Scene #2108: A New Challenger Has Appeared!

Owner	Pose
Makoto Kato	It is a nice, uncharacteristically warm night in Tokyo, the start of summer coming early. Trendy club districts overseen by men in suits, people gyrating, the nightlife is hopping. One girl, dressed in a black karate gi walks her bound feet right up to the club... And then turns around, trying to get her bearings. She reshoulders the bag she's carrying, looking around. "There was... a fighting ring somewhere around here." She grumbles, trying to figure out where she is. "I knew I found it during the day... che, I'll just ask someone." She grumbles, walking up to the biggest, baddest, most Yakuza looking guy she can find in all of her 5'3" glory. "Hey. I wanna fight. Where's the fights at." She calls out to him, staring up into his eyes with a fierce look. "I know there's fights somewhere on this block, so..."
Vega	It turns out that most of the Yakuza dudes don't have a clue. They laugh at her and walk away, as if the idea of a little girl fighting was absolutely ridiculous. To them, it probably was. But before Makoto can go exact well-deserved vengeance, a homeless old man tugs on her pants leg. He wears a wide hat and a run-down jacket, a ragged and dirty beard, and smells like he's been soaked in alcohol. But if Makoto looks closely, she might notice that he has been soaked in alcohol, and that his filthy-looking beard has some strings in it... Once he has Makoto's attention, the old man sits back against a warehouse door. He holds out a cup, expectantly. On the bottom of that cup, around jingling change and big paper bills, is an emblem. A skull with wings. He jerks his thumb at the door and grins a horrible old hobo grin.
Makoto Kato	Makoto is just about to chokeslam a motherfucker when it turns out that there's someone with a bit of good sense. Which probably saves about a dozen guys a night in the hospital. Or a week, if they weren't going to tell her what she wanted to know. But then the Shadowlaw hobo elucidates to her where the real event is. At first she doesn't look like she understands, an incredulous look to the reeking hobo, and his cup, but the shadowlaw emblem makes her smile. She drops the contents of her pocket, which is a few small-denominational coins - the last of what she has - and heads towards the door. If it doesn't open, she knocks. If there's a bar that slides open, she'll just repeat 'she wants to fight'. If they don't open up, or the door is locked? She'll pretty firmly just kick it down. But she's nice, for now. She wants a fight. She hasn't had a good fight, and now she's a little steamed. Nice Shadowhobo aside.
Vega	As soon as Makoto pays him, the homeless man shuffles out of the way, allowing her access to the door. The door opens on the sound of screaming fans and violent battle. Down the right end, towards the ring, are a row of bleachers, filled with screaming fans and money changing hands. In the ring itself, a big man and a small woman are locked in a violent street fight. Up the left is a group of unpleasant-looking soldiers in red-and-black uniforms, with that same eagle-wing emblem plastered to their chests. That appears to be a private box. The men have some nasty-looking weaponry. A big-looking black man, instantly recognizeable as Mike Bison, the former American Heavyweight Boxing Champion, comes down from the box, an unhappy look on his face. He pauses at Makoto and blinks, looking down at her (on account of Mike Bison being absolutely gigantic). "Ey, kid. You get lost or somethin'?"
Makoto Kato	Makoto grins, because, the door opens. This is one less barrier before her and fighting. She is respectful, though, of the elderly, and also people who show her respect. There are Rules that you follow, in life. As she makes her way towards the ring, she spots the soldiers. These are dangerous sorts, but... She came to fight. Not /start/ a fight. Then, well, Michael Bison shows up! In perfect japanese, since this is Tokyo, Makoto gives a big grin. Hee-hee. That's the Champ! "<I'm Kato Maoto, and I am here to fight.>" She offers. Thankfully, translation effect. Then she switches to English. "I am the master of Rindoukan Karate." She looks up dead on into the Champ's eyes. "This is a place where /real/ fights happen. Also, fights for money. I could use some spending cash." She admits, running a hand through her short hair. "You're with that... Super-Yaukuza, right? The skull with wings?"
