Blood on the Dance Floor Final
Posted on Sun Aug 17th, 2025 @ 1:53am by Commander Jenna Ramthorne
626 words; about a 3 minute read
Mission:
Character Development
Location: USS Sunfire
The pole head streaked toward her throat plate. Jenna dropped low, twisting just enough for it to skim past, the impact glancing off her shoulder guard with a sharp crack. Pain flared down her arm. She bit it back, teeth gritted.
The hybrid fighter didn’t hesitate — it spun the pole in a perfect half-circle, striking at her legs. She leapt over the sweep, her red-violet ponytail snapping like a whip behind her, the motion forcing a grunt from her lungs.
Her ribs ached from the earlier blows, her shoulder screamed from the last one. She backed off two paces, feet whispering against the padded floor, and raised her free hand. Not in surrender — in stillness.
Breathe. She told herself.
She inhaled deep and slow, eyes narrowing, letting the world’s clutter fall away. The sting in her shoulder, the heat in her ribs, the echo of her heartbeat — all pushed back into the distance. What filled the space instead was data: the faint whir of the holodeck emitters, the rasp of the opponent’s pole shaft rotating in gloved hands, the subtle shift of air as the figure repositioned.
The strike came — a fast, high cut — but she was already moving, body flowing under the arc of the weapon like water spilling around stone. Her pole lashed upward, the tip cracking against the hybrid’s ribs. First point.
It responded instantly, pressure surging, attacks chaining into one another without pause. She parried high, blocked low, pivoted, her hair whipping across her cheek as she ducked inside its guard for a second rib shot. Second point.
The hybrid fell back just enough to make her chase. She didn’t. She stood her ground, eyes locked closed, drawing in another long breath, letting her senses widen.
They clashed in a blur — her pole meeting its in staccato bursts, the sound a rapid-fire drumbeat. Her calves burned from constant pivots, her wrists trembled from the vibration of impact.
It feinted right, swung left — and she felt the intent half a beat early, stepping into the path instead of away from it. Her pole slammed into its chestplate. Final point.
The figure froze.
For a heartbeat, the holodeck was silent but for her breathing. Then the hybrid fighter straightened, rotated its pole to a vertical rest, removed it's mask and inclined its head in a slow, deliberate bow. The segmented armor caught the light, each plate shifting minutely as it moved.
Jenna exhaled, grounding herself, and returned the gesture — a deep, steady bow from the waist, pole held tight in both hands. No words, no banter — just the shared acknowledgment of a worthy match.
Only then did the figure dissolve into motes of gold light, scattering into the air and fading back into the holodeck’s ambient glow.
Jenna stood alone in the circle, chest heaving, the taste of copper still faint on her tongue. Sweat traced down her temple, catching on the edge of her jaw. She rolled her shoulder, testing the ache, then lowered her pole.
“Training sequence complete,” the computer intoned. “Performance rating: ninety-three percent.”
She laughed once — a short, breathless bark — and twirled the pole in her grip before racking it. The fight was over, but the hum of adrenaline stayed. Her senses were still alive, sharp as the moment before an atmospheric reentry.
Her duffel waited where she’d dropped it. She slung it over her shoulder and stepped toward the exit, her ponytail swaying with each stride. The gym doors parted, and the quiet outside felt heavier after the electric violence of the arena.
She let herself breathe one last deep breath — not to reset this time, but to savor the feeling of being all the way back to reality.
END
RSS Feed