Blue Thunder Mask vs. Makoto Takeda II - Beat It

Makoto’s plan had been a simple enough one. She would hit Blue Thunder Mask with the chain, he’d go down screaming, then she’d fuck him up on the floor. She hadn’t decided whether or not she’d use a standard submission hold or just settle for ramming his feet into the concrete a few times. She was a flexible woman, she could make it work either way.

But she needed to get him down. That was the key. And, for whatever reason, by whatever miracle, Blue Thunder Mask just would not do that.

No, he was clinging to life, using the motorcycle for support, and he even had enough energy to shove her off and put her flat on her butt. One more annoyance to add onto the ever-growing pile, and her first act was to rise up and try to tackle him head on

This turned out to be a mistake.

Makoto was stronger than she looked, but in the grand scheme, she still wasn’t that strong. Average. Nothing much. Certainly not enough to handle a motorcycle crashing down on lower body, dropping her flat and pinning her to the street. She wailed, a sharp, shrieking crying, then started to squirm her way out, frantic to be free, but it was slow going. All that metal was heavy, and she had to fight for every inch she freed.

Blue Thunder Mask added his own weight to the motorcycle, using it to lean against as he clutched his battered leg, rapidly rubbing his palm over the area she had stabbed him with the wrench to work a bit of heat over it. His immediate concern, wasn't on the match, at first. Hearing her struggling against the bike however lit a lightbulb in his head.

He pushed himself up, dragging a leg behind him as he slowly moved around the edge of the bike. He could see her over the metal framework trying to work herself free. He leaned himself over the edge of the bike, reaching down to try and grab hold of her wrists to force her arms down to the pavement. There was nothing stopping this from being an actual Pinfall if he could hold her trapped under the bike.

”Fuck...come on…”

Makoto rarely chose to wear shorts, and she was exceedingly glad that this wasn’t one of those days, as she struggled to free herself from the bike and started to tear through her jeans in the process. It was slow going, but it wasn’t like her body was in serious danger of injury at the moment. The damned thing was just heavy.

And it only became heavier when Blue Thunder Mask moved over and added his weight to the pile. That made it hurt more, but on top of that, it pressed her shoulders to the ground. Which meant…

Yeah, the referee was already coming around, looking to drop and start the pinfall. She wasn’t going to get out of this anytime soon, much less in the next three seconds, unless…

”What is this lucky bullshit?” She growled and continued to push away at the metal, feebly attempting to free herself. ”After all that, this is the best way you can end it, with cheap shit like this?”

This was it. With his efforts and weight focused on her shoulders, and Makoto pinned beneath the motorcycle, the match was over. He had his career, he had the Valkyries, everything he wanted to come away from this was at his fingertips. Then why did it feel so wrong?

Makoto was quick to call him out… it was so hard to care though. He was exhausted, bleeding, just ready to out this all behind him. It would be easy to ignore her and follow through. With no cameras to immortalize this moment and so few witnesses, would anyone ever question his victory?

He would. Every day he woke up. Every time he slipped on his mask, it would be soiled by this moment. Where he risked everything and cast his standards aside for a cheap victory. He wanted this, just to spite her. The irony of her being toppled by her own lifestyle as a biker. As poetic as it was on paper, here, in this moment, it was nothing but ruination.

The referee had been counting. A deliberate, knowing count that this was it. Just after the second hand fell, he tugged Makoto up, just enough to lift her shoulders and break the pin. Leaning away, he gripped the bike, suring himself up as he pulled hard, trying to drag the overturned machine up and away from Makoto to allow her to crawl out from underneath.

He had never given much thought into how heavy these things were until he had to hold one up awhile his back and leg was in utter agony. If he managed to lose now, he would never forgive himself for this moment of weakness but if he had won like that, he wasn't sure he would be able to stand the sight of himself in the mirror. The moment he knew she was free, he would let the bike go, staggering to remain upright.

There had been a doubt in Makoto’s mind when she went for this ploy, a slight worry that Blue Thunder Mask wouldn’t be the outstanding paragon of decency and stupidity that she pegged him to be. That he might just take the win that was clearly laid out for him, instead of trying to go for something more honorable and decent, as if those were words that meant anything in a hardcore match.