Vega	The Champ is clearly taken a bit off-guard by the Translation Effect. Yeah, he knew it happened, but, like, seeing somebody switch from Japanese to English in front of him - the lip movements are always different, after all! It's weird. The big boxer takes a moment to think. Unlike the Yakuza thugs, however, Mike does not laugh her off. Mike Bison is an actual street fighter, and he knows there are some dangerous-ass people in the world. He works for a literal psychic, after all. Stranger things. His slow-moving thoughts are a boon in this line of work - Mike Bison has never thought of himself as smarter than other people, so he rarely looks down on people for making outlandish claims like that. "Coo'," the Champ offers a moment later. "Super-Yakuza?" He pronounces it as /yuh-koo-zuh/, "I dunno nothin' about that." There's something very specific about his denial. It is probably not a double-negative. It is probably a denial of his involvement in case Makoto happens to be someone...dangerous. "But if you're lookin' t' make some money, you're in the right place, kid. We'll get you signed up real quick, put you in the ring with some guys, see how much you draw from the bets. Bet we could put your odds real low, 'cause you're like a tiny girl, an' make a killin' if you're as good as you say you are." Mike Bison is not /smart/, but he is canny, and fixing odds is a fundamental skill for a crooked boxer. "An' if you ain't then we ain't losin' much." "Reendokun karaty, huh?" Again, there's that heavy mangling of the Japanese words. Mike rubs his chin thoughtfully. He is not wearing boxing gloves. His hands are gigantic, and covered in scars. "Okay. I think we can sell this good. Follow me." Mike starts leading her down the rows, towards the ring. "So how's a kid like you get mixed up in this stuff, anyways?"
Makoto Kato	Makoto gives a look up to Mike Bison as his head processes what she said. That she was the current master of her school. That she was here to fight. When he goes 'coo', the tension in her shoulders bleeds off just a bit. That he accepted her at te face was pretty important to the short Japanese girl. When he denies his involvement with the 'Super-Yuh-koo-za', she shrugs. "The winged skull. I was beating some punk who stiffed me on a wager, and he said he was part of some... 'shadaloo'? Shado... Doens't matter. Idiot tried to jump me. Wasn't half bad at fighting, though, and I like getting stronger." She admits easily. You see, Makoto understands something about people with goons. Nobody really cares if you rough up the mooks a little. She respects the Champ, because the Champ respects her. And, hell, she dresses the part. "Sure. Maybe throw in someone worth my time though? I don't mind if you send chumps up first. I'd like to eat, you want money, we can all be happy. But..." She raises her fist, and then clenches it tightly. "It's not enough if there's no challenge." She murmurs, and there's a dark look that crosses her eyes. Someting cold and slithering beneath the surface. Then, she's back to easy cool. "Hey, hey, it's karate. Karate! Even if you can't say 'Rin-do-kan', you can say Karate! They have it in America. How'd you feel if I called it 'bo-ku-shi(n)gu'?" She wonders, following the champ along deeper into the shady fighting ring.
Vega	"Who was that?" Mike asks, in a tone that suggests he intends to pay said person a visit and teach them whole new ideas about the meaning of suffering, "I don't know nothin' about no shadow-loo. Don't English dudes call their toilets the loo? Who wants a dark toiler? Sounds stupid." Mike doesn't care that the dude got the shit beat out of him. The Champ cares that somebody spilled. "Also you'd sound dumb, 'cause it's boxing," Mike replies, apparently not seeing the irony in this at all. They get down to the ring, where Mike hails a guy. "Yo, Sage!" He waves over a man with scars and an eyepatch, dressed in a nice suit. "Sage, this kid's lookin' for a good fight. You wanna get her set up, huh?" "Sage here is the guy who runs this place day-to-day," Mike adds as an aside to Makoto, "You need somethin' - guns, a place to crash, a fight - you hit up Sage. Sage, this kid's Mak...somethin'. She says she's a karaty master." Sage holds out a heavily-scarred hand to Makoto. "Nice to meet you, Mak-something," he offers, giving her what is either a knowing wink or a blink - it's hard to tell with the eyepatch, "I assume you'll be wanting to fight in the ring, is that right?" "She wants somebody worth her time. You got anybody good in this week?" Sage considers it for a bit. "Well, that depends. Do you want a proper fight, or do you want somebody to make you look good so you can make a lot of money?"
