[One-shot] Battle Reconfigured: Proceed to Games
Battle Reconfigured: Proceed to Games
Kisumai - Kitayama/Fujigaya
2185 words, PG, Tron Legacy AU (will be renamed later~?)
Thirty years after Sam Flynn rebuilt the Grid, people are able to access it using program avatars through personal system links. The Disc Wars have become a popular sporting game and Fujigaya is right at the top. But when an unknown opponent steps into his cube, Fujigaya finds himself fighting like he's never fought before.
For kuro_chin from this year's run of kis_my_fic2 ♥! I am so ridiculously easy to spot, sob, why.
(For those unfamiliar with Tron, all you really need to know is that Disc Wars look like this.)
Okay, also, because I am a loser like that, I created grid-suits for all of Kisumai (find them over here). Though obviously they don't have their skates here (that will happen sometime later... I do have fic ideas for Butoukan and Kisumai in this verse.)
The nice thing about a quick, clean battle was that Fujigaya had a chance to size up his next opponent. Semi-finals would become finals once this other fight finished and their cubes combined. Every second counted. They were on the last stretch, nearing victory, and Fujigaya leaned against the plasma glass of the Grid, curious.
He knew Tamamori, the lanky player with yellow zig-zagging over his bodysuit, but he didn’t know the smaller, more compact player Tamamori was fighting against. He was fast, the pulsing red of his grid-suit blurring as he knocked Tamamori’s legs out from him. Even at a glance, Fujigaya had to marvel at how his balance was nearly perfect and his movements precise, controlled, calculated.
He frowned, watching as Tamamori rolled, narrowly avoiding a disc-strike to the chest. This player was good. Fujigaya knew almost every player in this circuit, it was impossible for him to not recognize someone this skilled. But that was a style that could not be mistaken and Fujigaya knew he’d never seen it before.
Tamamori was no easy kill. He knew how to use his height to his advantage, pressing Little Red into the defensive. It was a good battle, but Fujigaya found himself squinting, as if that would yield something. It nearly imperceptible, but Fujigaya had spent hours upon hours studying battle simulations and he could have sworn that Tamamori’s opponent was restraining himself.
It was almost like he was playing with Tamamori. Like a cat with a mouse. Like a toy.
The strategy was unusual, to say the least (Fujigaya would have used the word ridiculous, or perhaps pretentious.) He continued to watch, deaf to the cheers of the crowds as Little Red danced around Tamamori, pressing and then retreating, drive and draw. Disc wars relied on quick thinking and quicker action, every blow counting for something, but as the battle went back and forth, going in nothing but circles, Fujigaya knew Tamamori was going to lose patience.
He did, moments later, lunging at Little Red. It was almost beautiful watching Little Red duck beneath his strike, bringing his disc up to Tamamori’s gut. There was a flash as energy met bodysuit and then Tamamori’s program shattered.
“Player Defeated,” the monotone of the computerized commentator announced. “Victory - Kitayama Hiromitsu. Commence to Finals.”
There it was, that rush of excitement. It was what Fujigaya loved about the Grid games. Everything from how the disc felt in his hand as he fought to the way the plasma-glass felt surrounding him on all sides to the almost sickening thrill of victory when he destroyed an opponent’s program. His cube shifted to the center of the stadium to meet his final opponent and Fujigaya let the moment wash over him.
“Combatants Fujigaya Taisuke and Kitayama Hiromitsu,” the commentator announced. “Final Battle, Begin.”
Something switched on in Fujigaya and he reached behind him, unhooking his own disc as their cubes merged. Passive to aggressive, rocking on the balls of his feet as the barrier separating him from this Kitayama dissolved.
Fujigaya took a leap, dashing across the cube as he hurled his disc. Kitayama was quick to meet him, his own disc zipping through the air. Fujigaya ducked the red disc, spinning to catch his own again as it rebounded off the opposite wall. Curiosity made him eager and he was quick to press Kitayama again, catching the man before he could make another disc-pass.
But Kitayama could match him move for move in speed and agility, blocking every blow as Fujigaya dished it out, sparks of angry red and dizzying pink flying as their discs met. Fujigaya attacked again, unrelenting. He knew how to be hostile without making reckless mistakes, and he wasn’t about to let Kitayama play him like he’d played Tamamori.
