I gradually regain my consciousness. First, I hear voices - muffled talking and nasty bursts of laughter. Then, I start to smell mustiness and dirt. I realize I'm half-sitting leaned against a stone wall. I'm cold. I finally open my eyes and find myself in a small empty room similar to a cellar box.
It's dark, with moldy walls and only one door leading in and out. I try to recall what happened. Oh yeah... the bouncer from the train abducted and drugged me.
Then, I look at myself and gasp in surprise. When I went to Prague, I was wearing a simple tank top and knee-long shorts. But now... someone clothed me into my goddamn Champion costume.
I have already almost forgotten about the elastic black leotard with the wing-shaped symbol on my chest and hurricane on the back. However, this can't be my original costume since this one is made of strange, irritating fabric and clings tighter to my body, revealing what my previous costume was hiding.
This has to be some low-quality counterfeit sold for seven royals next to Skirmish arenas used for low-budget cosplaying. I stand up since the cold floor freezes my naked thighs. I've never had problems with wearing the costume in public, but seeing myself in this cheap sham makes me blush even though nobody's here.
However, this is soon to be changed.
The bouncer who abducted me enters the room; his gun is now visibly worn in the holster attached to his belt. "Finally awake," he utters. "Good. The audience is waiting for you."
"The audience? But I no longer do Neoclash!" I bark at him, shaking off the remaining effects of the drug. "Where the hell did you take me? Answer or I'll beat you into a bloody pulp!"
"Trust me, Tempest, this is not advised here," the bouncer smirks. "And trust me, this will be far from Neoclash." He rudely grabs my arm and yanks me towards the door. There are two more men in suits with guns in their hands. He leads me to a narrow hallway, just as dark and moldy as the cellar. Trying to fight them off here would be too risky since they have only a little chance to miss in such a narrow space.
"Don't try to run away, my dear," the bouncer tells me. "This place is well guarded... and we have guns even though it's illegal. We are a bunch of badasses, you know?" he cackles.
"What am I supposed to do?" I say, trying not to sound scared.
"The same thing you were doing some time ago, only with slightly altered rules," the man replies. "Don't worry, you'll do great. You'll just have to get used to a different kind of audience."
They take me to a large wooden door; I can already hear muffled noises coming from the other side. The thugs open them, one for each wing, and the main bouncer shoves me inside.
I'm immediately attacked by loud, bloodthirsty applause and cheering accompanied by horrible smells of sweat, musk and alcohol. The door behind me close again and I realize I've just entered an arena.
It's tiny compared to standard Neoclash arenas, only about seven meters in diameter. The floor is sprinkled by suspicious dark stains. The ring is surrounded by a wooden palisade behind which the viewer terraces are standing. There are a few hundred people, mostly males, sitting on them, shouting at the arena with cups of cheap beer in their hands.
The room is only dimly lit, making the atmosphere even more menacing. Now I realize where am I.
I've heard about illegal underground arenas where abducted Champions fight to the death for various reasons, usually because their partner messed with the wrong people and fell into debts they can't repay. Champions also fight there voluntarily for money. They are apparently run by the Yeomen.
I thought those are just urban legends. Not anymore.
On the opposite side of the arena, there is a young Castaway man staring at me. He's scared to death, shaking and barely standing. Behind him, on one of the front terraces, there is an older Healthy man who is trying to jump into the arena. Two thugs in suits prevent him.
When I block all the noise coming from all directions, I can hear what is he shouting.
"No, NO! Jesus, let him go! Just give me one more week and I'll pay for everything. He shouldn't be paying for what I have done. Let him go, PLEASE! Or throw me into that fucking arena instead!"
However, the thugs are deaf to his pleas. This is even nastier than I thought - they force the partners to watch their Champions fight and die. I feel an immediate desire to destroy this place, but now, I have to settle more imminent problems.
It's not I'd have any problems defeating the Champion in front of me, apparently a beginner. The main issue is that only one can leave the arena. And I can't force myself into killing anyone. Not like this.
...
