“What if we just didn’t watch any fights today at all and kept
to ourselves?” I query to my robotic
companion.
“Our hosts seem content to let us do whatever we want.” He responds, “However, you do have a message
from Casey. She says she is going to
make a kill for you today at The Bloody Mattress and really wants you to be
there to watch her and for me to illustrate her victory for posterity.
“Oh man, that annoying bitch? Doesn’t she ever give up?”
“The odds of her succeeding in a death match are about 1 in
1328.” Doctor Green offers up.
“Well, I guess we’re starting our day at The Bloody
Mattress.” It’s still a couple hours
until noon, so we stroll around the Outer City for a bit. Doctor Green messages ahead that we will be
attending at least the first bout today, so management can be ready for our
arrival.
After a pleasant morning walkabout, we make our way to the
venue.
The place is already filling up with female spectators, all
wearing the traditional togas of the time, all of them very eager to catch the
first bout, but when I walk through the doors the excitement really begins to
build. The Bloody Mattress hospitality girls
rush out to greet me, delighted that I have chosen their establishment to start
my day. I am escorted to my cage side
booth and given a Tom Collins. (My drink
of choice for the day.)
Before long loudspeaker crackles into life…
“LADIES AND
ISHMAEL! WELCOME TO THE BLOODY
MATTRESS!!!”
A cheer goes up from the women packed in around the cage.
FOR OUR FIRST BOUT TODAY…..A HIGH NOON DEATH MATCH!!!”
The crowd goes wild.
High Noon Death Matches are never announced in advance, but everyone is
always hoping that the first match of the day will be to the death. (In fact, I
suspect the bloodthirsty women of Green Tower City probably wish every fight
was to the death.) The only reason I
knew is because Casey told me she is fighting to the death.
“NOW APPROACHING THE MATTRESS…IN THE YELLOW FLORAL PRINT
PANTIES… LIGHT YELLOW FOOTIES AND SCHOOLGIRL CLOGS…..CASEY!!!”
The crowd groans, boos and hisses. Casey is one of the most despised fighters in
the city. She has been stalking me ever
since I first encountered her in Harbor City but has lost almost every fight I’ve
seen her in. She strolls down the aisle
towards the mattress, showing no sign of apprehension. She may be an awful
fighter, but she is cocky as hell.
“CASEY IS 24 YEARS OLD.
HER RECORD STANDS AT 18 WINS…136 LOSSES….AND 2 KILLS!”
“BOOOOO!!!”
“YOU SUCK BITCH!”
“DEAD GIRL WALKING! DEAD GIRL WALKING” (They don’t even know who her opponent is
going to be yet!)
Casey just sneers at the spectators as she steps up onto the
mattress. She flashes a smile at me and mouths the words “Hey baby.” I give her
a noncommittal nod. I may end up having
to fuck her after all. Just like
everyone else here I have no idea who her opponent will be. It could very well be an ever worse jobber
than she is. At this point, nothing
would surprise me in this bizarre and insanely violent world.
“I’M not the one who is about to die.” She says.
“AND NOW…APPROACHING THE MATRESS…HER OPPONENT… IN THE TIGER
SKIN PANTIES…..INGA!!!!”
An explosive cheer goes up from the crowd. Inga is a savage veteran of the Outer City
who actually took her fighting panties off a Jungle Girl she killed and
modified them to her liking. A little bit skimpier than the typical Green
Tower City fighting panties that I have seen, though thankfully not a thong,
because there is just something off-putting to me about thongs. (I can’t explain it)
“INGA IS 26 YEARS OLD!
HER FIGHTING RECORD STANDS AT 119 WINS…12 LOSSES…AND 24 KILLS!”
“INGA! INGA! INGA! INGA! INGA!”
Inga marches straight toward the mattress never taking her eyes
off Casey, who glares back at her with contempt. As soon as she steps up onto the mattress, the
cage lowers down, trapping both girls inside the fighting area. Their breasts
rise and fall heavily as they glare icicles at each other from just a couple
feet away, on opposite sides of the fresh mattress. I can tell they are making a conscious effort not
to spring at each other immediately, but to do so before the bell would mean
instant death for everyone inside the
fighting cage. As always, Green Tower City
protocol stands supreme.
“LADIES…THIS IS A FIGHT TO THE DEATH! DO YOU BOTH AGREE TO THIS COMBAT?”
“YES!” Casey and Inga
shout without hesitation.
“WHEN THE BELL RINGS…..FIGHT!”
Now the wait begins.
It isn’t quite noon yet and the bell won’t be rung until the exact
moment the clock turns 12:00. The excitement pulsates through the room like
a wave of electricity.
“You should have put yourself out to pasture a long time ago
you old bag.” Casey sneers at Inga, (only two years her elder) The dark haired woman responds in a thick accent
that I would identify as Hungarian, though no such place exists anymore.
“You are the one who will soon be dead bitch.”
“HMPH!” Casey
responds. “I’m going to enjoy dragging
your death out you nasty skank. What
kind of name is “Inga” anyway? What are
you some kind of gypsy? HA!”
As usual, Casey NEVER stops talking.
DING!
DING! DING!
SPLAT!!!
With lightening speed Inga cunt punts Casey, lifting her
entire weight off the mattress for a spilt second. She lets out a yelp and crumples into a fetal
position. She lets out a pathetic wail
of agony.
“FIGHT IS OVER!’ Inga
announces as she yanks the whimpering girl up by her hair. She drills her in the face a couple times, speckling
the mattress with blood, making her piss herself, then Inga maneuvers herself around Casey’s
back, puts her hands on both sides of Casey’s bloodied face, and…
CRACK!
Neck snap!
Casey’s body drops face down into the mattress, her ass sticking up in
the air. She is finished. 