He feinted, disc slicing through the air before he threw his weight, punching Kitayama solidly in the shoulder. It made him wish that he could see Kitayama’s face through the visor because the man faltered, as if taken by surprise. But it was only for a split second before he was rolling with the punch, spinning and bringing his knee up to crash against Fujigaya’s unprotected middle.
Fujigaya flew through the air, crashing against the opposite wall of the cube. But he was on his feet practically before he hit the floor, crouched and ready for the next attack. The kick had been more thrilling than painful (though he could feel heat flood to that part of his body as he began to bruise). That had been real and it had been what Fujigaya had really wanted to see.
He didn’t want to fight and know Kitayama was holding back. There had been an energy in that split second that Kitayama hadn’t shown before and Fujigaya wanted to see more of it. Whoever this Kitayama was, he was nothing Fujigaya could underestimate and while the unknown had annoyed Fujigaya initially, the challenge now became even more exhilarating.
The next attack was already on its way, Kitayama covering the distance between them in a split second.
Eyes narrowed, Fujigaya dodged another kick. It felt casual, almost, not at all like the one that had just bruised Fujigaya’s side and that sparked something in him. Kitayama was trying to play with him.
He dodged another kick, somersaulting to the opposite end of the cube, disc tight in his grip. Kitayama didn’t follow him immediately, but instead sent his disc hurtling after him. The arc was sharp, but Fujigaya grinned as it came screaming towards him. Too easy.
Instead of throwing himself away from the disc, Fujigaya jumped to meet it. And in a move so practiced he could have done it in his sleep, he caught Kitayama’s disc.
The crowds’ screams grew so loud he could feel it through the glass of the active cube, and he smirked as he saw Kitayama flinch. It felt good, seeing Kitayama pause to take him in properly. If there was anything Fujigaya had hated during all his years in the Grid, it was opponents not taking him seriously.
Kitayama’s disc rumbled in his hand with a fascinating energy that was so unlike the sleek fizz of his own disc.
It was then that Kitayama finally spoke, his voice low, but filled with amusement even through the slight computerization of his helmet’s mic. “I always wondered if you could really do that, the rumors almost seemed too good to be true.”
“Should have done your homework,” Fujigaya replied, torn between feeling smug at this small victory or stung that this Kitayama had heard of him and doubted his ability.
Kitayama shrugged and Fujigaya could practically feel how unconcerned he was.
Kitayama was really starting to piss him off.
But Fujigaya had Kitayama’s disc and he knew how to use it, springboarding himself over to Kitayama, slicing both discs towards Kitayama’s middle. But Kitayama wasn’t there, having dropped to the ground. He made a grab for Fujigaya’s boot and Fujigaya skipped out of reach, discs still dancing through the air, the energy burning and leaving trails of light in their wake.
Kitayama’s speed was good, but what Fujigaya found himself admiring, albeit grudgingly, was Kitayama’s strength and strategy. The kick to his side was nothing to incapacitate him, but he could feel the sharp protest every time he took a breath. It was a kind of pain he liked, knowing he was fighting a good opponent, but it was also something that would drain him in the end.
“You’re good,” Kitayama said, rolling to his feet, still with that amusement, but there was a darker current running underneath it. “I thought the hype was just because of your face, but you’re good.”
Practically choking on the insult - his face? - Fujigaya lunged, lashing out with both discs at Kitayama. A more rational part of him knew it was just another strategy, getting under his skin and get him worked up over nothing, but the problem was that even though he knew it, that didn’t mean it wasn’t working.
Kitayama hit hard, Fujigaya learned, taking a punch to the gut moments later. He fought the reflex to retch as he fell. He kicked his leg out even as he hit the ground, knocking Kitayama’s feet out from under him.
Falling down on top of Fujigaya, Kitayama barely caught himself before their visors crashed together. “You’re a little hellcat, aren’t you?” Kitayama laughed, barely managing to throw himself back off Fujigaya before he took a knee to the groin.
