NOVGO.NET Chapter 61: Hot Mic Hero
Chapter 61: Hot Mic Hero
"Step into the alcove for a brief conversation, commander," a smooth voice called out.
Fin paused in the quiet athlete corridor beneath the roaring stadium stands, turning slowly toward the dark shadows.
The corridor air smelled of damp concrete and ozone as the distant roar of sixty thousand spectators vibrated through the metal ceiling girders.
A senior director from Goldwake Syndicate stepped into the overhead fluorescent light, wearing an expensive tailored black coat.
Two heavily armed corporate enforcers stood silently behind him, their gloved hands resting on the grips of stun batons.
The director’s enforcers stiffened as they recognized the quiet menace underlying Fin’s completely motionless stance.
"I am heading directly to the warm-up area," Fin replied, keeping hands in pockets.
"This conversation is worth five hundred thousand credits," the director stated.
He pulled an embossed legal parchment document from his silk breast pocket, extending it smoothly forward toward Fin.
"Goldwake offers a non-compete settlement for your upcoming quarterfinal match," the director explained.
"You want Halden House to take a dive against Torren the Breaker," Fin translated bluntly.
"We prefer tactical withdrawal for sponsorship," the director corrected with a smile.
’Corporate suits think every honest fighter has a price tag stamped on their collar.’
High above their heads, an automated municipal maintenance drone hovered quietly near the open ceiling ventilation shaft.
The drone’s directional microphone blinked with an unmuted green broadcast channel, transmitting audio directly to the concourse speakers.
"Read the terms carefully, young man," the director urged, tapping the embossed document.
"Five hundred thousand upfront, plus guaranteed shelter in District Two," he added.
Fin took the heavy parchment document, scanning the dense corporate legal clauses under the dim overhead corridor lighting.
"Clause four states Halden House must dissolve its charter within twenty-four hours," Fin read aloud.
"Clause seven transfers all future dungeon salvage rights in District Four directly to Goldwake," he continued.
"Standard boilerplate for independent teams entering vassalage," the director dismissed.
"You want us to throw a match for your darling," Fin said.
"We paid our registration fees with honest sweat, meat, and overtime shifts," he spoke clearly.
"Keep your five hundred thousand credits and teach your boy how to swing a hammer," Fin stated.
The director’s condescending smile evaporated instantly, replaced by a vicious sneer across his thin aristocratic face.
"You arrogant slum rat," the director hissed, stepping closer with narrowed eyes.
"Unranked laborers without pedigree exist only to be crushed by real syndicates," the corporate man spat.
Fin crumpled the embossed legal parchment in his fist, tossing the tight paper ball into a nearby recycling bin.
"A gutter rat built our roof," Fin replied in a calm, unyielding tone.
"We will see how long your corporate penthouse stands when the sand starts shifting," he added.
Fin turned his back squarely on the corporate director, walking steadily toward the warm-up room without looking back.
The unmuted dialogue echoed clearly across thirty-two arena concourse speakers and forty live tournament streaming feeds.
The small maintenance drone broadcast every single syllable of the corporate bribe attempt to two million live viewers.
In the vast stadium concourse, thousands of working-class spectators erupted into spontaneous, roaring cheers and loud delighted laughter.
"Did you hear that?!" a dockworker shouted.
"Teach their boy to swing a hammer!" another roared.
Across the VIP lounge, Captain Gage choked on his wine as the broadcast audio boomed over the speakers.
In the competitor holding room, Nila looked up from her sword polishing, a sharp smirk crossing her face.
"Goldwake tried to buy out a man who just dismantled our entire formation," Nila whispered, amused.
Bram and Orson ran down the service ramp, catching Fin just outside the heavy locker room entrance door.
"The full concourse heard you tell off that corporate director!" Bram shouted, clapping Fin on the shoulder.
"The dockers are chanting Halden House," Orson added proudly.
"We came here to fight on the sand, not sign corridor contracts," Fin smiled.