Makoto Kato	Makoto shrugs. "Like I said. Some punk. Shibuya, I think?" She wonders, trying to think back. "I've broken a lot of noses in the last month or two." She admits, with a noncommital gesture of her hand. "Probably couldn't pick him out of a line up. Uh... Brown hair, wore a really gaudy set of necklaces, popped his collar, I think I broke a few of his ribs? Maybe a tooth? Honestly, it's really all a blur. I didn't kill him, though. Wasn't worth my time for even a fight. Basically started mewling once I started hitting him." Makoto elucidates. She probably signed some punk's death warrant, as that description is (accurately) rather specific. "Well, obviously." She admits to the boxing thing. She's kind of given up, filing him under 'goddamn gaijin' with the subheading 'but still the Champ'. Sage gets sized up too, but she doesn't know who he is. She has a dim knowledge of who Sagat is, but this guy just kind of LOOKS like Sagat. "Kato Makoto. You can call out Makoto in the ring." She explains. The mental calculations go on in her head. Then she comes to a conclusion. She thumbs at Balrog. "He said he wanted to run some game about me being small, to get better odds, waste some no-names, everyone gets money. Just run that up, with a decent fight at the end. Make it even odds, and just soak in the cut you take. Or bet on me - I would, but, well, I don't really know what kind of guy you have around here. Size me up with the chaff if you like. Really, I'm here to fight. If you throw me garbage, I'll just be bored and not hungry, rather than needing to sleep off my bruises and cold." She admits. She is very much a Karate Hobo, but she keeps clean and decently fed. "I'm fine with making you some money before I get my fight."
Vega	It is, at least, not intentional disrespect from Mike, so much as the sort of casual, accidental failure to educate oneself about foreign affairs that comes of being a massive American. Mike Bison is the sort of man who gets by by hitting people, not by learning how they talk. "You're gonna do good, kid," Mike tells her, then heads off, leaving her with Sage. Sage's resemblance to Sagat is solely facial. Once you get past the scars, the eyepatch, and the baldness, he's about half Sagar's height and definitely much skinnier. He might've been a fighter, once, but if he still does it, it's boxing with friends at the gym, not the brutal world of underground Street Fighting. Besides, anyone who's anyone knows what the Emperor of Muay Thai looks like. Sage's hands vanish into his pockets as Makoto talks. He sizes her up, not with the eye of a warrior, but with the eye of a salesman who happens to purvey warriors as a product. He considers her for a long moment, then nods. "Alright. Here's what I'm gonna do, 'cause I like you - you're honest and you don't mind making us some cash, and that's always likeable. You get some folks coming in here thinking they're good enough to fight guys like the Champ without climbing the ladder, and that's, you know, they think they can step into the ring with a guy like that without doing any work for us, like they're better than us," Sage waves his hand airily, "But you I like. You understand how this works." "So I'll get you tagged in, get the bookies taking bets. If you're as good as you say you are we'll be makin' money hand over fist. And then if you give us two or three real one-sided brawls I'll throw you in the ring with somebody worth your time." Sage heads off, leaving Makoto standing there for a bit, to watch the fight. It's not super-high-level right now - it's switched over to two guys beating the crap out of each other (the girl won the earlier fight with a nasty kick). They're not really moving. It's kinda just an endurance contest. The crowd's loving it, though. There's another fight before hers, but it goes by fast. In a few moments, Makoto is ushered into the ring, where the announcer takes great pains to introduce her as a master of Rindoukan Karate (he pronounces it correctly, but he appears to be actually Japanese, so that's unsurprising). Some chuckles sweep through the stand, and money changes hands, pretty much exactly as Mike and Sage expected it to. Her opponent, a burly-looking man with chains wrapped around his arms, kinda laughs. "Kid, you should go home and find some dolls to play with or some shit. This is real. You're gonna get hurt if you play around here."