“Fucking nyan,” Fujigaya spat back. It was ridiculous to be so riled up but he couldn’t keep back the heady rush of fury. More than the hits he took physically, Kitayama was attacking his pride and reputation, and it stung.
He lashed out, backing Kitayama into corner after corner, discs thrumming through the air. There was no attack and retreat, just attack and attack, rip and tear at Kitayama’s defenses and not let up. Fujigaya wanted to see Kitayama break.
“Why so mad?” Kitayama grunted, bracing himself against the cube’s wall and flipping over Fujigaya’s head. Fujigaya whipped around, flicking Kitayama’s disc after him. It missed, but gave Fujigaya the time to close the distance between him and Kitayama. He darted forward, catching the disc with ease.
But as the fight wore on, Fujigaya wore out. It was absurd, battles were never supposed to last this long. Fujigaya had worked hard to build up his stamina, but Kitayama was tearing through it. For what it was worth - and it was worth something to Fujigaya - Kitayama didn’t seem to be weathering so well either. His chest was heaving as they broke apart yet again.
They paused for a breath and Fujigaya found himself wondering yet again who Kitayama was. How had he never heard of him before? Fujigaya was considered elite in the solo games, part of the top sector. But at the same time, Fujigaya still held both discs and Kitayama’s program was still running strong.
It was utterly maddening.
“I hope you realize how sincere I am,” Kitayama said as he straightened, “when I say that I’m impressed. I expected to beat you five minutes ago.”
There were words on the tip of Fujigaya’s tongue, vile and heavy, but he stayed silent, saving his breath because they weren’t finished yet. There no time for words as they clashed again. It was back and forth, attack after attack after attack, narrow miss followed by another narrow miss. The two discs left colored streaks in the air but failed to meet their target.
“What is it?” Fujigaya exploded as Kitayama caught his wrists, immobilizing both discs. “Who the fuck are you?!”
It was too heated, the fury, the curiosity, the need, and Fujigaya’s systems were overloaded with it all. It was like he could read Kitayama but all the feeds were bullshit. Fujigaya should have won ages ago.
Kitayama twisted Fujigaya’s wrists, sending white hot pain throbbing up Fujigaya’s arms, before dropping him onto the floor. His knees dug uncomfortably into Fujigaya’s thighs and his grip on Fujigaya’s wrists was tight, unbreakable.
“I didn’t... think you’d push me this far,” Kitayama said, no longer sounding so humorous as he panted. But he paused and added, “But it was worth it, wasn’t it?”
Kitayama released Fujigaya’s wrists, moving faster than Fujigaya had time to react. He expected a solid punch to the head or for Kitayama to take back his disc and end the battle.
Instead Kitayama did something completely unexpected: he raised his hand back and struck Fujigaya with two stiffened fingers, fast and hard like a viper. He didn’t hit any of Fujigaya’s weaker vital points, but struck Fujigaya’s chest, where his central processor was.
Fujigaya's battle suit flared pink for a brilliant moment and then, astonishingly, went dark.
Fujigaya felt frozen as Kitayama relaxed on top of him. What had just happened was impossible. Kitayama had just disabled his program without shutting it down. It was impossible. And yet he lay there, limp, as Kitayama retrieved his own disc.
“Player Defeated,” the announcer’s voice boomed through the cube. “Victory -Kitayama Hiromitsu. Tournament completed.”
“Senga said I wouldn’t regret it,” Kitayama said as his helmet retracted and Fujigaya got his first proper look at Kitayama. Kitayama’s hair was plastered to his face, framing dark eyes, and his mouth was curved in a smirk as he leaned over Fujigaya.
“… Kento?”
Kitayama leaned in close, so close that Fujigaya could feel his breath on his face. Everything felt suddenly muzzy, that too-hot feeling still overwhelming him. “He said you’d be more than I was expecting. He wasn’t wrong.”
Fujigaya couldn’t fathom a response until Kitayama had rolled off of him, heading to where the cube had opened up an exit. “Wait!” Fujigaya said, pushing himself up on his elbows. “My program. How… how did you do that?”
Kitayama paused, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes were dark with amusement, just like his voice. “I guess I could show you some day.” Turning, Kitayama left the cube, waving casually over his shoulder. “I’ll see you around, hellcat.”
