[Kun-Kun's avatar should be a familiar one. A brawler in monochrome, it's simple and easily caricatured - and has been plastered across the city for weeks now, utilized in multi-platform advertising campaigns, in Bout It Out merchandising, in popculture media stories. There are handful of people in the crowd wearing the avatar's design as pins or on t-shirts. It should be easily recognizable, even to a group of hosts literally alien to the planet.
Kun Adetokunbo, an athletic man in his thirties, takes his place on the opposite side of the arena to an uproar of shouting, cheers, a brilliant strobe of lights. He raises his hand, offers a thin smile (that's his major charm point, say journalists; being a little shy and serious on top of being good) and then settles into position. For a moment, there's a real sense of delight stitched through the crowd. Then his avatar digitizes into the combat zone between the fighter platforms.
It isn't the familiar brawler, though it's still monochrome shades of grey. Instead the avatar that clicks together before The Darkling's narcissistic self-image is unmistakably, unarguably, the brawler re-skinned to look robotic. There's a familiar flash of cyan - typical of most androids - to its eyes as well.
The wave of shouting from the crowd undulates, quivers. It's something like anger, something like anticipation, something like the sound of a popular athlete shooting his public representatives in the foot if the stark look on his management team's faces behind him are any indication.
The androgynous announcer avatar at the center of the combat zone seems for a moment startled, then pastes a broad smile across their largely featureless face:]
Count down, everyone!
[The familiar holographic countdown appears overhead. The announcer dissolves and the crowd shouts: THREE! TWO! ONE!
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Kun Adetokunbo, an athletic man in his thirties, takes his place on the opposite side of the arena to an uproar of shouting, cheers, a brilliant strobe of lights. He raises his hand, offers a thin smile (that's his major charm point, say journalists; being a little shy and serious on top of being good) and then settles into position. For a moment, there's a real sense of delight stitched through the crowd. Then his avatar digitizes into the combat zone between the fighter platforms.
It isn't the familiar brawler, though it's still monochrome shades of grey. Instead the avatar that clicks together before The Darkling's narcissistic self-image is unmistakably, unarguably, the brawler re-skinned to look robotic. There's a familiar flash of cyan - typical of most androids - to its eyes as well.
The wave of shouting from the crowd undulates, quivers. It's something like anger, something like anticipation, something like the sound of a popular athlete shooting his public representatives in the foot if the stark look on his management team's faces behind him are any indication.
The androgynous announcer avatar at the center of the combat zone seems for a moment startled, then pastes a broad smile across their largely featureless face:]
Count down, everyone!
[The familiar holographic countdown appears overhead. The announcer dissolves and the crowd shouts: THREE! TWO! ONE!
Fight.]