"Make sure our porters keep their perimeter secure during the quarterfinal match," Ruby instructed Bram.
"We have ten men guarding our locker room against corporate meddling," Bram assured her with a nod.
Live broadcast network forums detonated with hundreds of thousands of stunned spectator messages in thirty rapid, chaotic seconds.
The viral comment stream quickly dubbed Fin the legendary Hot-Mic Free Agent of the lower working-class districts.
Inside the private team lounge, Ruby and Maya sat quietly watching the viral video replay across their monitors.
"You just became the most famous independent hunter in the city," Ruby laughed, shaking her head.
"I only told a pushy executive to clear the corridor," Fin replied, taking a clean towel.
"Goldwake’s stock price dropped three percent following the leaked audio feed," Maya reported with glee.
"The tournament committee issued an official warning against Goldwake for illegal tampering," she added.
"Torren will be furious when he steps onto the sand for our match," Ruby observed.
"An angry fighter overextends his swings and loses his balance," Fin noted, stretching his shoulders.
"The brute will try to strike with maximum velocity to redeem his guild’s reputation," Maya warned.
"Let him swing with all his mechanical force," Fin answered, testing the edge of his hatchet.
"When a weighted pendulum swings too far, the pivot point becomes vulnerable to counter-attacks," he explained.
"We will let him overcommit his momentum, then take his balance," Ruby agreed, checking her spear.
"His warhammer incorporates three pneumatic booster chambers along the spine," Maya briefed them from her screen.
"That means his primary down-strike generates a manufacturer rating of three tons-force at full extension," she calculated.
"Then I catch the shaft inside the swing, before that head reaches full extension," Fin replied.
"A pneumatic boosted hammer is just another shift," Ruby said, smiling.
"Maya, handle the commercial rebroadcast releases with the municipal network," Ruby suggested, reviewing the incoming media requests.
Maya typed rapid authorization codes into the municipal terminal, routing the network broadcast licensing rights through the district guild association.
"Our legal counsel at the Association desk will clear all appearance rights under standard independent guild rates," Maya agreed with a nod.
Ruby fastened her reinforced gauntlet buckles with steady, unhurried precision while checking the tempered steel point of her short spear.
Back at Apartment 4B, Jolly watched her older brother’s deadpan expression plastered across ten live municipal news broadcasts.
She clapped hands with a bright, proud laugh, adjusting her round spectacles as she leaned close to the laptop screen.
Maya had texted that the broadcast network was legally required to pay appearance royalties into the guild escrow.
Jolly tallied how many bags of rice and sacks of potatoes that would buy for the pantry in her green notebook.
Jolly drew a small smiling face in bright red wax beside the pantry savings column in her notebook.
’If the big television channels have to pay our guild, big brother can buy a mountain of meat.’
"That means we will never run out of potatoes or garlic sauce all winter," Jolly whispered happily to herself.
She stuck a bright yellow sticky note on the refrigerator door right beneath the grocery list to mark the family celebration.
In the echoing competitor tunnel, the referee’s brass whistle blew loudly to announce the start of the quarterfinals.
Fin took two deep, centering breaths, feeling the quiet rhythm of his pulse resonance steadying his mind for the upcoming match.
Fin picked up his balanced steel hatchet, stepping steadily toward the illuminated arena doors with quiet, steady purpose.
"Let us go teach their boy how to swing a hammer," Ruby said, tightening her shield strap.
"We will show sixty thousand people what an honest shift looks like," Fin replied with an easy grin.
"Maya, keep our telemetry channel open on the secondary frequency," Ruby added, checking her comm-unit.
"Telemetry feeds are locked and ready for real-time tactical adjustments," Maya confirmed from her console.
"Stay sharp out there, founders," Maya added, giving them a determined thumbs-up.
’Now let us see what Goldwake’s golden boy is made of.’
The thunderous roar of sixty thousand spectators shook the arena roof as Halden House marched into the light.