Zed in Paradise 5

And now back to your previously scheduled prose.
*

For the waitresses, these were no longer games, but ways of life. They had long since become masters of board-games and sporting events and now facing the humans' mediocre skills was mere child's play. In a sense, the biggest difference being that children actually have fun when they're playing.
After a humiliating display of their best efforts, the grand majority of the humans that had entered the building left with empty stomachs. Those who remained to eat were met with troubles along the way. Whereas food and drink was assured, games were also required to be played to receive cutlery, napkins, toilet privileges and, of course, the bill. When it came to the latter, Zed had had enough.
“I demand to see the manager” he shouted as he stood atop a tabletop. Silence fell upon the crowd like sleet on a pleasantly cool winter morn. And after silence ruled came a blood-freezing roar of vengeful fury, followed by the doors to the manager's office exploding, revealing the manager himself.
Vengeance Johnson had a nickname, to those who knew him most intimately, obviously. This nickname was The Vindicator. Wait a minute, did I say most intimately before? I meant least intimately, as this was basically a stage name used by his many fans who didn't know him at all, past his buff, buff, oh-so-buff exterior. Anyway, the reason he had this nickname was because he once vindicated his way out of one hundred thousand paper bags, which was the standard measurement of vindication, in those days, at least. He wasn't too bright, but man could he vindicate. And he was presently going to vindicate all over Zed's face, if you know what I mean. I pray you know what I mean.
“Who just dared to challenge me?” Vengeance growled. Thanks to the wonders of medical advancement, Johnson had taken on wolf DNA, giving him the perfect growl and fangs that could almost stand to rival the great Warg King, whose teeth were so sharp that they could even cut through solid butter.
“It was I” said Zed, dismounting the table and calmly approaching The Vindicator “And I'd like to challenge you to something”
“Perfect” Johnson laughed a growling laugh “What for?”
“If I win, then my people eat for free”
“And if I win?” he wiped his own saliva off his face with a slightly furry forearm.
“Then I pay you” Zed paused for effect “the full amount” their audience gasped.
“Then it appears we have a game on our hands, I propose a good old-fashioned brawl!” he salivated more copiously.
“A good idea, but I propose a variation” he said “we shall brawl in our minds!” the people around them cheered a magnificent cheer of cheeriness.
“Let's do this” Johnson signalled for a member of the cleaning staff to sort out the large puddle of mouth juice he was standing in “to the stadium!”
Yes, they were off to the stadium. The Stadium of Psychological Endeavours to be more precise. This was a structure built by the great king Tamegame in the first era of games in order to satisfy his needs for a gaming environment that didn't 'suck mighty balls'.
Oh how picky a king he was, too. Instead of just bricks, he wanted it to be made from the bones of his people, which was damn hard because most of the population was needed just to build the damn thing. Compromising, he decided it would also be made of the bones of any animal they could capture, which led to Gameworld's extinction of the whale.
Zed, Johnson and a crowd of tens of thousands arrived and took their seats. Then Zed and Johnson remembered they were supposed to be fighting and entered the arena. In the middle of the 'stage', if you'd like, were two helmets attached by wires to a large metal cube of metal which was apparently the battle computer.
The two competitors took their seats in the old armchairs next to the computer, facing each other. Vengeance growled threateningly at Zed to no obvious effect. Zed was too busy wondering whether the iron in his breakfast cereal was enough to break a microwave. No, that's a stupid idea, he thought. I don't even have a microwave. Or cereal. Or iron. It all comes down to this.
“Gentlemen” said a referee, stepping onto the stage dressed in the traditional referee getup; a cocktail dress of purest white. Or what had once been white, anyway, now it was somehow brown. White wasn't a colour you saw much on Gameworld, since most white objects had already been won in games by the self titled Emperor Purity, the man with an obsession for the colour white that could obsess itself out of a billion paper bags if need be. There was only one person in the entirity of Gameworld who knew why he liked white so much and that was an old beggar by the name of Delor whom was on his deathbed and about to die. His knowledge would be the cause of his death and one day he would return to correct his death certificate.
“Are you both ready?” the referee continued.
“More ready than you'll ever be, you damn philistine!” The Vindicator shouted back.
“What was that about?”
“I'm even more ready than that!” shouted Zed.
“Seriously, what were you-”
“Let's begin!” Zed placed the helmet upon his head, rendering himself unconscious for the time being. Johnson did the same.