Drew (Bruiser9000)
1 Month Ago
Drew Dremel’s my name, no relation to the guys that make the power tools. Drew the Screw, they called me when I was a heavyweight on the UFC roster. That was, oh, about three weeks ago…
I’d seen the writing on the wall. Too many losses, too many injuries, I was at the bottom of my division and couldn’t draw a crowd. If people came to my fights it was just to see Drew the Screw get his ass whooped by another up-and-comer.
My manager dropped me the same day my contract ended. And just like that, I was alone. A thirty-eight-year-old man in a run down apartment on the outskirts of Las Vegas, no job, no prospects, no skills for anything outside the ring. Fighting was my world, and now that world was gone.
I lost control. Started drinking, and losing my shit with anyone who mouthed off to me. One morning I woke up in the county jail. I paid the bail only to go straight back to the bar and watch the title fight. Hew Roberts won by knockout.
Damn old man, he’s got at least five years on me. Why the hell they still letting that asshole fight?
Oh yeah. Cuz Hew wins…
I don’t remember leaving the bar, don’t remember stopping at the gas station to buy more alcohol, don’t remember getting home and smashing the place to smithereens.
Guess I made quite the ruckus, scared the neighbor lady to death. She called the cops on me. This time instead of jail, I woke up in the psychiatric ward of the hospital, in a level 1 high security unit with a lock on the door. My arms were bandaged, treated for cuts from shattered glass. My hands were bandaged too, my fingers and knuckles all busted up. I think the doctor that came to visit said he was giving me something for depression, but I could hardly hear him over the pounding in my head.
I asked for a beer to take the edge off of my hangover, but all they brought was oatmeal and tea.
Sobriety was hell forced upon me. The days became a headache-filled blur of jumpy looking nurses in blue scrubs, and visits from therapists.
“Mr. Dremel were you ever molested as a child?”
“The f*ck?”
“Is it possible you’re suppressing memories…blah blah blah…”
The therapists were wasting my time and theirs. I knew damn well what put me in the nut house.
“My life’s over, don’t you get it? There’s nothing left.”
“Every professional athlete faces this moment in their career. Retirement is inevitable—”
“Did I ask to retire? Well, did I?! I’ve got good years left in me, damn it!”
“Mr. Dremel—”
“Just get out! Get the f*ck out! And tell them to get me a f*cking drink!”
That was my last real outburst. After I finished roaring and raging in my padded cell, I settled down to the realization that nothing had changed. No one had brought me a beer, and my career was still finished.
It was futile. Everything was futile. This was the place I had landed in my life. And there was no escaping it.
A bitter pill. I resented it, but I finally swallowed. What else could I do?
Eventually I proved myself stable enough to move to a lower security unit. This was more like a co-ed dormitory, with men on one side of the hall and women on the other.
They put me in a room with this huge Native American guy with long black hair. We didn’t say a word to each other. He just stayed in bed all day and stared out the window.
In the next room over was a scrawny Asian kid with acne and glasses, a little too friendly, in my face and especially in the girls’ faces, flirting and trying to get their contact information. His neck was ringed with alarmingly fresh red wire marks.
There was a cute girl with curly hair and bandages on her wrists who saw Dementors in the corners of the room. Every time the hospital chimes announced a new birth she would freeze up with this wide-eyed look and ask people if they could hear the pretty music too. They assured her they could, and she’d go back to whatever she was doing.
There were more characters. An old lady who did Michael Jackson impressions the other patients told me had been here forever, another recovering alcoholic who sat in the common room and put together jigsaw puzzles all day, a good looking kid who was scared the Satanists and/or the Illuminati were after him, a waif-like woman with half grown out pink hair who said she was a robot…
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What the hell am I doing here with these people? I remember asking myself. Then I’d look down at my hands, at the bandages and casts, and I’d remember.
Oh, yeah. I’m as nutty as the rest of em…
“I need you to promise me that we’re going to have another safe day,” one of the nurses, a tall skinny dude that looked like Steve Merchant gave me the usual early morning schpiel over the table.
Like a child, I had to answer, “I promise.”
“Good,” he gave a nervous smile. “The therapist will be coming in to visit you at 11.”
“Would that be the old lady or the hot one with glasses?”
He blinked at me, obviously knowing the answer but professionally obligated not to respond to such a question. “I do not believe Ms. Aquinus wears glasses, no.”
I groaned and he pretended not to hear me.
“This morning you can choose between a group activity, or a new experimental therapy program the hospital is implementing, immersive gaming.”
I never got into video games as a kid, didn’t know much about it, and wasn’t necessarily inclined to learn.
“What’s the group activity?”
“I believe you’ll be coloring.”
“F*ck.”
“I’m sorry?” He adjusted his glasses and I had to resist the urge to put his scrawny neck in a submission hold.
Damn it, I used to bully the hell out of guys like this in school…
“I said I’ll try the game…”
Present Day, In Game
I ran into a couple of interesting kids on the road. To be honest, I’m more interested in the heavyweight diva—what a thumbnail her pretty face would make! But if she’s just a mount, there’s no helping it.
