woman I want to see beaten in a certain manner for certain reasons. I’m willing to pay a modest fee for such a service, and if I’m pleased with the work, more will follow.”

Anesthesia reached into her pocket and brought out a picture of the target - a small Japanese woman in a judo outfit, one whom she’d crossed paths with frequently years ago.

She laid the picture in front of Zarya and spun it about so she could get the best angle. ”Are you familiar with Makoto Aihara?”

Zarya would have enjoyed tangling either of the women, or both for that matter, but she was quick to push such thoughts aside for the time being. Business before pleasure, as they say.

Speaking of business, there was a palpable shift in Zarya's demeanor when they got down to it, as if a switch had been flicked and suddenly she was listening to a permission briefing. Expression drained from her face, leaving a cold mask in its place, her reality constricting until nothing remain except herself, her employer and her target. She plucked up the offered picture between two fingers and examined the image.

Makoto Aihara... she knew the name. The Judo Babe, in some circles. Not the biggest wrestler in the business by a long shot, but her judo had surprised more then one supposedly tougher opponent.

"I've heard of her. Seen a few matches, and I... used to follow the Olympics closely. She's small, but a black belt and gold medal level judo practitioner. That combination is dangerous, if you take it lightly." Dark, merciless eyes flicked up from the photo to Anesthesia. "What's the over all objective? You want her on the injury list? Hospitalized? If so, how long? What about her mental state? Mentally breaking her, as well as physically breaking her, costs a bit extra."

Anesthesia kept her eyes trained on Zarya as she looked over the picture, eager to see her reaction to the target. She doubted the titanic woman would be scared of Makoto or anything such as that, but the opposite would’ve been even more worrying. The Judo Babe was a formidable opponent, a fact she could attest to personally, and anyone who would take her lightly had no business in her employ.

Fortunately, Zarya was wise enough to be realistic about her target, despite the considerable size advantage. A good sign, though Anesthesia found her response amusing.

”No need to be coy, dear. I already know about your Olympic history. Or lack thereof.” Anesthesia held up the newspaper she’d been reading - an old one, American from the looks of, and the sports page, with the headline ‘Russians Implicated in Olympic Scandal’. ”An interesting read, but it doesn’t change my opinion. I’m more interested in your career after that sordid incident.”

She put the paper back down and leaned forward, a gleam in her eye, a wisp of a smile on her lips. ”Now, I’ll be frank - I want her body relatively intact. Hurt her, of course, but I want no broken bones, nothing that will put her out of action. So, yes, I’m more concerned about mentally breaking her, and I’m willing to pay extra for your troubles.”

Anesthesia shifted in the seat, and waited for a couple to pass by and move out of hearing range before she spoke again. Makoto had quite a few fans in Japan, a strong following, and she didn't want word of this to reach any sympathetic ears.

”Currently, the Friction World Cup is running, and competition between countries is promoted. You’ll make a public challenge to Makoto in this spirit - an appeal to her sense of competition, perhaps even drawing on your own Olympic history to encourage her. Makoto won’t know of your wrestling history, so she’ll be unaware of what you’ve been up to since then. She’ll accept your challenge. From there, you have latitude to take her apart as you please, within the rules of the match - if you can convince her into a bout with no disqualifications so much the better.” She started ticking off with her fingers. “Bend her, squeeze her, twist her, smother her, whatever you see fit. She’s a sexually repressed little thing, so that’s an avenue to exploit, but I won’t require it of you.”

”Funny as it would fucking be.” Even Sista A was managing a smile now, eager to see the fate of her former opponent.

”Make her leave the ring in utter despair. Humiliated, but angry.. Most importantly, do so in a way that makes her believe her only enemy is you. Come up with whatever justification you like, but she’s not to know we’re involved.” On this, Anesthesia face took on a sterner tone. ”When she comes looking for retribution - and she will, I assure you - you need to be her focus.”

Something terrible flashed in the Russians eyes at the sight of that news paper. Her expression was carefully neutral, but her eyes told another story, a barely contained font of absolute blinding rage that had haunted the woman's life since that unfortunate incident. In that moment of raw, blinding hatred, Zarya wanted nothing more than to smash her fist into Anesthesia face. Again and again and again. To hell with AFW, the job, the future, she just wanted to hurt someone and see just how much damage she could do before the police arrived...

And just like that, the moment passed and tensed muscles uncoiled. Zarya took a long, slow sip of her tea. She wouldn't lose control. She'd bottle that anger and direct it towards a more... profitable target.

"So... you do not want me to break her spirit." Zarya mused, plucking out the cinnamon stick Russian tea was often served with. "You do not even want me to break her body..." She snapped the stick in half between her fingers with a loud crack. When Zarya spoke again her voice was only barely audible, like a soft, threatening growl from the depths of her throat. "You want me to break her heart. I will appeal to her as a former Olympian. I will speak the language of athletes, of determination and honor. I will lure her onto signing up for for a no DQ match and then I will betray her. I will beat her. I will fuck her. I will choke her out with her own national flag."

A faint smile curved the woman's lips, "She will come after me. I will not break her will completely. She will seek to regain her honor and wipe away the shame I inflict. You will not be mentioned."

"Now, we should discuss the price. You have done your research, so you know my usual rate. Increase that by fifteen percent, half to be paid up front." That brought the price to just shy of being unreasonable, but Zarya sensed Anesthesia would be willing to make that investment in order to achieve the desired result.

The flash of venom in Zarya’s eyes hadn’t gone unnoticed by either woman. Sista A tensed up and edge forward, her fists tightening. She wasn’t quite sure if could take this woman on by herself - in a ring, she could dance around, take potshots, wear her out. But this wasn’t a ring. It was close, comprised space with little room to maneuver, and she couldn’t count on Anesthesia’s help. Hell, knowing her, she’d just find it amusing to see her get mauled by her new little friend.

Anesthesia on the other hand, didn’t move a muscle, unless you counted the slight tap on the side of her cup. Zarya might have looked like the textbook definition of ‘dumb muscle’, but the woman clearly had some business savvy. She wagered she would see the logical side of things, and that would win out. As it turned out, she was right.

”Getting Makoto Aihara to agree to a No Disqualification match will be a challenge in and of itself, so I won’t require it of you. But I do like to reward extra effort. Something to keep in mind.” She regarded the broken stick for a moment, before looking back Zarya’s way, staring at those hardened features. ”I will, of course, compensate you for further work with Makoto when she seeks you out, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. As for you payment, those terms sound agreeable - however, in the event you lose, you will not be getting the second half.” She held up her hand with a pleasant smile, and for a moment, she almost looked like the woman she often pretended to be. ”Not that I don’t trust your capabilities, dear, but it’s good that we understand each other. Fully.”

With that said, she extended her hand across the table. ”I’ll wire the funds to you tonight. Do we have a deal?”

The moment of hesitation that followed was for dramatic effect, if nothing else, and the desire not to seem to eager to begin the venture. In truth, Zarya had made her decision already. Anesthesia was running her own game, spinning webs within webs. To what end, the Iron Soldier wouldn't hazard a guess... not yet at least. For now, she'd play the role of the enforcer, the fixer who removed obstacles, but she resolved to keep her eyes and ears open. It might, at some point, prove even more profitable to aim for deeper role in whatever Anesthesia was planning.

Finally, Zarya reached across the table and took Anesthesia's hand in her own firm grip. "Deal. A pleasure doing business with you. May we profit from this new.. friendship."

Her dark eyes flitted to Sista A. "You look tense, new friend. Are you still nervous? You should try Russian tea. You get a cinnamon stick." She waved the broken half of her own at Aisha.