The attention of the whole audience switches to a man sitting in something that can be called a "VIP box" - a separate seat surrounded by several armed bodyguards. It's that rat-faced man who was in the car after the bouncer kidnapped me. Probably some kind of a big shot in the Yeomen movement.
"Greetings to everyone," he says, his voice enlarged by several speakers installed above the arena. "As you can see, we have a special guest tonight. This is the first time we can greet a Champion of Champions in our arena. I can assure you she's a hundred percent genuine, no impostor. Please greet Tempest."
Another wave of cheering rumbles through the arena. Some of them chant my Champion name. A bookmaker is walking through the terraces, accepting bets. I'm sure there is big money involved in this business. It's all sickening.
"I'm pretty sure you don't care about the other dork," the ratman snickers. "You know, the same old story. His partner has some arrears and this Amiss dude now has to pay for his incompetence." The audience laughs. "To be fair, I don't think he stands much chances." Another laughter.
The young Castaway, a dark-haired slim man with a bionic leg, stares at me and his fear gradually changes into determination. He's not going to go without a fight. Damn, what should I do? Kill him or let myself be killed? How did I even end up here in the first place?
"The rules are simple," the ratman says while making himself comfortable on his private seat. "Two Amiss enter, one leaves. Ten wins and you're free. No other rules work here. Okay, you can begin."
The cheering intensifies. We should probably start fighting, but both of us are hesitant to make the first step. The cheering gradually changes into booing and several empty cups land into the arena; one of them is rather precisely aimed at my head. A thin stream of smelly beer drips down my face.
Then, finally, my opponent decides to make the first move.
He charges forward with a battle cry as the boos shifts to cheering once again. Since the arena is small, the whole fight is far more dynamic than in "official" arenas.
Too late I realize I underestimated him. Before I can react, he rains several rapid punches on my face and then finishes with a kick of his bionic leg. The pain in my ribs makes me stagger backward, allowing him to attack again. This time, I block the attack and counter with a push kick.
To my disadvantage, I'm not used to battling with my Lady Equilibria legs. I have yet to test the slight differences between them and my former pair of Valkyries and train with them some more. But it seems that now, they'll undergo a trial by combat.
I strike too little and it will have no effect. I strike too much and crush him completely.
Damn. This isn't looking good.
My opponent recovers from the kick and attacks again. We spend a while just by testing our capabilities and the audience shows disappointment again. I can only imagine what are they used to - blood, gore, severed limbs? But I don't want to hurt him.
He's a complete stranger to me. I haven't met him in an official arena. But I'm not able to kill a person just because a bunch of Yeomen expects me to.
I have to end the fight quickly and hope for the best.
However, it seems my opponent doesn't have such limits. He would kill me if he had a chance. His attacks grow more aggressive and I can no longer hold back. He hits my face with his bionic foot; my vision blacks out for a brief moment and I feel a taste of blood in my mouth.
As he raises his fist for another attack, I bend down, make a step forward and interrupt his intentions with an uppercut. As he staggers, I kick him in the ribs.
Too strong. I feel the bones under his skin breaking and the young Castaway coughs out blood. Now I could finish him off, break his neck with a single spin kick. But I can't. The Castaway takes advantage of my hesitation and performs several kicks in rapid succession. They land on my chest and belly. I double over and cough.
Then, he jumps up, his foot about to hit my face once again.
...
Even though I'm dazed by his previous attack, I manage to crouch to evade the fatal strike. Then, I fall on my back and kick my right leg upwards. The sole of Lady Equilibria connects with his cheaper prosthesis in the shin area, breaking it into a right angle.
The fighter gasps and jumps back on his healthy foot. The audience laughs at his comical hopping. "Finish him! Finish him! Finish him!" they chant. The Castaway's partner bursts into tears, covering his eyes with his hands.
This is the worst place I've ever visited. Not even Nightingale's army is this wicked. Forcing Castaways to fight to the death with no hope for escaping - I doubt anyone here can survive ten fights and even if someone does, I have a feeling the Yeomen drag him into the backstage and shoot them. This faint spark of hope is probably just something that keeps the victorious Castaways eager to fight.
I approach my opponent. Instead of finishing him off with a kick, I strike him down with a well-aimed hook punch. The Castaway lands on his butt and expects the worst.