Makoto Kato	Makoto nods easily to Sage. "Been in a few of these. Tried that the first time. Got educated. Educated some people, too." She gives a sort of punchy-arm-bar-breaky motion with her hands, very crisp. "Good lesson, though. It's like a dojo. You play along, and you learn things and grow. I'd like to grow my wallet, and grow my dinner. It's not /always/ about fighting strong people." She reasons. "Just... Mostly." She gives a rakish little grin. She likes Sage. He's no-bullshit too. "But like I said. This is a dojo. You don't just get the black belt for asking, or even being strong. You show restraint. Discipline. And, well, here, here you show teeth." She pauses. "Erm, not your own. The other guy's. Yes." She gives a little heh-heh. "My English." She shrugs. Leaving her bag at the side of the ring, she vaults in easily, sliding into the arena and closing her eyes, stretching a little bit. Bending low, she drops into long leg-bends, doing a pretty limber routine, before popping her neck. Then, finally, she stands up, as the man announces her. She cracks an eye, grinning at the man with chains around his arms, ignoring his words. "They got my school's name right. Did you hear it? Rindokan. You should remember it." She offers, dropping into a ready stance. "Do we wait for the bell? Do I just go? I think I just go." She turns to the ringside ref. "Do I just go?" In a flash, once she's given the go signal, there is empty space where she was standing but, perhaps, the puff of powder along the gritty floor of the arena as she launches herself cleanly ten to fifteen feet into the air, flipping forward once to break into a vicious dropping axe kick directly to the crown of the man's skull. He doesn't have time to topple over, as she lands, gathers him up in a chokehold, throws him against the edge of the arena lightly, draws her fist back, and disappears again, reappearing in a blur of speed into a straight punch that probably sends ripples into the man's body. And by rippes we mean broken ribs and agony and potentially internal organ failure. She lets him fall after that. "Rindoukan, alright?" She offers, taking steps back to the center. Maybe he'd get up. Maybe not. "I forgot to ask how hard I should go on the first fights. Huh. Probably should have asked."
Vega	The time between 'round one: fight' and the opponent being plastered on the floor is approximately long enough for an axe kick, a chokehold, a throw, a punch that makes a man's highly-trained body ripple like goop and causes at least one organ to fail amounts to approximately ten seconds. Five of those seconds are the man hitting the floor. The sixty seconds of shocked, stunned silence, and the thirty seconds of people furiously looking at their wallets, is nine times longer than the fight. The announcer, bless him, is right there to check the other man for consciousness, opening the man's eyes and checking the dilation and all those other things that imply he's got some sort of medical training. Then he stands up and holds up his hand, raising the microphone to his lips. "KAY OH!" The few people who've been here long enough to get a sense of what tends to happen when a little girl shows up in the ring applaud, as they just became exceptionally rich. One of those people is Sage, who, as Makoto is pulled out of the ring, is there to greet her. "Well that was sure somethin' alright," he observes cheerily, slicing off a fat stack of nondescript bills and passing them to her, "They're gonna scramble to find somebody who can fight you now. And I bet your odds are gonna swing like crazy till they find you a real match." Sage takes out a cigar and lights it, adding a little more smoke to the preexisting haziness of an underground Street Fighting arena. "But you're gonna make some serious money, kid. I don't think you need to worry about your wallet anymore. Hell, you pull another stunt like that, they might even swap you up to one of the legal rings...or you might catch the Boss's eye." There's something about the way he says 'the Boss' that implies some serious capitalization and more than a little respect. "You do that, I guarantee you you'll be fighting all the strong people you could ask for." He slowly nods his head up the stairs, at the Shadowlaw soldiers, then looks back at Makoto. "You want somethin' to eat while you're waiting for them to figure out who else they can send to the slaughter? We got a snack stand." "You should see some of our legal setups, too."
