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Character Profile – Bruce Wayne

Posted on November 28th, 2006 ~ 10:30:26 PM
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Batman

Name: Bruce Wayne

Aliases: Batman, Matches Malone

Style: Mixed Martial Arts

Weapon of choice: Batarang (Modified Shuriken)

Finishing Move: None

Summary: Batman is the alter-ego of Bruce Wayne, a wealthy playboy, industrialist and philanthropist who is driven to fight crime in Gotham City after his parents, the physician Dr. Thomas Wayne and his wife Martha Wayne, are murdered by a mugger. After witnessing the brutal murder of his parents at the young age of eight, he swore an oath to rid the city of the evil that had taken his parents’ lives. He engaged in intense intellectual and physical training and studied a variety of areas which would aid him in his endeavors, including chemistry, criminology, forensics, martial arts and gymnastics, as well as theatrical skills like disguise, escapology, and ventriloquism.

Batman is one of the world’s greatest scientists, criminologists, and tacticians, as well as a master of disguise. Rather than simply out-fighting his opponents, Batman often uses cunning and planning to outwit them.

Character Profile – Bruce Lee

Posted on November 27th, 2006 ~ 10:16:26 PM
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Bruce Lee

Name: Bruce Lee

Aliases: Dragon

Style: Mixed Martial Arts

Weapon of choice: Nunchaku

Finishing Move: None

Summary: An American-born Chinese martial artist, instructor, actor, father of the philosophy known as Jeet Kune Do and originator of the martial art called Jun Fan Kick boxing. Bruce Lee is widely regarded as one of the most influential and famous martial artists of all time. Many see Lee as a model blueprint for acquiring a strong and efficient body as well as developing a mastery of martial arts and hand to hand combat skills. Lee is the father of the only martial art created in the United States, Jun Fan Kick boxing. It resulted from the direct application of his philosophy, Jeet Kune Do. Bruce Lee’s evaluation of traditional martial arts doctrines is nowadays seen as one of the first steps into the modern style of mixed martial arts.

Feats: Bruce Lee’s feats include:

Character Profile – Beatrix Kiddo

Posted on November 27th, 2006 ~ 09:44:37 PM
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Beatrix Kiddo

Name: Beatrix Kiddo

Aliases: The Bride, Black Mamba

Style: Crane Style Kung-fu

Weapon of choice: Hatori Hanzo Sword (Katana)

Finishing Move: Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique

Summary: Beatrix ‘Black Mamba’ Kiddo belonged to the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad, an elite, shadowy group of assassins. A formidable, ruthless warrior trained under martial arts master Pai Mei, she served at the right hand of Bill, her boss and lover. Kiddo abandoned the dangerous life of an assassin after she learned she was pregnant with Bill’s child. However, Bill and his Vipers gate-crashed her wedding to another man, and killed them all. Despite being shot in the head, Kiddo survives but remains comatose for four years. On awakening, she swears revenge. Convincing Hatori Hanzo to forge one last sword for her, she goes on a murderous rampage, killing her way through the former Viper Squad and their current goons. In a final showdown, she fights Bill and finally kills him with the Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique.

Match Structure

Posted on November 27th, 2006 ~ 05:38:19 PM
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Please find below the match structure. Tell me what you think.

Kombat Ladder

Fight Club

Posted on November 27th, 2006 ~ 12:24:13 PM
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The next series of stories would revolve around an underground tournament pitting the best hand-to-hand combatants against each other.

So far, I have chosen 4 fighters for the battle. They are :

Please vote below to decide who among the following would join them for this tournament.

[poll=2]

The Son That Harvard Forgot

Posted on July 14th, 2006 ~ 06:17:19 PM
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An all time favourite true story:

“A lady in a faded gingham dress and her husband, dressed in a homespun threadbare suit, stepped off the train in Boston and walk timidly without an appointment into the Harvard University President’s outer office. The secretary could tell in a moment that such backwoods, country Hicks had no business at Harvard and probably didn’t even deserve to be in Cambridge.
“We want to see the president,” the man said softly.
“He’ll be busy all day,” the secretary snapped.
“We’ll wait,” the lady replied”.
For hours the secretary ignored them, hoping that the couple would Finally become discouraged and go away. They didn’t and the secretary grew frustrated and finally decided to disturb the president, even though it was a chore she always regretted.

“Maybe if you see them for a few minutes, they’ll leave,” she said to him.

