Chapter #7Ain't No Rule Says a Human Can't Sumo by: mrsadsack   Marc didn't know the name of the fighter he was assigned to. The sheet of paper he'd been given only specified Room 0 in the Bronze Division. He didn't even know there were Room Zeroes. He followed the instructions on his paper through the winding halls, noticing that the closer he got to his destination, the worse the conditions were. They were nothing like the glitzy rooms he'd seen before.
His sense of foreboding only increased when he came to a stop before Room 0. It was located in a dimly lit hall with flickering lights, like something out of a horror movie. There was an odd smell coming from behind the door, and the door itself was covered in peeling paint. The label with Room 0 was crudely nailed to the door and hastily written in marker.
Preparing himself for whatever nightmare lurked behind the door, Marc slowly raised a fist and knocked on the door. It was only a light tap, but Marc flinched as the door creaked and slowly opened on its own, revealing a room the size of a broom closet with nothing in it but a sleeping bag and a light bulb hanging on a chain.
"Who the hell lives here?" Marc thought outloud.
"That would be you."
Marc practically leapt out of his skin at the unexpected noise. He whirled around, heart thundering, and saw a cat anthro standing directly behind him. Unlike the vast majority of anthros Marc had seen around the ASL, this one was slender. Marc had to take a few steps back to look her in the eye as she was eleven-feet-tall. She had black fur, blue hair in a bun, and a purple business suit and skirt. She wore rectangular glasses and had gold eyes.
He recognized her. Her name was Penelope Pierce. She was the agent who represented many ASL members, usually the most popular ones.
"We remodeled the janitor's closet to be a living space. I know it's not exactly living in the lap of luxury, but it's not like we could expect the higher ups to go out of their way for you. Maybe I can get them to fix the lock on the door." She was talking absently while checking emails on her phone. She didn't even look at Marc as she talked, so she didn't notice the confused look on his face.
"M-Ms. Pierce," Marc stammered. "W-what are you doing here?"
"Hmm? Oh. Just making sure our latest fighter was fitting into his new accommodations."
"Newest fighter? Who?"
"You."
"WHAT?!"
The cat shrugged and turned her attention back to her phone as she spoke. "I agree, it's absurd, isn't it? But the higher ups wanted a new gimmick to put more butts in seats and focus groups responded positively to the idea of human jobbers going up against anthro fighters. They think the matches would be good comedy between real fights. You know, kinda like that movie that came out this summer with Jack Splat? What Did I Sit In?"
Marc had seen that movie. It was a favorite of his last mistress. It was about a hapless human who kept being squashed by anthro women. It was the highest grossing movie of all time. He cringed at the memory of how his last mistress would sometimes get drunk and force him to reenact scenes with her.
"You can't do this! My contract says--"
Ms. Pierce rolled her eyes. "Oh please. We both know you didn't read that contract all the way through, otherwise you wouldn't have been so surprised when your duties consisted of being a servant to our fighters. The exact wording of the contracts states, "I hereby agree to carry out any and all demands put to me by the ASL, regardless of the possible risk to my life." I can have a copy of your contract delivered to you with the relevant text highlighted if you'd like."
Marc remembered that damn contract. It was the size of a phonebook. He felt faint and grabbed hold of the door frame to support himself. This was all happening too fast. When this day started out he thought he'd just be another servant, but now they expected him to be a fighter? He was in pretty good shape for a human, but he was no match for those monsters out there. His last mistress had been three times his size and a trained fighter and she'd still be eaten alive!
"B-b-but--"
"Look, Mike--"
"Marc."
"Whatever. I'm not anymore happy about this than you are. You think I want to waste my time representing a joke when I have real clients to take care of? Let's just do our best to make the most of this and get on with our lives." Before Marc could object anymore, Ms. Pierce shoved a key and a new ID badge into his arms. "Here's the key to your room and a pass that'll let you use the locker room, training hall, cafeteria, etc. Obviously it won't let you leave the facilities, so don't try to run."
Marc's throat went dry at the thought of daring to take a step anywhere the fighters in the ASL would be.
"Relax," Ms. Pierce said, as if reading his mind. "The fighters aren't allowed to kill you unless it's a survival match."
"OH THAT'S A RELIEF!"
"I'll have a list of personal trainers delivered to you," she said, as if he hadn't just shouted at her. "You might want to pick one to help you prepare for your fight. Your first one will be next week."
"NEXT WEEK?!"
"We haven't selected your opponent yet, but we'll let you know 24 hours before your match. We won't start you off with a Survival Match... though the higher ups may decide on one if you're not doing well for ratings. You might want to work on your charisma so the audience likes you. By the way, your stage name will be Mike the Mite--"
"MARC!"
"Whatever. Do you have any questions?" Marc had a million of them, but before he could ask a single one, Ms. Pierce's phone beeped and she sighed. "I need to go or I'll be late for my nine o'clock meeting with Dominique. Here's my card. Call if you need anything."
She shoved the card in his hand then closed the door on his face, leaving Marc alone in his janitor's-closet-turned-bed-room. He looked around.
"But I don't have a phone," he mumbled.
He sank down to his knees, feeling numb. How had he gotten himself into this mess? And how could he possibly survive the life of an ASL fighter? It had the highest mortality rate of any other profession. He imagined going up against someone like Dominique or Roxenne, and he shuddered. Maybe a personal trainer wouldn't be a bad idea... even if training meant he'd have to step outside and face his opponents in the ASL. He gulped. Maybe staying cooped up in his room for a week wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.  | Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
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