Kisumai - Kitayama/Fujigaya
2185 words, PG, Tron Legacy AU (will be renamed later~?)
Thirty years after Sam Flynn rebuilt the Grid, people are able to access it using program avatars through personal system links. The Disc Wars have become a popular sporting game and Fujigaya is right at the top. But when an unknown opponent steps into his cube, Fujigaya finds himself fighting like he's never fought before.
For kuro_chin from this year's run of kis_my_fic2 ♥! I am so ridiculously easy to spot, sob, why.
(For those unfamiliar with Tron, all you really need to know is that Disc Wars look like this.)
Okay, also, because I am a loser like that, I created grid-suits for all of Kisumai (find them over here). Though obviously they don't have their skates here (that will happen sometime later... I do have fic ideas for Butoukan and Kisumai in this verse.)
The nice thing about a quick, clean battle was that Fujigaya had a chance to size up his next opponent. Semi-finals would become finals once this other fight finished and their cubes combined. Every second counted. They were on the last stretch, nearing victory, and Fujigaya leaned against the plasma glass of the Grid, curious.
He knew Tamamori, the lanky player with yellow zig-zagging over his bodysuit, but he didn’t know the smaller, more compact player Tamamori was fighting against. He was fast, the pulsing red of his grid-suit blurring as he knocked Tamamori’s legs out from him. Even at a glance, Fujigaya had to marvel at how his balance was nearly perfect and his movements precise, controlled, calculated.
He frowned, watching as Tamamori rolled, narrowly avoiding a disc-strike to the chest. This player was good. Fujigaya knew almost every player in this circuit, it was impossible for him to not recognize someone this skilled. But that was a style that could not be mistaken and Fujigaya knew he’d never seen it before.
Tamamori was no easy kill. He knew how to use his height to his advantage, pressing Little Red into the defensive. It was a good battle, but Fujigaya found himself squinting, as if that would yield something. It nearly imperceptible, but Fujigaya had spent hours upon hours studying battle simulations and he could have sworn that Tamamori’s opponent was restraining himself.
It was almost like he was playing with Tamamori. Like a cat with a mouse. Like a toy.
The strategy was unusual, to say the least (Fujigaya would have used the word ridiculous, or perhaps pretentious.) He continued to watch, deaf to the cheers of the crowds as Little Red danced around Tamamori, pressing and then retreating, drive and draw. Disc wars relied on quick thinking and quicker action, every blow counting for something, but as the battle went back and forth, going in nothing but circles, Fujigaya knew Tamamori was going to lose patience.
He did, moments later, lunging at Little Red. It was almost beautiful watching Little Red duck beneath his strike, bringing his disc up to Tamamori’s gut. There was a flash as energy met bodysuit and then Tamamori’s program shattered.
“Player Defeated,” the monotone of the computerized commentator announced. “Victory - Kitayama Hiromitsu. Commence to Finals.”
There it was, that rush of excitement. It was what Fujigaya loved about the Grid games. Everything from how the disc felt in his hand as he fought to the way the plasma-glass felt surrounding him on all sides to the almost sickening thrill of victory when he destroyed an opponent’s program. His cube shifted to the center of the stadium to meet his final opponent and Fujigaya let the moment wash over him.
“Combatants Fujigaya Taisuke and Kitayama Hiromitsu,” the commentator announced. “Final Battle, Begin.”
Something switched on in Fujigaya and he reached behind him, unhooking his own disc as their cubes merged. Passive to aggressive, rocking on the balls of his feet as the barrier separating him from this Kitayama dissolved.
Fujigaya took a leap, dashing across the cube as he hurled his disc. Kitayama was quick to meet him, his own disc zipping through the air. Fujigaya ducked the red disc, spinning to catch his own again as it rebounded off the opposite wall. Curiosity made him eager and he was quick to press Kitayama again, catching the man before he could make another disc-pass.
But Kitayama could match him move for move in speed and agility, blocking every blow as Fujigaya dished it out, sparks of angry red and dizzying pink flying as their discs met. Fujigaya attacked again, unrelenting. He knew how to be hostile without making reckless mistakes, and he wasn’t about to let Kitayama play him like he’d played Tamamori.
