Uber TAUNTS Colossus

Maci Gian

With a match between two of the Super League’s biggest teams—literally, in this case—Iron Tank & Colossus approaching, fans have been on the edge of their seats, debating and speculating over which of the giants will come out on top!

Colossus had departed Olympii a little over a week ago, and are in the process of making their way over to the Fortress. The Greek team have scheduled breaks throughout their long drive at multiple hotels, but for the time being, they’re currently unable to attend any in-person interviews.

Iron Tank, however, have been consistently working hard ever since the match had been announced.

Futbol 360’s Lena Long had made her way over to their stadium in the midst of their practice to see how they—their captain especially—were doing.

She and her crew had made their way through the Fortress and onto the field. The cameras were rolling, with only tiny flurries flickering by that disrupted the view of the mostly empty stadium, which was covered in a layer of snow as always. There was a brisk wind that threatened to mess with her hair—but the pins holding it in place refused to budge. She had an arm wrapped around her thick, gray trench coat to keep as much warmth inside as possible, and the sound of her black snow pants rustling against each other got picked up by her microphone

Standing several feet away from her, with his back turned to them, was Johann Uber. His cast shadow stretched far enough to reach the tunnel, and his flattop, blond hair poked past the top horizon of the stadium.

He wasn’t out running with his teammates, instead, he was barely past the field’s lines with his arms folded and his posture stiff. It was an unusual sight to see a captain so physically disengaged during practice, but with the constant darting of his head, and the way he kept repositioning his body to ‘follow’ whichever players he had his eyes on, it was clear he was taking in every second of the action that played out before him.

He had to.

With their coach out of the picture, Iron Tank needed an authoritative figure to look over them, to push them, and Uber seemed more than ready to take on such a position.

As Lena grew closer, Uber’s size never shrunk.

Super League players—these grand, fantastic players—who’s athletic skills always made them look otherworldly, who’s stardoms made them seem so untouchable, who’s constant victories made them feel so powerful; were just as human as their fans, and nothing solidified that more than their interviews.

When reporters stood face to face with the players, when the cameras showed how many of them were about the same height as—or a few inches taller than—those interviewing them, and when the mics picked up every light chuckle or the stumble of a word, an odd sense of comfort followed through. The little reminders these interviews provided was enough to give warmth to such intimidating figures.

Iron Tank didn’t have that, though.

They didn’t have warmth,

They never shrunk.

They were cold, stern, and powerful.

Much like their stadium, which had been built along a mountain’s side, where it had endured years upon years of blizzards and frigid winds, yet remained in place, refusing to give even nature itself the power to affect it.

The Fortress’ interior was just as intimidating as it’s exterior, with towering walls, bleak hues of greens, blues, and grays throughout, and the only ‘decor’ being security cameras which aligned the ceilings, footprints left by the dirtied shoes of players, and Iron Tank’s logo painted across large walls which most fans walked past on their way to their seats.

Colonel Von Pushup strived to keep the inside of the Fortress as freezing as it was outside. He once stated in a past interview that he and his men grew up in the cold, that it was a part of their life, and to suddenly get rid of it—to grant themselves the ‘luxury’ of removing a constant harshness from their lives—would only weaken his team, so in the cold they stayed.

Lena called out to the captain, but her words were muffled by the thick, red scarf she had firmly wrapped around her neck.

She grunted and brought a gloved hand closer to the scarf and pulled it down.

“Johann Uber!” She yelled this time, catching the blond man’s attention. He peeked over his shoulder.

“Johann Uber, how are you coping with the responsibilities of coaching being on your shoulders?” She asked as she brought the microphone to her red lips, her other hand still keeping her coat close together, not wanting to let a sliver of the cold inside, “Did your Colonel leave any instructions on how to prepare for your next game against Colossus?”

