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  BALANCE

  BALANCE Series – Book 1

  by

  Kurt Bartling

  Disclaimer

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, entities and events are the work of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, entities, events or locations are purely and entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photo-reproduction, recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the author.

  Copyright. © 2012 Kurt Bartling.

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN: 978-1-300-19064-6

  Published 2014, Lulu Press.

  This book written, edited and designed by Kurt Bartling

  Thanks to: Jill, Ali, Addie and Andrew, John K., Jay F., Cassie B., Mat J., Chris B., Barb H, Michelle B, Jeff P. and Marie.

  For mom, who always loved to read … and read everything.

  1. Survival, 2050

  Although the crowds this evening are lighter than normal, the excitement level borders on electric. Stadium seats rise from the floor, forming a bowl around the central cage. Minimal lighting illuminates a smoky haze filling the expanse, with much of it focused on the epicenter. The old coliseum arena surges with activity as spectators move like waves through the stands, gathering information on the fighters, boasting accomplishments, negotiating odds and surveying the talent. Here in the Hustle, the fights are big business. Any money that does exist will run through the cages at some point.

  The ‘Hustle’, what used to be the general population of the United States. Since the global market evolution and the ‘Secession’, it’s now where anyone not Elite; survive.

  The fights are a means, in or out of the cage.

  Michael came tonight to make a little money, to get through the next couple of weeks. He’s new to the cages, having just started fighting in the last year. Although allowed when he came of age, he held out two-years, until his body matured. He’d seen enough young talent, battered and broken, never able to fight again, before they ever had an opportunity to reach their potential, to make any real money. For everyone, existence in the Hustle is a precarious proposition.

  Signing up for a lower level bout, he just needs enough money to make it through the next few weeks, to the next venue. Young and relatively new, drawing little attention to himself, few have seen him fight. Here in the cages, too much notoriety can be a bad thing. Michael knows winning against better opponents could limit opportunities over the long run.

  The cages are not about ego, but endurance … you win, and you live a few more weeks.

  Michael enters the fenced in boxing ring wearing jeans and a tee shirt. Done this enough, he understands presentation drives the odds. Looking too comfortable or capable can swing them in his favor, costing him money. The worse his odds, the better the return on his wager, assuming he wins. What little money he has, he always puts on himself to win.

  Looking around the arena, he notices her again. The dark red hair and light olive skin make her hard to miss. Attractive, yet she projects an air of confidence that also seems remarkably approachable. It surprises him; reading so much in just a distant glance.

  Planning this night for some time, Rena has followed several fighters for the last half year. This one, the smart young one, he’s good, better than most here tonight realize. He fights infrequently, likely only when he needs to, always moving from one cage to another, never twice at the same venue, maintaining his anonymity.

  Rena suspected he’d show up here at some point. She just had to make sure she and her guest were on hand. Having a conversation with the promoter earlier, just in case he did show up, she needs his exhibition to be memorable.

  Concerned his age could work against him, although close to hers, the guest might find him too young. Rena hopes his handsome, healthy appearance considered valuable, recognizing more potential opportunities. Ultimately, his skills should prove too enticing, offsetting any concerns.

  In the cage, there’s only three ways to win, kill, incapacitate or tap out. To tap out, is a death sentence. The fights have an unwritten rule; a fighter cannot return to a cage after a tap out.

  A monster of a man climbs into the cage, a large black man, over six-and-a-half feet tall, thick, and muscular.

  Waiting inside, the draw surprises Michael.

  One of the top tier fighters, this monster has been fighting for a while and hasn’t lost in a long time. Michael gives up six-inches in height and at least sixty pounds. The promoter normally uses this beast to weed out the chaff, to eliminate the mid-level fighters over-reaching their skills, willing to take a shot at a top tier fighter for the big payout.

  Miss-matched fights don’t make the promoter enough profit, the outcome, too predictable. This fight should not be a moneymaker. Fortunately, for the promoter, the financial difference covered in advance.

  The monster is vicious, long arms and very strong. He uses his size as an advantage, employing his strength and reach to stun his opponent from a distance. Once dazed, he’ll wrap up and end the fight. He’s an equal opportunity animal, kill or maim matters not.

  Recognizing Michael, a few spectators rush to place bets on him, much to the amusement of the promoter. Wagering closes with Michael 10:1 to win.

  Rena watches with keen interest, hoping the young man pulls off the upset she expects.

  The monster approaches Michael sporting an ominous grin, revealing several missing teeth. Not one to entertain the crowd, in the cage, the monster is all business.

  Michael circles, keeping his distance, moving purposefully, constantly shifting his center of gravity, allowing for an instantaneous change of direction when the monster makes his move. Watching the man closely, Michael scans from shoulders to waist, looking for the first indication of an opening foray.

  It happens, like a wave on water, the monster plants his feet, waist squares, muscles in his right shoulder flex … instinctively, Michael knows a powerful right is on the way.