He feinted, disc slicing through the air before he threw his weight, punching Kitayama solidly in the shoulder. It made him wish that he could see Kitayama’s face through the visor because the man faltered, as if taken by surprise. But it was only for a split second before he was rolling with the punch, spinning and bringing his knee up to crash against Fujigaya’s unprotected middle.
Fujigaya flew through the air, crashing against the opposite wall of the cube. But he was on his feet practically before he hit the floor, crouched and ready for the next attack. The kick had been more thrilling than painful (though he could feel heat flood to that part of his body as he began to bruise). That had been real and it had been what Fujigaya had really wanted to see.
He didn’t want to fight and know Kitayama was holding back. There had been an energy in that split second that Kitayama hadn’t shown before and Fujigaya wanted to see more of it. Whoever this Kitayama was, he was nothing Fujigaya could underestimate and while the unknown had annoyed Fujigaya initially, the challenge now became even more exhilarating.
The next attack was already on its way, Kitayama covering the distance between them in a split second.
Eyes narrowed, Fujigaya dodged another kick. It felt casual, almost, not at all like the one that had just bruised Fujigaya’s side and that sparked something in him. Kitayama was trying to play with him.
He dodged another kick, somersaulting to the opposite end of the cube, disc tight in his grip. Kitayama didn’t follow him immediately, but instead sent his disc hurtling after him. The arc was sharp, but Fujigaya grinned as it came screaming towards him. Too easy.
Instead of throwing himself away from the disc, Fujigaya jumped to meet it. And in a move so practiced he could have done it in his sleep, he caught Kitayama’s disc.
The crowds’ screams grew so loud he could feel it through the glass of the active cube, and he smirked as he saw Kitayama flinch. It felt good, seeing Kitayama pause to take him in properly. If there was anything Fujigaya had hated during all his years in the Grid, it was opponents not taking him seriously.
Kitayama’s disc rumbled in his hand with a fascinating energy that was so unlike the sleek fizz of his own disc.
It was then that Kitayama finally spoke, his voice low, but filled with amusement even through the slight computerization of his helmet’s mic. “I always wondered if you could really do that, the rumors almost seemed too good to be true.”
“Should have done your homework,” Fujigaya replied, torn between feeling smug at this small victory or stung that this Kitayama had heard of him and doubted his ability.
Kitayama shrugged and Fujigaya could practically feel how unconcerned he was.
Kitayama was really starting to piss him off.
But Fujigaya had Kitayama’s disc and he knew how to use it, springboarding himself over to Kitayama, slicing both discs towards Kitayama’s middle. But Kitayama wasn’t there, having dropped to the ground. He made a grab for Fujigaya’s boot and Fujigaya skipped out of reach, discs still dancing through the air, the energy burning and leaving trails of light in their wake.
Kitayama’s speed was good, but what Fujigaya found himself admiring, albeit grudgingly, was Kitayama’s strength and strategy. The kick to his side was nothing to incapacitate him, but he could feel the sharp protest every time he took a breath. It was a kind of pain he liked, knowing he was fighting a good opponent, but it was also something that would drain him in the end.
“You’re good,” Kitayama said, rolling to his feet, still with that amusement, but there was a darker current running underneath it. “I thought the hype was just because of your face, but you’re good.”
Practically choking on the insult - his face? - Fujigaya lunged, lashing out with both discs at Kitayama. A more rational part of him knew it was just another strategy, getting under his skin and get him worked up over nothing, but the problem was that even though he knew it, that didn’t mean it wasn’t working.
Kitayama hit hard, Fujigaya learned, taking a punch to the gut moments later. He fought the reflex to retch as he fell. He kicked his leg out even as he hit the ground, knocking Kitayama’s feet out from under him.
Falling down on top of Fujigaya, Kitayama barely caught himself before their visors crashed together. “You’re a little hellcat, aren’t you?” Kitayama laughed, barely managing to throw himself back off Fujigaya before he took a knee to the groin.
“Fucking nyan,” Fujigaya spat back. It was ridiculous to be so riled up but he couldn’t keep back the heady rush of fury. More than the hits he took physically, Kitayama was attacking his pride and reputation, and it stung.