Makoto Kato	Makoto, once the man falls down, waits patiently to be pronounced the winner, and then quite serenely walks off/is herded off. She knew she had caused severe damage to him. After you break people for a while, after you chase the power Makoto started chasing... You kind of know when you strike hard enough. She hadn't even backed it with the sort of force she could call on, but... It would be impossible to tap that, for her, with an opponent like that. She is ushered back to Sage, who hands her bills. She retrieves her bag, and then accepts the bills, keeping a few for her pocket, and moving the rest to her bag. Certainly, you could say, wouldn't someone just steal her bag and then have lots of money? Of course. Then they would become dead and that would be very sad. "That was... Five out of ten? Maybe four or three? Could be as high as six. Depends on what you're looking for. Simple techniques. Didn't really try to connect for real damage. Wasn't really holding back on speed, though." She admits, itemizing her fight. "Pretty boring. Money isn't, though." She reasons. She starts mentally gauging how much money was in that bill-wad, but decides she really doesn't care. It'll last her for a while. She could leave. But she wants her fight. "It's up to you, on the fights. Just don't send someone like that against me, and tell me not to hold back. I'd... rather /not/ kill someone like that." She offers. It was very matter of fact. "Legal, illegal, all that matters is the quality of the fighter. I find that the legal ones are boring, becuase they're not exclusive. Nobody good goes to a public gym for sparring. They go to their private ones, for training. Or these. For money. But... Sure, if your Boss wants." She shrugs again. "Sounds interesting. I'm really just in this to fight strong people. Fighting /for/ someone, other than myself... Well." She gives a little smile. "Isn't Rindoukan something?" She wonders, in response to the earlier 'sure was something comment', leaving the rest of what she was thinking unsaid. It didn't matter. That wasn't how this worked. "I'll go get a sandwich. Maybe some water. Can't each much when you're fighting, throws things off." She notes, but goes to get a super overpriced and mega greasy sandwich anyway. She returns after a few moments, taking measured bites and sipping very gently on a bottle of overpriced water.
Vega	There are levels of stupidity in this business. There are people who are stupid enough to assume that children are looking for easy fame and fortune in an arena like this, and do not really understand that danger is a thing that happens to kids, too. That's an acceptable level of stupidity, because very often, children don't understand that idea. Then there are people who will steal money from a Street Fighter in an underground ring, a Street Fighter who just hammered somebody hard enough to cause organ failure and bone breakage on a level requiring medical attention. And this is not an acceptable level of stupidity. Those people do not get into Shadowlaw boxing rings. Those people are stooges Shadowlaw uses and disposes of far away to make money and pin crimes on. Those people are Too Dumb To Live, and, the way most of the Shadowlaw regional leaders see it, deserved it anyway. No one here is that level of stupid. Sage rolls his cigar in his fingers thoughtfully as Makoto talks. He's not the kind of man to talk when he doesn't have much to say, but he is the kind of man to listen to someone with power talk, and then figure out how best to apply that power. Finally, he chuckles. "Sorry we bored you. For real - I think once they figure out where you are on the scale we're gonna see some dazzling fights outta you. I for one am looking forward to that. And if you get noticed, so much the better for me. The Champ's not even gonna remember you exist by this time next week, let alone that he put in the word." Sage grins, a broad grin around his scarred lips. When she gets back, Sage rolls his shoulders and frowns. "They should've picked a new fight for you already. Guess you scared 'em more than I expected. Bet they're trying to figure out who they can call." Sage looks back at her. "Rindoukan sure is somethin'. You self-taught? They love self-taught. If they can bill you as a self-taught, they'll go nuts. People always expect some nutty new shit from a self-taught fighter. We had a guy in here who was a self-taught ninja, if you can believe that, and he used to do some really outlandish shit before he got, uh..." "..." Sage rolls his cigar between his fingers again. "...before he said the wrong thing to the wrong person," he concludes finally, with a visible little shudder, "So, word of advice, don't do that." "You stick with me, though, kid, you're gonna go far. Oh, hey. Looks like they found you somebody." Out in the ring, a fat man in green suspenders punches his fists together. "Wong Who," Sage offers helpfully, "Big Chinese guy. He's bounced around a couple gangs. Be careful, though. Guy's fat, but if he hits you, it's gonna hurt like hell."