  He moves instantly, naturally, without thought at the first tell of the monster’s feet. His right hand rises up level with the huge man’s eyes, hips rotate left and down, his left arm dropping down and into his body.

  Like a battering ram, the monster’s right arm extends to contact where his opponent’s face had just been.

  Michael’s right hand comes down hard on the extended arm, while his left fist accelerates up, striking with tremendous force, just above the elbow. The combination of the monster’s fully extended limb, the downward leverage at the fist, coupled with the incredible acceleration of the blow on the elbow from below, snaps the joint like a stick, the massive forearm rotating, unnaturally, in a downward arc.

  The monster screams in agony, shock sweeping his face.

  Without hesitation, Michael’s right arm changes direction, hurtling forward as his hips rotate right and up. His fist, turned vertically, his first and second fingers extended at the second knuckle forming a blunt point, strikes the monster in the throat, finding the soft spot above the V created by the clavicle bones, cutting off the man’s screams.

  The monster’s head snaps forward then back, his upper body lurches as his feet leave the mat. The amount of power created by the punch of the smaller foe into the much larger body is unexpected. The monster lands on his back and crumbles to the mat.

  Everyone in attendance knows the monster is not getting back up. The crowd deathly silent for seconds, explodes. The fight ends immediately.

  Michael, surprised, stares first at the monster then at his fists.

  Shocked, gaping at the crumpled giant, then turning his attention to the young man stan
ding over the mound of human mass, the promoter ignites with fury.

  Making his way to the cage entrance, Michael climbs down the stairs leading to the floor, coming face to face with the incensed promoter.

  The furious man utters a single guttural word; “hallway”, turns and stalks to the entrance.

  “Fuck!” Michael swears, then turns and slowly follows in the promoter’s wake. Spectators lining the walkway congratulate and pat him on the back as he moves through the crowd. Cautiously, he approaches the exasperated man, now standing alone in the darkened hallway.

  The promoter turns, face ablaze, “What the fuck! Who the hell put you in my cage?”

  Stunned by the accusation, Michael understands, he needs to diffuse the situation quickly. This man can ‘black ball’ him, making it impossible to get into the ring without drawing unwanted attention or worse, prevent him from fighting altogether. He hadn’t expected the fight to end quite the way it did. Having fought several matches, Michael can’t recall doing so much damage with so much precision, and no idea why.

  Before he has a chance to defend himself, or say anything, the redhead enters the hallway. Wearing a turquoise blouse and form-fitting black jeans, he can tell immediately, she’ll create a distraction, and with luck, enough to make his exit. As much as he needs the money, there are other cages to make it back. Too much interaction with a promoter can have lasting effects.

  “That’s a hell of a fighter you’ve got there. You’ll make a fortune off him.” She says.

  Surprised by her insinuation the fight was a setup; Michael finds her timing inopportune.

  The promoter immediately turns to Michael. There goes his opening. The dubious lowlife considers her words, the hamster wheel turning in his greasy haired head. The smile, Cheshire cat-like, emerges slowly.

  Moving in next to the promoter, Rena inserts herself into the encounter. “I’ll keep your secret, but you have to let me know when he fights again.” She pauses to consider him with a fervent glance, “A girl’s got to eat too, you know.” Scanning the fighter’s body, she considers the handsome young man, rather like a piece of meat, then turns her attention back to his assumed accomplice.

  As Michael expected, the redhead distracts the promoter. In close proximity to this attractive young woman, the promoter’s face goes blank. Stammering and fumbling for words, he babbles a couple incoherent sentences and then shuts up.

  “Keep him well fed. He’ll need to keep his strength up.” Rena suggests, applying the final touches to her manipulation.

  The promoter turns his attention again to Michael, a crooked smile forming slowly from the blank expression. Like a deer in headlights, he pulls Michael’s winnings from the roll stuffed in his shirt pocket. “Absolutely! Gotta keep the boy fed.”

  Rena smiles, turns and walks out without saying another word.

  The lowlife watches her leave, not realizing she never gave him a name. He turns back to Michael, “You let me know when you want another fight. Don’t you go fighting in anyone else’s cage. My cage only. You and me, we’re going to make a lot of money.” The promoter grins malevolently, turns, and walks back down to the cage.

  With a curious smile, Michael watches the odd man leave, shrugs and then runs off up the hallway after the redhead. Reaching the all glass front doors, he sees her standing on the sidewalk, looking down the street, obviously searching for something in the distance.

  Michael exits onto the street, catching her eye. She turns, giving him her full attention. Her gaze fixed and unflinching, he finds her calm demeanor unsettling. Crossing the sidewalk, he starts addressing her immediately, “I don’t know if I should thank you or be pissed? You got me paid, but you may have made me that asshole’s mule.” stopping directly in front of her.