“Ah, ze Colonel always has a plan for how ve vill destroy ze next team, and ve follow zem perfectly so zat we can plow through our enemies, just as ve did vith those Technicali vimps.” Uber began, his voice as demanding—and his accent as thick—as it always was. A cold chuckle escaped his lips as he turned his body towards Lena, revealing the dark green whistle around his neck, “Though, ve really didn’t need to be prepared for their team. We’ve had vind here stronger than ze likes of zem.”

“But what about you?” Lena repeated with a tilt of her head, her glasses slid down a tad, “Have you been handling everything alright?”

“Please.” A smirk cracked across his face, the cool complexion of his ivory skin paired perfectly with the snow, “There is a reason I am—und always vill be—his second in command. I know vhat he wants und ze results he expects, und just like him, I do everything in my power to get zem. Even vith him gone, ve still train as if he vas here. Nothing vill stand in the way of our victory, especially not some puny little scientist who cries to ze board.”

Uber peered past his shoulder, the camera followed this movement and focused on the right portion of the field.

Scattered throughout were orange cones, logs of scot pine which were laid on their sides and looked to be nearly three times the height of an Iron Tank player, and large tires that looked to be twice their width.

Some of the players had attached themselves to the thick, umber-gray logs, tying one end of a thick rope to the center of the trunk, while the other was tightly knotted around their chest in an ‘X’ shape. They’d take large, heavy steps, each one followed by a strained grunt as the log dragged behind them and erased the footprints they left in the snow.

The others that worked with the tires trudged beside them. Despite having no ropes attached to them, despite having no weight they had to drag from behind, their pacing matched those tied to the logs. They were tasked with flipping the tires; each flat side had to hit the snow before they could take another step and repeat the process again and again. They’d clamp their hands around the bottom edges, the inside of their nails undoubtably filthy with dirt and grime that had clung onto the tires, and their lungs filled with the stench of rubber.

The men’s sharp gasps and sudden hisses of pain, paired with their slow, strained steps, were all parts of the display of strength their team had—the strength they needed to have—for their training. Exhaustive, strenuous, all while withstanding the sheer cold, yet they powered through, only allowing a moment of struggle to flash across their faces before replacing it with determination once more.

Uber nodded once at the sight, a glisten of confidence shone in his eyes.

“And what about your new player?” Lena said.

Uber’s smile dropped.

“He’s almost the same height as Chuck T. Chipperson, and your fans have noticed he was struggling last game…” She continued “How will he do now that he’s expected to go against a team twice his size?”

His mouth curled further down.

While it was true Iron Tank crushed Technicali in their last game, it’d be a lie to say the entire team did well. Their newest player, Ja Nein, was visibly struggling the most on the field; from being too indecisive as to where to pass the ball, to getting overwhelmed by the opposing team’s defense strategies, many Iron Tank fans—along with his fellow teammates—couldn’t help but look away in shame.

“I’ve been ordered to give special attention to ze newbie. I vill make sure ve don’t have a repeat of any of his last mistakes.” Uber spoke through his teeth, “He’s smart. Zat’s vhy Colonel took him in, but vhat good is a brain if you’re too scared to use it on ze field?” He tapped the side of his head.

Uber looked over to the left side of the field.

Running across it, kicking a red soccer ball between rows of cones while his head constantly darted from his shoes to the goal, was Ja Nein.

His pace picked up, but with his attention divided, the tip of his kicking foot kept hitting the top of cones, making him miss a couple weaves.

He kept going, not letting the mistakes slow him any more than they already had, and reached the end of the final row.

He quickly placed his foot atop the ball.

His head darted to the goal again.

Grenade, the team’s goalie, was leaning against one of the poles with one leg crossed over the other, and his arms folded. He perked up when he noticed Ja Nein readying himself, and pushed himself off to get into position.

His jet black top demanded attention, it was the darkest thing in the entire stadium, and was practically a vortex taking in any light that bounced off the snow. The tightness of the fabric only accentuated his figure further, it hugged his biceps and squeezed his chest, truly making him stand out as the overpowering obstacle he was. The very goal he was tasked to defend melted into the background, the only reminder of it’s existence being the thin netting that’d slice up Grenade’s silhouette when he stood inside it.