Silly thing to worry about, really. Good God, this man could not have been more predictable if he’d been born with an instruction manual.

He lifted it up, much to the understandable astonishment of the referee, who’d just begun to count, and Makoto took the opportunity to slide her way out and get free, crawling along on the ground. It was rough going, but she hadn’t been under there for too long. Could still stand. Could still fight. Sluggish, maybe, but she could pull it off. One good turne ddeserved another, so…

”Thanks.”

She rolled over to her back and threw the wrench at his head.

”Dumbass.”

Blue Thunder Mask strained, arms shaking as he hold the bike up, the awkward way he was leaning over the vehicle did him no favors. This sort of poor lifting form would.have gotten him chewed out by his trainers in the good old days for the damage it could do to his back. The burning has faded a bit, not because it was gone but because his raw flesh had started to tingle and become numb to it all.

Once Makoto was out, he let the bike fall back down, leaning over the top of it as he panted heavily. He was still coming to terms with what he had just done. In the moment it didn't feel like the right move. If he lost, it was going to haunt him forever. It was the right thing to do… he had to keep telling himself that.

His brow raised at the small thank you from Makoto, raising his head to look her way. Before he could express his surprise, perhaps commend her for a hard fought match in a moment of friendly competition, a wrench struct him in the face. The metal tool hit grip first, panging off his skull to spiral off to the side and clatter to the ground. He was sent reeling back, toppling back off the motorcycle.

He lay on the pavement, flat on his back. The sharp stinging of the impact felt like he had just been stabbed by a bed of nails. His vision was blurry… at least in one eye. He closed that one, trying to focus past the eruption of pain wrapping around his head. There was something cold on his face… reaching up to touch it, he pulled his fingers back. It wasn't cold… it was wet, and warm. It was blood. He was bleeding, steadily from his head.

The area was oddly silent, save for the distant roar of the crowd and the hum of the lights above them. No one was driving any cars nearby, since just about everyone had cleared out of the way when it became apparent the fight was coming here, not wanting to get swept up in the turmoil. So quiet that Makoto could hear things she couldn’t have, otherwise - things like the sound of metal cracking off a human skull, for instance.

It was a hard, hollow sound that reminded her of a two coconuts hitting each other, and it was followed shortly after by the sound of his lifeless body hitting the ground and the clang of metal right after. Just like that. All that trouble, all that fighting, and all she had to do was throw a little piece of metal to end it.

The referee gasped and moved over to his side, kneeling by Blue Thunder Mask to check the damage. Blood was coming out of that mask and mixing with the red, and it looked like there would be a lot of it coming out. ”Blue Thunder Mask!” She gave his shoulder a hard shake. ”Are you okay? Can you-”

Makoto came from behind, grabbed the referee, and shoved her out of the way. She dropped to her knees beside Blue Thunder Mask, too, but it wasn’t to check on his health - she reached over his body, grabbed his legs, and tried to pin him down, knowing a golden opportunity when she saw one.

As he lay on his back, watching his blood run down his fingertips he had ceased making sound. The pain wracking his body was so immense it was hard to focus on anything but a singular thing set before his. His eyes drifted to the referee at his side, shaking his shoulder. Her worry was painted on her face… that's how he knew it was bad.

Many people oftentimes looked at the referees with negativity. Little ring gnats, weak obstructions there to plcount a pin or take a submission and that was it. They saw everything in this business, and they were under very real threat any time they shared a ring with the wrestlers. They didn't get enough credit… why was he thinking about this now?

And then she was gone. Cast aside by his nemesis. He gazed up at her with one eye, the other had remained closed as blood pooled in the corners before trickling down the side of his face. She had no more biting words, no final declaration. She was here to claim his career, his livelihood, his dreams and she had nothing to say. Would it have made it any better, to be raked with another insult and be belittled in defeat? No. It wouldn't.