  Out on the streets, with more lights, he now fully considers her appearance. Unlike her, his eyes remain focused on her face; teardrop shaped with high subtle cheekbones, small cute nose and lightly tanned complexion. Her appearance is not artificial with sharp features that seem unearthly or goddess-like. Most definitely attractive, her beauty is more natural and unquestionably earthly. Even up close, she still seemed approachable. Standing about a half foot shorter than him, her dark red hair parted over her left eye, if left to hang down freely, was down her back. At this time, she had it pulled tight to the back of her head and braided, falling just below the neck.

  When she looked up, her eyes startled him, almond shaped and a most striking bright turquoise color, the same as her blouse. Finding no indication of contacts, he’d never seen eyes this color before. Silent, Michael waits for her to say something.

  Her gaze abruptly moves from Michael’s face to engage something behind him. After a moment, she turns her head to the right.

  Up the street, a black limousine approaches slowly, pulling to a stop a short distance from their location.

  She redirects her attention back behind Michael.

  Noting her actions, Michael shifts his position to her left, turning to address whatever approached from behind him, while keeping an eye on the car up the street. Standing at her side, close enough that he can feel body heat radiating off her, Michael assesses the situation. He identifies a well-dressed man, having just stepped out of the same building he just exited.

  “Friends of yours?” He whispers.

  “You should go.” She responds softly, never taking her eyes from their new guest. The man, middle aged and fit, watches her and Michael as he continues out onto the street.

  Studying the pair for a moment, the man steps forward, addressing them as he approaches, “Impressive display, both of you … my employer … would like to extend each of you … an invitation.”

  Michael tilts his face toward the redhead and whispers, “Shit, scout.”

  The world has changed much in Michael’s lifetime. What was a geographically segregated world of countries, providences, and territories has evolved. The global economy took hold, although probably not how many anticipated. The growth of the financial fortunes of new industrialized countries, coupled with the debt of Europe and America resulted in the destabilization of governments.

  In the United States, laws continually shifting to promote business growth weakened business ethics and oversight. Business financial controls deteriorated, allowing profits to avoid taxation; causing the government to run out of money. A downward spiral of spending cuts accelerated the process.

  More and more of the wealth shifted to fewer and fewer people. Eventually the rich became so powerful and the government so weakened that the wealthy just stopped acknowledging the government altogether … the ‘Secession’.

  The ‘SuperElite’ took over, having built up their own militaries, their own régimes. The US government could do nothing to prevent it, here or abroad. Once the United States finally fell, much of the world quickly followed.

  95% of the world’s wealth is held by 5% of its populace. Less than 1% of the population, comprising the “Elite” and “SuperElite” control most of that. There are only a handful of SuperElite in the world, acting as sovereignties unto themselves, unrestricted by geographic borders.

  Existing within pockets of prosperity, the Elite live like lordships among the peasantry, lawlessness, and destitution of the world, no care for their fellow man.

  Scouts, ‘Talent Scouts’ as they are more formally known, agents of the Elite, their job is to identify people with skills that might be of use. For the most part, the rest of the world’s population harvested for talent, when they find it, you are ‘invited’. To some, the scout can be a way out, to others, especially with families, it’s abduction. Someone identified as talent, really doesn’t have much choice in the matter. The Elite is not a sound existence, constantly at risk of hostile takeover by their competitors. Once identified, a talent cannot decline the scout’s invitation for fear a competitor’s scout might also identify the same talent.

  Michael understands what comes next, as he suspects, does his new acquaintance
. He takes stock of their surroundings, noticing over his shoulder, behind him, two more well-dressed men appear on the sidewalk a short distance from them. Scanning the sidewalk beyond the young woman, a fourth man has just emerged from the open door of the limousine.

  Michael knows he could get away, but leaving her alone, unprotected, is not in his nature. He’s resourceful; an opportunity to escape might present itself, just not at this time. He might even find a way to get her out too. He has no family, never really had anyone close, no one to miss him when he leaves.

  Michael looks down at his companion. She too seems to have become acquiescent to the situation.

  Both escorted to the limousine, Michael and the young woman sit facing each other in the rear of the vehicle. The Scout, the man who extended the invitation, positions himself on her bench seat just behind the driver partition. The three of them are the only occupants in the rear of the vehicle.

  Sitting across from the redhead, Michael studies her more carefully. Slim, yet not slight, athletically proportioned, with delicate hands, she has a small tattoo visible under each wrist, symbols, or cryptic letters he can’t make out. Michael looks up, engaging her striking turquoise eyes.

  “Rena.” She offers.

  He nods, “Michael.”

  The scout turns to consider them, having assumed they were acquainted.

  2. A Life Abandoned

  Michael and Rena ride in relative silence. Beyond the initial introductions, neither speaks another word the entire three-hour trip, the limousine headed east. Without government resources, most roads fell into disrepair. Only major thoroughfares maintained to any degree, most all in support of Elite interests, financial and recreational. Therefore, their destination, located nowhere near any discernible city or populace, must warrant some degree of importance, evidenced by the superior quality of the passage from Los Angeles. Finally the car pulls into a small airport and ultimately into a well-lit hanger. Inside, a rather large private jet waits, engines running.