Grenade extended an arm out, the narrow, bright yellow line along the outer edge of his uniform followed his form, and he motioned for Ja Nein to charge. A small smile was worn across his face, his skin a vibrant golden-brown, and his rectangular, black brows were slightly raised as if this was a relaxing activity for him.

Ja Nein looked anything but relaxed.

He dug his foot deep into the snow, blades of grass poking out from the tracks, and lunged forward.

His first step was sloppy.

His body jerked forward further than expected, yet he persisted.

His next step was sharper, faster, and reclaimed the balance that had nearly slipped his grasp, and his head darted to the goal again before he kicked the ball.

It flew several feet forward, the sound of snow crunching followed behind.

Ja Nein took one final glance at the ball, it’s bright red searing itself into his eyes before he stayed locked onto the net.

His next kick was stronger.

The ball shot out to the right. Grenade’s body followed it, his hands just barely raised above his hips.

The path of the ball started to arch, and Ja Nein followed it seamlessly.

The sound of snow crunching was no longer sporadic, but rhythmic.

Another swift kick. The ball shot out to the left.

The striker’s speed picked up.

Grenade spread his legs further apart. His arms were raised higher, and the tips of his splayed fingers curled down, making them look like claws. His smirk grew and his brows lowered.

Once Ja Nein grew close to the ball again, he readied himself.

He revved up his kicking leg.

He swung back—

And another Iron Tank player swept in and shot the ball away.

Ja Nein lost control of his balance as the green and white blur slid by. A trail of flattened snow left behind.

Uber cussed to himself as he watched the newbie’s back hit the ground. He started to storm over to the other players, his frustration more than visible in the way he tightly curled his hands into fists. Lena and her camera crew followed at a safe distance.

The lens zoomed in on Ja Nein, who had propped himself up from the ground. The tips of his fingers were already turning pink from the cold.

The other player a few feet from him had also pushed himself up, revealing the bold, red ‘6’ on the back of his jersey.

Player 6 tapped the inner parts of his legs with the sides of his black shoes, knocking off the bits of snow that had clung onto his white socks, before turning his head to face Ja Nein, and allowing the camera to get a better look at his face.

His hair was black like the striker’s, though his seemed to lean towards a warmer hue of it as opposed to Ja Nein’s cooler one. It was hard to determine whether the two of them had the same length of hair or not, as Player 6’s was stuck up, most noticeably in the front. It was an odd mix of fluffy looking—most likely achieved by him quickly running a comb through his hair rather than taking his time—yet slightly stiff, probably a result of whatever gel he used. While it didn’t look bad by any means, it was quite jarring to see how much nicer Ja Nein’s hair was in comparison, despite the fact he’d been doing the most running out of all the players.

Player 6 went over to Ja Nein, his movement slow and his brown eyes never drifting away from where the smaller man laid. The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he wanted to say something, but instead extended a hand out. His skin tone a warm, copper brown, and a surprisingly nice contrast from the cold world around them.

Ja Nein reached out and accepted the hand.

It was jarring to see how drastically different the sizes of their hands were. Player 6’s was large, just like the rest of his structure, just like the rest of Iron Tank, while Ja Nein’s hand just barely covered the surface of the other’s palm. When Player 6’s fingers curled around it, his hand got completely hidden.

Ja Nein got hoisted back to his feet, chunks of snow falling from his shoulders, and even when he was close to standing upright, he still looked so small—

“Don’t help him.” Johann Uber’s voice caught the players’ attention. They both looked over to see their captain approaching, his poster tall and a scowl across his face, “Zat is how we create weak men.”

Player 6’s round eyes lingered on Uber for a moment—they quickly flickered back to Ja Nein before bouncing back to the captain again.

“Yes, Uber sir.” Player 6 said before he let go of Ja Nein to salute.

Ja Nein stumbled back but managed to catch himself. He let out a huff.