He sighed in exasperation and nodded. Someone of his importance obviously didn’t have the time to spend with them, but he detested gingham dresses and homespun suits cluttering up his outer office. The president, stern faced and with dignity, strutted toward the couple.
The lady told him, “We had a son who attended Harvard for one year. He loved Harvard. He was happy here. But about a year ago, he was accidentally killed. My husband and I would like to erect a memorial to him, somewhere on campus”.
The president wasn’t touched…. He was shocked.
“Madam,” he said, gruffly, “we can’t put up a statue for every person who attended Harvard and died. If we did, this place would look like a cemetery.

“Oh, no,” the lady explained quickly. “We don’t want to erect a
statue. We thought we would like to give a building to Harvard.”

The president rolled his eyes. He glanced at the gingham dress and Homespun suit, and then exclaimed, “A building! Do you have any earthly idea how much a building costs? We have over seven and a half million dollars in the physical buildings here at Harvard.”
For a moment the lady was silent. The president was pleased. Maybe he could get rid of them now. The lady turned to her husband and said quietly, “Is that all it costs to start a university? Why don’t we just start our own?”

Her husband nodded. The president’s face wilted in confusion and bewilderment. Mr. and Mrs. Leland Stanford got up and walked away, traveling to Palo Alto, California where they established the university that bears their name, Stanford University, a memorial to a son that Harvard no longer cared about.”

Readers please note this. I have since found out that this is an urban myth. Stanford University throws some light on the actual events here.

Chocolution

Posted on June 21st, 2006 ~ 07:29:12 PM
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It was a dark and tall man who was standing in the woods. Blood dripped through the fresh wounds on the frog he was carrying between his tightly clasped claws. He had come a long way from the sweet innocent days of his simple childhood. He had to fight for his sanity every day since he was bitten by a fierce and venomous moth. The very essence of his being altered into a frog destroyer. The frogs of Bannerghatta were walking happily down MG Road holding each others hand, singing. “Chembakame, Chembakame, nee ennum enteethalle”, when suddenly the sky turned dark, Earth split and swallowed them deep into the deadly bowels of eternal chocolatation. The choco-devil addressed the army of choco-frogs to mark the beginning of the end. The end of human dominance, the start of chocolution, the chocolate revolution. He blew a chocolate bubble into the sky and started the ,surprise surprise, chocolate revolution! The only thing that KFC didn’t want to see in this world. KFC, contrary to popular beliefs, does not stand for Kentucky Fried Chicken, but Killere Frogo’ Communion, a secret organization which cooked chicken publicly, but covertly worked to save Earth from the F-Day, when choco frogs would, ironically, start eating chicken and humans will die hungry. Over the years, famous personalities and non-personalities like Ra Ra Rasputin, Superman and Jassy Gift had been responsible for furthering the noble cause of eating only chicken and chicken alone. Vegetarians resisted briefly, but had too many briefs to resist. Chicken eaters murdered them all. Lord WalldeMart was the leader of a clan of quantum chickenophysical human veggie murderers who were hell bent on wiping all traces of Playstation and clean them neat for gaming sessions. Believe it or not, psychokinetic and sonar cryptological clues is totally irrelevant to this story. But relevance was never a criterion for deep-space survival and that’s the point. Frogolution, hence, didn’t need all these. Spykolomar the Wise was known as the saviour of mankind and for his deft leg glances. His left hook was real strong. Robotic claws replaced his once bruised and battered fingers. His henchman, Kaluppi Dada, was a master frog assasin. Together they went about causing havoc and mavoc, brother of havoc, among the ranks of chocofrogs. Their super powers were too much for Tom Cruise to handle, but that’s irrelevant. After saving humanity by averting the F-Day, they start preparing for G-Day and humanity lived happily ever after.

The City of Dreams

Posted on June 8th, 2006 ~ 09:11:54 PM
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He threw his satchel onto his unmade bed and sat down at the table. The deafening silence was broken only by the ticking of the ancient clock on the table. A hard lump was forming in his throat. He had been rejected again. They said his work was too abstract to interest them. This was not the first time he was being rejected, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. With every picture he drew, his hopes would rise. He would be sure that this one would be his lucky break. Yet, each time his hopes were shattered, ground underheel by corporate magnates whose money dictated what was art and what was not. Each time he lost the strength to go on, but he couldn’t stop. He kept himself going. Today his hopes had been shattered yet again. The walls seemed to be closing in on him. He could feel the will to live slowly sap away. He tried to fight back the growing despair but it threatened to overwhelm his very being.