Makoto Kato	Makoto shrugs. "It's why I fought like I did. It cuts through the veneer. That man will probably live. But there won't be any question of my strength. Anyone can punch someone. Anyone else can fall down in one punch. That... Well, perhaps I will get a good fight since I let loose a little bit. Don't worry. We both knew the first one would be boring." The short Japanese girl smiles to the promoter. "And now I have money." She notes. Affording a nice cheap hotel and a shower is a big plus. "Shame the Champ won't remember. He would be a good fight. But, perhaps too much!" She laughs, easily, and munches on sandwich. "Rindoukan is a subschool of the rather popular Shotokan school. My grandfather is the grandmaster. I am the sole heir. But you can bill me as whatever you like. I've learned many things on my own." The sentiment that she could say the wrong thing amuses her. "Yeah, alright. But in the ring, I can speak with my fists, and most anything is allowed." As she stands up to move to the ring, leaving her food and water and bag with Sage, she gives him a very serious look. "This Wong Who... Should I go all out on /him/?" She asks directly. Then, to the ring. She slips in, again, skipping the warm up. She had already stretched, and the first time was, admittedly, for show. She slowly sizes up the big Chinese man, bowing slightly towards him. The previous man was asking to be sized down. This one... A little respect never hurt anyone.
Vega	"And now you have money," Sage agrees as he watches her enter the arena, "And soon you'll probably have more." Wong Who punches his fists together again, but not in a threatening manner - rather, in a respectful one. He bows slightly, perhaps wisely, as he's already seen what his opponent can do. Then he straightens and whacks himself on the belly, sending rolls through his chubbyness. The announcer introduces him as WONG WHO, WRESTLING GANGSTER. Wong is very quiet. His eyes are fixated on Makoto's, like he's making a plan in his head. As the countdown begins, he takes up a fighting stance, not unlike sumo. But, when the announcer shouts 'FIGHT!', Wong barrels forward, arms held in front of him. He's much faster than he looks - his chubby legs have more than enough muscle to send him barreling forward with missile-like speed, or at least enough to get started what physics continues. The sheer girth of him is enough. The sheer girth of him, and gravty, and inertia...more than enough.
Makoto Kato	Makoto smiles at Sage, her expression composed and serene. "Probably." She repeats, before climbing onto the stage and rolling her neck around, dropping into her stance and waiting for the countdown to go to 0. The intensity of Wong Who's stare doesn't unnerve her, nor does his silence make her worried. He is sizing her up, or simply visualizing. She returns that stare, looking up at the brute of a man, unmoving one she takes her stance. 'FIGHT' is called, and Makoto stands her ground... for a split second. That speed, that power, that girth... She has no desire to be in the way. But as she moves, he's on her, slamming into her with his powerful charge and sending her sprawling out and sailing through the air, catching herself on the elastics around the ring and rubber banding tightly, sliding back onto the ring as she smiles. "Good. You have speed and power." She offers, circling deliberately to be mobile against further charges, as her forearms and chest welt and grow angry purple-black with bruises. "You are a good fighter." Makoto continues calmly, as she nurses one of her sides. She really did get barreled into. She brings her hands down, shifting her stance, as she roars out a 'uryaaah!' kiop. As she does so, her skin changes color rapidly, from her asian tanned state, to a bright crimson. Little licks of dark purple ki flicker along her arms and shoulders. "I can go this far, I think." She breathes, before leaping into action, cutting distance swiftly to overwhelm the bigger man with a testing flurry. She's not striking to kill - or rather, with Killing Intent - but each has considerable force behind it. Thankfully she's not throwing her momentum and weight behind her attacks like Wong.
Vega	Wong does not throw up his hands clumsily to block, as Makoto might have been expecting. The big man instead throw his body weight around further, using the force and weight of his stomach to turn aside blows. It's just gravity, mass and centrifugal force, but it works surprisingly well - more of her fists get turned aside than she'd probably like, and the damage Wong receives is superficial at best, and not to any of his limbs. Sure, shots to the face get blocked, but by and large, he's just using good old-fashioned physics to stop her. Bruises spread across his stomach. He either doesn't notice, or doesn't care. "I am experienced," Wong replies in a deep voice as heavy as he is, "I have been around the town." Wong suddenly reaches out with his big, chubby hands, to grab her and lock her in a hold. A bearhug from a man like that would be crushing, but even worse - all he really has to do is grab her arm and fall on her to cause substantial and significant damage. Between his added endurance and his intense power, his weight is much more advantage than disadvantage, and he uses it to its fullest intent against his smaller (though /not/, disconcertingly, weaker) rival.