His legs came as easy to her as he stretch would allow. Her weight only added to his misery as he sunk deeper against the pavement and his raw flesh spread out along the rough ground. His hand took hold of her lowered shoulder weakly, bloodied fingertips leaving red sanguine streak along the strap of her top and over her exposed shoulder.

Having tossed the referee aside had been in his favor as she was still reeling as Makoto made her pin attempt buying his valable seconds of silence while the girl had to collect herself against before moving over to make the count. He didn't try to dislodge Makoto at first, he wasn't sure he could. Had the official been there and ready, it was likely the match would have been over.

The referee came in for the late count, mindfully aware that if this didn't end the match she might have to run from a fuming biker girl in a hurry.

“One!”

“Two!”

“Th-”

Before the final slap hit the pavement, Blue Thunder Mask gave a sudden buck, kicking his legs free, twisting his shoulder up as he attempted to use that momentum to push Mokoto back. The swift motion of it all caused the parking lot to rub up against his raw back even further leaving a wet red spot beneath his body.

A wrecked a camera. Her bike, overturned. Blue Thunder Mask, on the ground, bleeding from his head, with a blood wrench - her own damn wrench, she was fairly sure - nearby as the culprit. Makoto on top of him, trying to pin him like her life depended on it. The referee beside her, starting the count like her life depended on it.

The scene that Stone and Desire walked into was not a pretty one, and the former soldier felt her stomach swell when she took in the fullness of it. This wasn’t the worst case scenario, but it was pretty close to it - not only was Makio - the man she’d dragged into this - about to lose, but it looked like Makoto had done some serious damage to him in the process. So much for his career, so much for the plan, so much for everything he was trying to stand for.

And then he kicked out at the last second, raising his shoulder hard enough to knock her back. The verdict was out on whether or not that was a good thing or a bad thing.

It meant that he was still in the match. A good thing

It made Makoto exponentially madder. A bad thing.

”That’s it.” Makoto sat up, fuming, and pushed Blue Thunder Mask over to his back. ”I am fucking done.”

Stone looked on, confused, as the pint-sized terror stood up and stomped away from her opponent, moving several cars away before she turned around to face the fallen hero. She and Devine puzzled over the sight, until they saw their leader lower her stance, bending her knees like she was preparing for a sprint, waiting for Blue Thunder Mask to rise up, and-

”Makoto…” Stone jerked back as the gears clicked in her head, but it was already too late. ”Makoto, don’t!”

Without hesitation, Makoto rushed forward at full speed, heading straight towards Blue Thunder Mask. She reeled back at the last moment and attempted to kick him square in the head, landing a devastating punt.

Blue Thunder Mask’s arm remained outstretched as Makoto was pushed back off him. He panted as he lay on his side, red droplets tracing the groves of his Mask's stitching. Droplets slowly formed, hanging precariously until they are too heavy to remain and dripped to the dark pavement. If he had anything more than what he had just managed it seemed beyond him at the moment. This was a fact that was easily illustrated but how easily she had shoved him onto his back again.

It had been a long, difficult night. Three matches. No breaks. One bottle of water between them. His fatigue had rapidly moved in to shackle him down in the absence of adrenaline. He was still unsure what had happened, the splitting pain was ripping his skull apart. He didn't know where Makoto was… he couldn't hear her couldn't see her, couldn't focus.

He moved without thinking, body lurching to the side as he rolled onto his stomach leaving a red marker of where he had been put to the ground. His palmed gingerly traced the pavement until they were close enough to his body to push of the ground, trying to raise himself up. His head hung low as he rose, sweat and blood spattered blue hair hung down over his face as he panted heavily.

He heard a voice… ordering Makoto? Who? Was it Stone? Why was she here? He shook his head lightly, the surge of pain however cut him shy of trying to repeat it. Even as Makoto closed in on him, he didn't seem to notice, only concerned with trying to stand. If he could stand he could fight.

Her boot heel dragged across his face, snapping his head to the side. His hair flew back with him, blood soaked locked and battered skull alike sending a spray of crimson into the night air as he was toppled again. His body rolled, leaving him face down on the ground. He groaned, and gargled softly… fingertips twitching as he clung to consciousness by a strand.