He lashed out, backing Kitayama into corner after corner, discs thrumming through the air. There was no attack and retreat, just attack and attack, rip and tear at Kitayama’s defenses and not let up. Fujigaya wanted to see Kitayama break.
“Why so mad?” Kitayama grunted, bracing himself against the cube’s wall and flipping over Fujigaya’s head. Fujigaya whipped around, flicking Kitayama’s disc after him. It missed, but gave Fujigaya the time to close the distance between him and Kitayama. He darted forward, catching the disc with ease.
But as the fight wore on, Fujigaya wore out. It was absurd, battles were never supposed to last this long. Fujigaya had worked hard to build up his stamina, but Kitayama was tearing through it. For what it was worth - and it was worth something to Fujigaya - Kitayama didn’t seem to be weathering so well either. His chest was heaving as they broke apart yet again.
They paused for a breath and Fujigaya found himself wondering yet again who Kitayama was. How had he never heard of him before? Fujigaya was considered elite in the solo games, part of the top sector. But at the same time, Fujigaya still held both discs and Kitayama’s program was still running strong.
It was utterly maddening.
“I hope you realize how sincere I am,” Kitayama said as he straightened, “when I say that I’m impressed. I expected to beat you five minutes ago.”
There were words on the tip of Fujigaya’s tongue, vile and heavy, but he stayed silent, saving his breath because they weren’t finished yet. There no time for words as they clashed again. It was back and forth, attack after attack after attack, narrow miss followed by another narrow miss. The two discs left colored streaks in the air but failed to meet their target.
“What is it?” Fujigaya exploded as Kitayama caught his wrists, immobilizing both discs. “Who the fuck are you?!”
It was too heated, the fury, the curiosity, the need, and Fujigaya’s systems were overloaded with it all. It was like he could read Kitayama but all the feeds were bullshit. Fujigaya should have won ages ago.
Kitayama twisted Fujigaya’s wrists, sending white hot pain throbbing up Fujigaya’s arms, before dropping him onto the floor. His knees dug uncomfortably into Fujigaya’s thighs and his grip on Fujigaya’s wrists was tight, unbreakable.
“I didn’t... think you’d push me this far,” Kitayama said, no longer sounding so humorous as he panted. But he paused and added, “But it was worth it, wasn’t it?”
Kitayama released Fujigaya’s wrists, moving faster than Fujigaya had time to react. He expected a solid punch to the head or for Kitayama to take back his disc and end the battle.
Instead Kitayama did something completely unexpected: he raised his hand back and struck Fujigaya with two stiffened fingers, fast and hard like a viper. He didn’t hit any of Fujigaya’s weaker vital points, but struck Fujigaya’s chest, where his central processor was.
Fujigaya's battle suit flared pink for a brilliant moment and then, astonishingly, went dark.
Fujigaya felt frozen as Kitayama relaxed on top of him. What had just happened was impossible. Kitayama had just disabled his program without shutting it down. It was impossible. And yet he lay there, limp, as Kitayama retrieved his own disc.
“Player Defeated,” the announcer’s voice boomed through the cube. “Victory -Kitayama Hiromitsu. Tournament completed.”
“Senga said I wouldn’t regret it,” Kitayama said as his helmet retracted and Fujigaya got his first proper look at Kitayama. Kitayama’s hair was plastered to his face, framing dark eyes, and his mouth was curved in a smirk as he leaned over Fujigaya.
“… Kento?”
Kitayama leaned in close, so close that Fujigaya could feel his breath on his face. Everything felt suddenly muzzy, that too-hot feeling still overwhelming him. “He said you’d be more than I was expecting. He wasn’t wrong.”
Fujigaya couldn’t fathom a response until Kitayama had rolled off of him, heading to where the cube had opened up an exit. “Wait!” Fujigaya said, pushing himself up on his elbows. “My program. How… how did you do that?”
Kitayama paused, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes were dark with amusement, just like his voice. “I guess I could show you some day.” Turning, Kitayama left the cube, waving casually over his shoulder. “I’ll see you around, hellcat.”