“Und vhy did you kick ze ball so far? Zis is meant to be practice, it is meant to stay here—“ He gestured across the entirety of the left side of the field, his German accent growing with his anger, “Not out there vhere our men could get hit or distracted!”

Back at the goal, Grenade watched the scene unfold from a afar as he made his way over to retrieve the ball.

“You vanted me to kick ze ball away from him, so I did, sir.” Player 6 responded. His voice remained monotone, yet his words were enough to make Uber shove his face within an inch of Player 6’s. The edges of Uber’s face were as sharp as his words, his cheekbones looked as though they were chiseled by ice picks, even the shape of his eyes felt sharp and narrow. Player 6’s features, however, were rounder. His face, while longer than Uber’s and having a more rectangular shape to it, had softer edges, and his cheekbones were nowhere near as defined.

Uber’s straight, thick nose just barely touched the tip of the other player’s swooped nose as he hissed through his teeth, “Yes, notice how I didn’t say to kick it across ze entire field?” His whisper as frigid as the air.

“Yes, Uber sir.” Was all Player 6 said, his eyes never stayed on Uber, instead they’d consistently drift past his shoulder and onto the field.

“Und could someone tell me vhy he vas able to get ze ball zat far in ze first place?” Uber asked, slowly turning towards Ja Nein as he bent his back just enough to be face to face with him.

Ja Nein’s shoulders tensed, “Sir, it vas a part of our practice und—“

“Vhy?” Uber repeated again, harsher.

Ja Nein squeezed his eyes shut before taking a deep breath, “Because I… I had failed.”

“Exactly.” Uber jabbed a finger at him, “You vere so busy trying to put on a little show for ze camera zat you failed to get a goal.”

Ja Nein’s eyes widened and his brows shot down, “I vas not—“

Uber got louder, “You vere slow, sloppy, vere you zat afraid to get closer to ze goal?”

“With all due respect, Uber sir, vhat I vas doing vas intentional.”

The raise of a thick, blond brow signaled Ja Nein to continue. He stammered as he spoke again.

“I had a plan. I vanted to create wider, curved paths for ze ball to take zat vould get progressively shorter as my speed would pick up,” He gestured the distance with his hands, “und zen, when I vould get close enough to ze goal, I’d trick ze goalkeeper by—“

“But zat didn’t happen, did it?” Uber interrupted.

Ja Nein lowered his arms, his mouth opened but Uber went on.

“You had some big, fancy plan in your head zat was so perfect, but do you think ze enemies care? They von’t even know about your plan, und zey won’t give you ze chance to enact it. Even einzeller over here—“ He pointed at Player 6, who only blinked in response, “—could figure you out!”

Before Uber could continue his rant, he jerked his head up just in time to see their goalie pass by.

“Und you.” He shot an accusatory finger at Grenade, making the man halt, “Come here.”

Despite his best attempt to stifle it, the dread showed itself with the scrunch of his nose and the downward curl of his mouth as he made his way over to everyone else. His posture dropped slightly as he dug his thumbs past the inner lining of his dark gray pants.

Uber stomped towards him, the crunching of snow filled the air, “And vhere are you going?” He asked.

“To get ze ball—sir.” Grenade stated, a quick salute following.

“Und who told you to do zat?”

Grenade paused for a second. His russet-brown eyes flickered from face to face, though he kept landing back on the news crew as if he was expecting the them to intervene, or to tell him this was a trick question, but when he realized he wasn’t going to get any of that, he looked back to his captain.

“Vell—No one else vas… Getting it, und I wasn’t really doing anything, so—“ His deep, steady, yet hesitant voice was cut off.

“Zat vas not an order you vere given.”

Grenade shrunk down further. It was impressive how Uber was able to make a man his size appear so small.

“Einzeller!” Uber shouted at Player 6, causing everyone to jump, “Vhy didn’t you go after ze ball?!”

Player 6 kept his arms to his sides, “I vas vaiting for it to come back.”

Both Uber and Grenade gave him a confused look. Even Ja Nein couldn’t help but poke himself past Uber’s body to show the puzzled expression on his face.