Makoto Kato	Makoto notes that this opponent is very resilient and experienced, and as he doesn't move to block but simply take each ki-empowered hit with his body, she realizes that this sort of opponent is dangerous for reasons beyond strength and power. Normally, a huge body would be a detriment, the weight a fulcrum upon which Makoto could use and abuse and win by making that weight work for her. But this Wong man... Was experienced in using his weight for his own purposes, experienced in taking hits. He did not try to trade her technique to technique, but instead force HER to play HIS game. There is a moment, where Wong makes contact, where he grabs Makoto and bears down on her, that it looks like the fight is over. The red-skinned girl who had so totally dispatched her first opponent is buried under the blubber of the man, crushed soundly with the WHUMPH of bodies upon the hardened mat. And all is silence, save for the crowd, for a few moments. Then those gouts of burning purple ki begin to pour out from under Wong like a roar. With a real roar, albeit a bit feminine, from under the man's girth. Makoto, lacking a better response but 'lose' or potentially 'die from being smothered', has simply started venting her frustration, her anger, her drive to win outward, a Raging Storm of ki blasting outward. She's here to fight. To win. At any cost.
Vega	Wong is, indeed, an experienced fighter who knows how to throw his weight around. But he is not an EXPERT fighter. The difference between an Experienced Fighter and an Expert Fighter are moments like these. Were he an Expert Fighter, Wong would've gotten back up and resumed bodyslamming Makoto into the dust, hammering her with his weight over and over until she is demonstratably unconscious. But Wong is a gang fighter. Gang fighters don't know to do that sort of thing. Gang Fighters have a thing that works, and they do that thing until you lose. Wong has gotten by doing his Thing, but now it does not work, and it is made abundantly clear as Makoto flings him upwards with her Raging Storm. He goes flying, hitting the ground with a nasty (if comical) bounce. Wong bounds backwards, hits the wall, and groans. The purple ki has burned a hole right through his shirt, and there are some nasty marks on his stomach as a result. However, Wong isn't done just yet. He stands once more, wobbling a bit as he tries to find his footing. One can say this for him - he's more determined, and much more skilled, than her last opponent by far. Unfortunately, he may not know when to give up. Wong charges. But unlike the last charge, this isn't a heavy stomach charge. This is a /shoulder-check/. This is a freight train coming at her, hard and fast, ready to run right over her rather than tackle her to the ground or belly-bump smash her. This is intent to break bones. This little girl is dangerous, and Wong Who is not stupid enough to imaine that she is not. He's worked with Sodom. He knows how ridiculous people can be.
Makoto Kato	There is a small thing to be said about Wong Who not being an expert fighter, not having the overwhelming force or weight of technique that is characterized by the upper crust of street fighters. If he had known to crush her utterly, if she had been hit devastatingly early, when she had not found Wong Who's measure and unleashed herself accordingly... This fight would be going much differently. And, as Makoto peels herself off the floor after her Raging Storm, she looks Wong in the eyes, hard. There is something dark in her eyes, something threatening to break out and kept sharply in check. She holds her stance, and her ground as she finds it, as the huge man begins attempting to do real damage. He comes at her with Intent. The barest hint of a smile crosses her lips, as her eyes flare with bright blue flames. There's barely time to notice this before she leans in and slides forward, born on thin air and the barest of momentum. Then they connect, with a bone-snapping crunch, as all goes dark. Flashes of purple ki and the sound of bones snapping and fist hitting flesh resound for at least a few seconds, before light returns to the smoke-hazed arena, as Makoto stands next to an ostensibly prone Wong Who, her left arm noticibly dislocated and hanging free, and her outfit torn and bloodied. Blood flows freely from a cut lip and nose, and bruises are all over her. Her skintone has returned to normal, but licks of purple ki still flow off of her. "Still alive?" She breathes, down to her foe, as she stands there, hunched over and breathing hard. She had struck out, lashed out, as he came at her, with every intention of meeting force to force. Holding nothing back. She had been pressed, driven in, exulted in the sheer physicality of a fight. But maybe Wong Who was so big a man that he could take that level of punishment and stand. It would not surprise Makoto.