A loud rap on his door jerked him back to the present. He got up to open the door but hesitated. The knocking persisted. ‘I know you are in there. Open up!‘, his landlord’s voice rang out. He sunk back into his chair and buried his face in his hands. His eyes burnt with shame. He had been sneaking past his landlord for quite some time now. He didn’t even have money for food, let alone rent. Several months rent was now due, and as long as things didn’t change, it would only remain that way. He knew his landlord had not seen him and so would knock for sometime and go away. A nagging sense of shame tugged at his heart and he tried futilely to push it away. He knew the landlord wouldn’t throw him out. He was too kind hearted for that, and that thought only deepened his shame.

As he had expected, after a while, the knocks died out and he was left with just the ticking of the clock. He thought of how things were not long ago, how he had arrived in the city, full of life and hope. The city had fascinated him, with its speedy life and mechanic efficiency. Now all he could see was the heartlessness and loneliness. For a while, he had lived comfortably off the money he had brought with him. Once the money started running low and no job was yet in sight, desperation started creeping in slowly. Giant publishing houses and media powerhouses gave way to seedy publications and local magazines, and yet he never found retribution.

A nasty rumbling reminded him that he hadn’t had a proper meal in a long time. Getting up from the table, he filled up his mug with water from the clay pot and gulped it down. Though it quelled the burning in his stomach some, the weakness in his body clearly told him that he badly needed nutrition. He retrieved his precious stock of salted biscuits and had a couple along with some water. He felt a little better albeit a little lightheaded from the fatigue.

It had been really long since he had been “inspired” to draw. When desperation strikes, inspiration flees and necessity takes its place. He sat down at the table and opened his satchel. Out came his sketch pad and his pencil set. After a brief contemplation on how to be less “abstract”, he starts scratching.

Half-sketched, the pad lay on the table, like an abandoned letter. He stood by the window, looking out at the city spread in front of him. A strange numbness was growing inside him. He was never destined for this. Almost savagely, his mind pushed back that thought. He could not afford to think that. This was his dream. He consoled himself. Tomorrow would be different. Yes, tomorrow would be different.

Prey : The Hunt for Creed

Posted on May 10th, 2006 ~ 09:09:30 AM
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He methodically scanned the room for clues. He knew he had less than seven minutes before the cops arrived. He examined every nook and corner of the room, taking care not to disturb any clues the police might need. The murder was not as mysterious as it was gruesome. There was blood everywhere. Disturbingly, there were portions of flesh missing from the body. It almost looked like the killer had actually bitten out portions of the victim’s body. He noted that there were distinct possibilities of the murderer being cannibalistic. He heard sirens on the street down below. With less than three minutes remaining, he knew that his last hopes for any clues, lay in the flesh wounds. He photographed the portions with missing flesh from various angles. His computer would be able to generate a rough model of the killer’s teeth. He noted that the canines seemed to be unnaturally large. Finally, he used the aero-analyser to detect and store any scents in the room. He could hear the footsteps thundering up the stairs, but by the time they opened the door, he was gone.

It had to be Creed. Firstly, the denture patterns matched. Secondly, no one in the building had seen anyone suspicious going in or coming out. No one else with this ferocity and fangs like this, could just walk into a busy apartment and then again leave without causing any suspicion. There had been a lot of blood spill, yet none of the witnesses had become suspicious of the large gentleman in the trench coat who had left room 311. Bruce was hardly surprised. After all, Creed had MIA training. He had laughed at lie detectors and confounded psychics. This would have been a piece of cake for him. Yet, if Creed had a fault, it was his arrogance. He thought himself to be too clever. He had been arrogant enough to be messy with the actual murder. Possibly, he had tortured her before actually taking her life. The absence of any screams or gags in the victims mouth meant that she was too terrified to make any sound. There were some injuries on her face, possibly caused by Creed covering her mouth, whenever he took a bite out of her. In the end, he just ripped her throat out. Bruce was confident on what had happened. Now he had to find out why.

Finding Creed was not going to be easy. Bruce had the current locations of over 98% of the villains he had records on. It was the remaining 2% that were the really dangerous ones, for the simple reason that even he could not find them or predict where they would surface next. Creed was one of them. Bruce had last gotten information that Creed was sighted in near a village in Mexico. From there, he had just disappeared. Now he has returned to Gotham City. This time, he was going to find him and put him down hard.