My fans love to watch me fight. No matter the opponent, even if I’m beating up on a tiny gnome, they can’t get enough of it. So I’m sure even this boring looking guy ‘Revelator’ will do for a quick match. Gotta keep the fans happy.
Thanks to in-game cameras and AI editing the footage together, viewers are automatically given the best vantage points, and I can upload a new video minutes after a fight. This way I’m able to upload multiple videos, even up to fifteen a day, a quota my fans have come to expect.
I don’t mind the work. In fact, I relish it. I live for the views, the comments, yes, even the mean ones. Because it means people are watching…
Dont.Drink.Draino: Playing with 0 pain filter?this is a strong sign of masochism, and I’m here for it
NoMaamX: Still playing without a single skill… This man has learned nothing…
Meh186: no skills needed, those precise movement, a true warrior in there
C0nf3tt!Bra!n: I love everything about this!
pedromagico49: this guy reeks of washed up mma fighter…hows it feels picking on kids with zero martial arts experience? f*cking loser
TheRacoonMaster: Godly refresh pull
FalconWind: His precision is crazy!!!
04theluvof: im highly invested in this mans winstreak to a concerning amount
FusterCluck: Chaotic good Geese Howard
GeroldAtkins: wawu (???)
Autumnlovesfall: I get serious daddy vibes from this guy… are you single? Message me…
Yeah, baby, I’m single. And I’m gonna stay that way. A girlfriend would only get in my way. My goal isn’t some cozy home life; I’m aiming for the top. I couldn’t win the UFC title? So what?! I’m closing in on 400 straight PVP wins; I have more fans now then I ever had in my whole career as an MMA fighter. I’ll go all the way to the top in TC PVP, and I’ll show them how hardcore I am by doing it with zero pain filter, and without using a single skill.
I came into this world not knowing a thing about gaming—at first I didn’t even know how to use my skills. Then as I gradually got used to the mechanics, I hated them. My fighting was real, but using skills made it feel fake and gimmicky. Not to mention the setup time used to ready the skills left me wide open to attacks. I was stronger without them, and so I built my character around that idea, no bullshit, no gimmicks. Well, sort of.
Admittedly, Bruiser’s personality is a bit of a gimmick. I took notes from the old school WWE wrestlers—it helped pull not only interesting challengers, but viewers, especially. But the rest of me, my fighting style and everything else, the pain I feel, the blows I take and give in return—that’s all real. As this kid’s about to find out.
“You ready?” I ask Revelator
“Y-yeah? Yeah.”
I chuckle. Poor kid knows he’s in for it. But I checked his stats earlier; he should hold up alright under a series of blows. Wouldn’t want the fight to be over too quickly…
I switch on the recording feature and initiate the duel. Revelator accepts and the countdown begins.
[Countdown to duel:]
[5]
[4]
“RAAAAAAAH!!” I roar a challenge and Revelator jumps, fairly squeaking in terror, grasping at his heart.
“I hope you’re ready to be my 399th victim, you soft body potato grabber!”
“What?”
Some days the insults come to me easier than others… I try thinking of good ones, even looking them up on the internet, but… Oh, well…
[1]
“Try not to die as quickly as the last guy, potato boy!”
“Potato boy?”
“MEGATON HAMMER!”
“OOOFF!”
“NO MERCY! NO EXIT! RAAAAAAAH!!”
The first punch lands right in the breadbasket, but Revelator is quick to defend the next one with his shield. That’s alright.
But what’s this pricking pain on my skin?
[-14 HP]
[-14 HP]
My health is dropping every second. Is this some kind of ability? Damn it, I don’t know enough about skills to know for sure what the hell’s going on.
[-14 HP]
Ah, whatever! If he’s chipping away at my health a little every second, I’ll just end him before my health whittles down to zero!
My fighting style is a powerful blend of boxing, kickboxing, Akijutsu and Judo. I focus primarily on strikes, punches and kicks, and switch to throws wherever there’s an opening. But surprisingly, this kid doesn’t leave a whole lot of openings in his stance.
That shield of his blocks a broad range of damage, and he’s insanely quick in his placement of it, intercepting my every blow. Thanks to my stat attribution, already my body moves more quickly and efficiently than it ever did on earth, but even this incredible speed and strength are not enough to skirt his defenses.
He’s good, I realize. More solidly defended than anyone else I’ve ever faced. Meanwhile my health continues to chip away in his aura.
[-14 HP]
[-14 HP]
Damn it! This fight’s lasting too long. Another thirty seconds of this and I’ll be a goner!
What the hell is this pessimistic thinking? I’m Bruiser9000, the undefeated champion of PVP! I’m not going to lose to a little shit like this!
He’s got good defense, so what? I’ve broken through more solidly defended guys than this!
“Alright, kid. Now I’ll show you why they call me The Screw!”