When it became apparent he wasn’t going to elaborate, Grenade hesitantly spoke up again.

“Did you—vere you talking about me getting it?”

Uber’s face started to shift back to anger, “You cannot use your teammates for—“

“No, ze ball is over there.” Player 6 tilted his head in the general direction of the ball, “Und ze other guys are there. One of zem vill kick it over.”

Uber rubbed his eyes with one hand, “Zat has to be ze worst excuse I have ever—“

A loud ’THAWCK’ echoed through the stadium. Immediately, Player 6 stuck his hands out.

A red blur zipped past them, a strong burst of wind followed, as did bits of snow. Ja Nein’s hair flew in his face, Grenade squeezed his eyes shut to stop the snow from getting into his eyes, even Lena Long could be heard yelping off camera from the sudden speed.

The ball hit Player 6’s chest. He instantly wrapped his arms around it and skidded back.

Once the wind passed, he presented the ball to his captain.

Uber stared at it, mouth open, eyes wide, and his brows curled down.

He looked back to see if he could spot who had sent the ball over—as did the camera crew—but whoever it was had already disappeared amongst the other players, most likely knowing they’d have to face their captain’s wrath had they been caught.

With a growl, he faced Player 6 again.

Uber grabbed the ball, turned around, and dropped it.

Right before it hit the ground, he reeled his leg as far back as he could and punted it to the other side of the field—much farther than Player 6 had originally kicked it.

The ’BOOM’ that followed upon impact shook the ground. Ja Nein covered his ears and Grenade grit his teeth. From afar, several of the other players scattered about and ducked for cover wherever they could.

Uber watched with a grin on his face, the happiest he’s appeared throughout the entire interview, and when he heard a loud clatter from the ball hitting one of the stadium’s seats, he faced Player 6 again.

“Get zat ball.”

“Yes, Uber sir.” Was all Player 6 said before he walked off.

The sound of footsteps grew softer and softer as the player left the frame. Both Grenade and Ja Nein stood stiffly with Uber in the middle of them, watching as Player 6 grew further away.

Lena Long finally entered the frame again, “Seems you have quite the handle on things.” She said, her tone not critical, but not complimentary either.

Uber exhaled, the heat of his breath a visible stream of steam from his mouth which was quickly wafted away by the wind. He faced Lena, “Pah, everything has been going smoothly, it’s these two zat have been causing trouble.” He pointed to the players behind him.

Grenade folded his arms and narrowed his eyes. Ja Nein, on the other hand, kept the disscontempt on his face.

“You can do nothing on zis team und still get yelled at.” Grenade mumbled, the grip on his arms tightening.

Uber whipped his head around—Grenade barely had anytime to react to Uber’s hand before he was grabbed by the collar of his jersey.

“Ja, you didn’t do anything here, und you didn’t do anything during ze Technicali game either.” Uber twisted the collar to bring Grenade closer, “Und your reactions have gotten slower as a result. If I had done zis a couple games ago, you vould have stopped me.” His grip tightened, “If ze newbie can’t score enough goals to help you practice, I vill make sure you do.”

Grenade kept his lips parted. For a brief moment, his gaze went to Ja Nein, who had repositioned himself so his back faced the camera. Close to the border of the camera frame, his hands could be seen curled into fists.

One fist was promptly uncurled and turned into a salute, “Captain Uber sir, ve still have time before ze game. If you trust us—if ve keep training—we vill exceed your expectations. Ve von’t let you down.”

Those words made a confident grin appear across Uber’s face again.

“You two have had a rough start to zis practice, but I’m sure if ve really give you ze push you need…” He dragged Grenade behind him and swung one of his massive arms around Ja Nein’s neck; he yanked him close, making a cough escape his throat, “Zen I’m sure we can destroy those deified duds.”

He faced the camera—Lena Long brought the microphone closer.

“Colossus, I hope you’re hearing zis!” His smile grew wider, “We vill do everything within our power to take you down. Get your precious blessings while you still can. You are going to need zem.”