While the police were still searching futilely for clues, he tracked Creed’s fast fading scent, following it rapidly before it was lost. However he lost it at the abandoned Wayne warehouse near the river. Not only had the scent become faint, Creed apparently had entered the river, and probably swam to the opposite shore. However, with Creed, anything was possible. He could have re-traced his steps. He could have gone further downstream or even upstream. He had lost track of Creed. Frustrated he returned to the cave. He however noted that Creed had taken care to obliterate his smell track. It could be possible that he was just taking precautions in case the police decided to use bloodhounds to track his smell. Another more cheerful possibility occurred to him. What if Creed did it to throw someone off the scent, someone who could track Creed without any device or beast to aid him, one who was almost a beast himself – Logan. Yet, Bruce would never call Logan a beast. Logan had proved himself in the past to be more than the beast he had been made out to be by the public. Much more. Creed, however, deserved no such respect and should be hunted down like one. If Logan was indeed on Creed’s trail, it might actually make sense to join forces with Logan. As much as Bruce preferred to work alone, Logan was one person who knew Creed inside out. He would be very useful in bringing down this monster who had eluded capture for several murders now.

Bruce’s body immediately went tense. His cowl’s radar was picking up a heat signature several feet behind him. He immediately melted into the shadows and waited for the stranger to come around the crates. He held his breath, knowing that if it was Creed, he would probably be able to hear him breathing even from that distance. Long tense moments passed. Then a familiar voice whispered to him nearer than he had gauged. ‘Hello Bruce!’ . Relief washed over Bruce. He was sure it was Logan himself and not an impersonator. His suit computer had analysed the voice pattern and it was a perfect match. Bruce slowly detached himself from the shadows and approached Logan. Logan was attired in his yellow and brown costume. Like Bruce suspected, he seemed to be hot on Creed’s trail.

‘How did you get Creed’s scent?’ .
‘I got a chance to slip into the apartment. Old Jimmy owed me a favour’.
‘I have lost his trail. He has obilerated his scent by entering the water.’
‘He would head back to the city and lie low for a while.’
‘Wait!’

Bruce slowly faded away into the shadows. Logan cautiously followed. Even as he approached Bruce, he could smell Creed. He knew Creed was unconscious from the slow heartbeat. Bruce was bent over him, apparently examining him. The circular hole in Creed’s forehead coupled with the faint acrid smell of gunpowder told him that they were late. Someone had exacted justice on Creed. Someone whose smell Logan had started to get. Bruce looked at him. They both understood who it was.

Castle.

Frank Castle.

The Punisher.

Standing Tall

Posted on February 4th, 2006 ~ 10:39:35 AM
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Staggering under the torrent of blows, he struggled to keep steady, to keep standing. Despite being the dominant competitor, the Champion refused to let up, continuing his savage attack. Finally, a powerful uppercut ended it. Rising a full few inches upwards, he flew back and landed in the corner of the ring, in a crumpled heap. The match was over.

For a long moment, there was absolute silence. The whole world looked fearfully as their hero fell, beaten down by the Champion. Faint sobs rose from various parts of the crowd. There was no cry of jubilation, no cheers for the winner. They looked on as the referee checked the fallen hero for any signs of recovery. Satisfied that the fallen hero was in no condition to get up, he turned to the champion who stood in full anticipation of the victory.

Time seemed to slow down as the impassive referee slowly walked towards the champion, to proclaim him victor and winner of the grand prize. Despite the presence of millions gathered to watch this fateful match, there was almost absolute silence. With each step the referee took, the silence deepened. Suddenly, a cry broke out, soon joined by many. In mere moments, the whole crowd was in uproar. Bewildered, the referee turned around.

It was a awe-inspiring sight to behold. The fallen hero was pulling himself up by the ropes of the ring. Despite cuts, bruises and broked bones, he was trying to stand. His broken leg was buckling under the weight. His whole body was screaming with the effort, yet he pulled himself up to a fighting position through sheer willpower. His eyes were swollen shut and his lip was puffed and bloodied. When he spoke, his voice came out as a hoarse whisper.

“You may have broken my body, but my will is indomitable. As long as there is breath in me, I will get up and I will fight you.”

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