Vega	Wong is good. Wong is durable. Wong has fought many times. His proud body bares countless scars of violence from years of service to thugs all across the planet, in numerous cities. He is big, and tough, and has made a career of being both of those things, using how to learn them to his greatest advantage. Wong is not a man easily toppled. But nor is Wong Who a man who can stand up after that attack. Even if he could, he would not. As silence falls over the arena, it becomes clear that everyone understands what that attack meant. That attack was the finisher. That attack was the /end/. Smokables and potables drop from fingers and mouths as jaws hang open and hands go slack. Money does not change hands, right away. Even the announcer, an experienced medic, is silent and still for a moment - though, to his credit, he recovers before anyone else, scrabbling over to check Wong Who's eyes and pulse. He is out cold. His breathing is ragged, and his eyes are glazed-over. He's still alive, for the moment, though how long that'll last without treatment is anyone's guess. Are there medical facilities on-site? Probably. Shadowlaw seems like it would keep such things on hand, in case of.../unforseen/ events. If nothing else, such people are fodder for something greater, and can't simply be allowed to up and die when they're much more useful elsewhere. Wong is lifted off the ground by a group of goons, who shuffle him out of the arena as the Announcer counts down. The crowd parts for him almost reflexively, eyes tracking him as the announcer calls the KO. No one cheers. No one screams with delight. No one fully seems to understand what exactly they just witnessed. They undertand that it was a fight-ender, but...the idea of a girl that small, packing enough power to nearly kill a man like that... It simply doesn't track, not with these people. These people have a clearly-defined idea of Society, of Humanity, of all those things. They know what Humans are supposed to be like, and what they just witnessed was not human brutality, but the brutality of something more, the start of something much bigger. The Killing Intent sets them all ill-at-ease like sheep in the company of a wolf, as if they only now understand that they are not standing among some random hopeful, or some young girl who got lucky. The Satsui no Hadou is not a toy for their amusement. On some level, they understand that the wolf is not really leashed. It is in silence that Makoto has to walk back to Sage's corner. Sage's hands are in his pockets, but even he appears slightly on edge, spooked by the demonstration. "...hell of a thing," he offers finally, licking his tongue and counting out cash a moment later. He copes, visibly, the way he copes best - by pretending he didn't see anything and doesn't know anything. A few moments later, there's a cigar in his mouth, and the low murmur of the crowd bubbles back to life, hesitant at first. Soon, though, with the next fight on the floor, people forget their fear, and lose themselves in the primal bloodlust so inherent to humanity. They have seen the true predator, and now they pretend to be one themselves to bury their fear. "You should get somewhere to stay," Sage adds, "I know some places, won't ask questions. But you don't wanna be on the streets at night. It's not safe." Only a man deeply denying what he just witnessed could say something like that with a straight face. He finishes counting out her cash and hands it to her, then looks off. "Besides, it's gettin' late. Folks are gonna start dispersin' soon." He weighs something, visibly, for a moment, his good eye locked on hers. Finally, he sighs, smoke trailing from his lips. "So you comin' back tomorrow?" Money, Sage has decided, is worth the danger.
Makoto Kato	Makoto stands there, and in the silence following the Shun Goku Satsu, as the waves of the dark hadou bleed off of her, snap her shoulder back into its socket painfully, with a small wince. She looks out at the people, and as her eyes flicker darkly as their normal color returns, as the flames that had surged out of them are gone, she sees... Emptiness. There are a few among the crowd or in the room that interest her cold gaze, as she rakes it across the pit, but as she walks off to Sage's corner, pulling tight her gi and noting that she's going to need it cleaned off of blood. Well, at least it's black. A white gi would get terribly bad! Her light blue ribbon has to be fixed too. She sighs, shaking off bloody knuckles, and looks to Sage. She sees him, and gives him a confident little smile. "I think I'll be fine. But I'll take suggestions." She replies serenely, starting to towel off. "But I think I can handle myself at night. I can come back tomorrow... Just make sure there's someone strong. And..." Makoto sets her towel over her shoulder, picking up her bag and stowing the cash she had won away. "If you know a good doctor, though, I'd appreciate it. I'm planning on going after some bigger game out in the multiverse, and I may need too get peeled off the ground." She offers, before turning to leave. "I'll stay in touch. Thanks for the fights, and the cash." Then, as soon as Makoto had entered the fighting ring, she leaves. A nice hot bath, a good meal, and some relaxation was in order.