As I hesitate, the audience grows restless. "Tak už ho kurva zabij!" they yell in Czech. In case it's not clear what are they saying, English version also follows: "Just fucking kill him already!"
"Enough," I say firmly and the crowd goes silent. "I won and that's it. Do what you want with me, but you can't force me to kill this man for no reason."
A mix of emotions resonates through the crowd - surprise, amusement, eager expectation of what will come next. The Ratface looks at me with a condescending expression. "But you heard the rules," he says with an annoying voice with overprecise pronunciation which doesn't mask his Slavic accent. "Two Amiss enter, one leaves. If you defy these rules, it won't change a thing and it only makes it worse for you."
"Then work your magic, you bastard!" I spit out.
The Ratface raises his hand. A gunshot echoes through the room. With growing dismay, I watch the young Castaway collapse on the ground with a bleeding hole in his forehead. His partner lets out an anguished scream and the thugs lead him out of the room.
"You're lucky that I follow my rules so strictly," the Ratface says. "One Amiss has to leave alive... sadly. But you also have to know I won't tolerate defiance." He snaps his fingers and suddenly, I'm enclosed by four burly thugs in suits. Each one is clenching a metal pipe.
After the first strike connects and creates a nasty bruise on my exposed thigh, my fighting instincts kick in. However, I can't fight back even though it wouldn't be a problem for me to defeat them all at once. If I showed more defiance, they would gun me down, rules or not.
So I have to endure.
I feel like my mother on her last stand against the Yeomen.
The thugs are already experienced in this. They strike strong enough to make it hurt a lot, but they don't break any bones or cause a more serious injury. They're precise like a team of surgeons. Of course, they want to see me fight tomorrow in the best possible shape.
Once they're done, I collapse on my knees and spit out blood. The audience is laughing and rooting for the goons, grateful for this bonus to their everyday show. My whole body is aching, covered in bruises and scrapes. I will probably feel better by tomorrow, but they made sure this night will be cruel.
"Next time, we won't be so benevolent," the Ratface claims. "You better do what are you supposed to."
I try to stand up, but the pain strikes me down again. They all laugh at me, enjoying my humiliation, enjoying the sight of Champion of Champions being defeated. In the end, two of the thugs have to yank me on my feet and support me on my way out of the arena. They make sure to press as many bruises as possible to maximize my pain.
I leave the arena with ironic applause from the audience. The thugs then throw me back into the cellar where I woke up and then serve me an expired sandwich and a jug of water. Finally, they lock the door and leave me in darkness. The sensory deprivation only deepens the pain I feel.
I have to escape. Leave this God forsaken place. But right now, I can only focus on my aching muscles and silently cry. I still see the image of the killed Castaway before my eyes. This can't be real. Just can't...
I see a brief glimpse of confusion in Valentina's eyes as I walk to her in the morning in front of the AVIA Mall. However, she quickly puts on her neutral bitch face again and joins me like she didn't order my assassination just a few hours ago.
"Good morning, Isaiah," she greets me with her trademark fake smile. "You seem troubled... even more than usual. Is something wrong?"
I can't believe how easily can she pretend nothing happened. Everything about her is so fake. "Actually, there was one small problem this night," I say and enjoy a brief panic in Valentina's eyes. She thinks I'm going to confront her about it. Her muscles tighten as she's preparing for a possible fight.
She really thinks I'm stupid enough to do it.
It's time to act like it.
"A member of your army betrayed both you and me and tried to kill me in my sleep," I say and watch Valentina's guard drop. "I don't know why... someone probably tried to start a rebellion against you by killing your most important people. I thought you should know this. Maybe there are more of them."
I try to lure her into thinking I don't see any connection between her and the assassination attempt. Playing a gullible boy is harder than I imagined. I would love to just slam her face to the concrete below us to erase that condescending smile from it once for good. However, this would result in my complete annihilation and I can't allow it yet.
For this once, I have to fight my emotions and advance carefully. A single mistake can ruin everything.
Valentina demonstrates her acting skills again by putting on a horrified expression. "Wait, what? Someone just sneaked into your room and tried to kill you? What did you do?"
