General Knowledge
Thu May 14, 2009 5:33pm (XFF:

Delacroix smirked to himself as he checked the information.

"Another hot tip I don't know about?" Signus half mumbled.

"No, not exactly. Both combatants are fairly new and we don't have a lot of information on them... and one that I have a hunch about."

Signus 'hrumphed' again, "I'll check for myself." Pulling out his own PDA he realized that Delacroix might actually be telling some part of the truth. His information was basic on the reploid Bassmaster: weaponry, abilities, manufacturing year. He was young and inexperienced, showing signs of cocky attitude, musical meanderings, and overall pride to the point of hubris.

The other, however, was more interesting. Dr. Leonard Hilton. Listed as a human with an age of 114. No listed weapons, not much history. Signus noted some war history and a history in reploid engineering, built one of the reploids in the tournament, founding member of a small S&H Labs, affiliation withe the Freelance Reploids.

"I don't see how this Hilton guy is even in the tournament." Signus laughed.

"I'm not quite sure either, but there's more to him than the data sheets as well. More things that don't fall under 'general knowledge'

With a huff, Signus left the room and headed for the ready room. He had just enough clout in this masquerade to get into places he shouldn't be. A clear victor would be a new reploid over a century old man, but he had to make sure that not all the underground information in the tournament was at Delacroix's disposal.

Quickly tracking down this Bassmaster, Signus introduced himself and asked what could be done to help this young, arrogant reploid gain an upper hand in this match.


Hilton was nervous. He wasn't quite sure why he'd signed up for the tournament. Probably the blow to the head. He'd killed more than his fair share of impressive soldiers and survived things most men would never even see, but the reputation of the talent represented in the Iron Hand Tournament was enough to rumble his get a little. He wished he'd at least know who he was facing, but that wouldn't happen for another fifteen seconds.

The blue door opened and Hilton slowly walked out. He saw an unremarkable reploid standing haughtily in the middle of the arena. The arena was a large concert hall complete with an upper seating balcony.

"What kind of arena is this?" Hilton mumbled to himself as he looked up towards the display overhead. "And what the hell is a bass master? Is he going to fish for the win?"

The Bassmaster scowled at his opponent and then laughed. "An old man!?" As he laughed he pulled a guitar from his back and played a lick.

"Ohh, Bassmaster!" Hilton laughed.

"In the red cornerof our concert hall we have the new, rockin' reploid - Bassmaster?" The announcer sounded confused. The young reploid scowled again and held up his guitar toward the booth. "Oh, right, BASEmaster!"

The crowd cheered and started to punch numbers on their pads. "And in the blue corner, the Freelance Reploids own great-grandfather figure, Hilton!"

"Great-grandfather figure?" Hilton scoffed. Looking over at the Bassmaster he realized the folly of getting caught up in the announcers terrible nicknames. A blast from the offending reploid barreled toward him and he narrowly avoided it. Looking over at the row of chairs that it hit, he realized that they just cracked and crumbled behind the force of the blast with no burn damage. Hilton looked back confused.

"My blasts are concentrated sound! And next, I've got a real treat for you, only enhanced by my lovely choice in arena!" As he finished his sentence he pulled a hatch on his chest and turned on his internal amp.

He began wailing on a wicked solo and as he did he turned to face Hilton. The amp's directional output ripped the wood planks from the floor as it raced towards the old man, striking a glancing blow. Even a glancing blow, however, threw Hilton from the stage into the concert seating. Pressing the button on his cane, it transformed into his scythe cannon. He popped a few shots off before avoiding another destructive riff. The old man ran into the mezzanine and up the stairs to the balcony seating. Sneaking upto the edge, he took aim and fired a shot at the reploid hitting him squarely in the back.

Turning quickly he released another blaze of guitar destruction at the upper deck, ripping the ledge Hilton was leaning up in half. Hilton dove at his enemy, scythe overhead, and flew through the air. Bassmaster tried to shoot the oldman, but missed and the result was a sudden rush of pain as the scythe tore into his shoulder through the armor. Throwing the small human from him, the guitar-weilding reploid opened his chest again and turned his amp all the up. To ELEVEN. Letting the most righteous metal riff he could possibly play in D minor flow from his fingers, he let the saddest of all keys plow into Hilton and throw him through three rows of seating and through the side of the stage into the orchestral pit.

Pushing the wood, music stands, and torn seating off of his old body, Hilton struggled to his feet. Then he saw an instrument locker out of the corner of his eye. The fool had chosen his own arena to enhance his weapons, but didn't realize who he was up against.

As Bassmaster watched the codger crawl up out of the orchestral pit he noticed something in his other hand: a bass trombone? The young upstart readied his axe and launched his ultimate squealing solo back at Hilton, but this time it was countered. The old man held old horn to his mouth and let a song rumble from the bell. The audience roared as they actually saw sound clash against sound. The sound from the bass bone was literally a blast. As the two continued the musical battle, Bassmaster's soud was not matching up. As the destruction that was their colliding musicality started to slowly inch towards the reploid, he panicked. As the full force of Hilton's solo pounded Bassmaster in the chest, it shorted his already overpowered amp and the reploid crashed to the stage floor.

Holding his scythe against his opponent's processor, Hilton beamed. It'd been a long time since he'd had his hands on an old, quality instrument like that.


Signus watched Delacroix's mouth turn to a smile.

"How did you know he'd last through the barrage of a full-powered reploid?"

"I didn't." Delacroix responded plainly. "I had a hunch, though, as I told you. here was record of a Hilton in warTs dating back further than 114 years ago."

"There is more than one person with the name Hilton... maybe you found records of his ancestors."

"Maybe I did. But I also happen to know that S&H Labs was founded well over 200 years ago." Delacroix smirked.

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