I didn't say anything about sneaking into my room, I think, but continue to play my own role. "I killed her, but it wasn't easy. The body is still in my room, in case you wanted to take a look at it. How could it happen? I thought I will be safe here... but apparently, I was wrong. Now I feel bad for all the disputes we had. You probably thought I want to defect, but that's not true. My loyalty stays with you."
I can almost see all the calculations going on in Valentina's head. Her expression became unreadable. Does she believe what I am saying? Or is she one step ahead again, aware that I started to play her game? I look her in the eyes and she evades my gaze.
I'm no expert psychologist, but I'd say she started to regret the assassination attempt.
"When I stopped you from killing Zoya during the battle, it wasn't a sign of defiance," I explain. "It wasn't aimed against you. I was under pressure and I just couldn't imagine her getting killed in front of my eyes at the moment. I would probably react differently now, but I went through a lot that day."
"No need to explain. I understand," she says. "But why are you telling me all this now?"
"Because I wanted to make some things clear." I try to look as humbled as possible. She has to get the feeling she has the upper hand now, that I'm her pet on a leash. "I don't want any bad blood between us, especially now, after that attempt. I know you don't need me, but I need you. You are the leader here. You are the only one who can protect me."
The vicious sparks in her eyes tell me she took the bait. She starts to produce more lies. "You are right, I can protect you. I had a feeling there is a rebellious group working here - if you show me the assassin's body, I'll be able to track them down and make a short work of them. However, with you being my right hand, there is a growing number of people who want you... gone."
"Which people?"
"If we count out our enemies outside who realize how big threat you are, there are still people who would like to take your place by my side. And, as you saw tonight, those who... disagree with me. Don't worry, I'll take care of them. But if you want me to protect you, we have to be genuine with each other. I demand absolute loyalty, and this time it's for your own sake, Isaiah."
"Of course," I say, aware I managed to ward off the danger for now.
Maybe I rushed my fences a bit when I plotted Isaiah's assassination.
But, on the other hand, it seems it solved the problem even without Isaiah's death. He survived, but he was so scared he was willing to promise me anything - well, that put him back into his place. Now I can only wait if he shows any more signs of defiance in the future.
If he does, I won't give him another chance this time.
I step into Isaiah's room and immediately spot the dead body of the assassin. She was just a random nameless Castaway I chose more or less randomly, then pumped some Augments into her - about two-thirds of a dose we use to create Vultures. We needed her to maintain some mental capabilities to make her able to understand and complete the mission.
Sadly, she wasn't successful.
I approach the body, stripped, laying on the floor. When I lift her up, her head sways to the side as if it was about to fall off. Isaiah snapped her neck. Ouch.
The fight had to be fierce - upon closer examination, I find numerous other fractured bones and bruises. However, Isaiah seemed unharmed - even though he's a master at hiding stuff. Where could it go wrong? She was supposed to electrocute him in his sleep. Either he wasn't sleeping or his instincts are miraculous.
Next time, I'll place my bets on a bullet in the head.
If there will be a next time.
I am never sure what to think about him. His temper seems to change constantly - I'm aware he's suffering from some kind of mental issues, but I don't know how much do they affect who he is. Did the assassination attempt humble him enough? Is all his defiance smothered?
Maybe I should finish this poor girl's job by myself and just preemptively eliminate him just in case he starts to question his allegiance again. However... for some reason, I probably wouldn't be able to do it. Even though I wouldn't admit it, I was relieved when I saw him alive. If I wanted to put it simply... I didn't want him to die even though I was the one who assigned the task for the assassin.
Even though he's unstable, volatile and unpredictable, for some reason, I grew attached to him. I wouldn't be able to explain it and I hate myself for it. He's nothing but a pawn in my game - a powerful pawn, maybe even a rook or a bishop. So why do I regret the assassination attempt so deeply?
I don't love him, or a similar kind of bullshit. I would say I'm unable to love, at least besides the physical aspect of it. But I care about him as a person. His mysterious aura intrigues me, just like his quirky bond with Zoya. I realize that no matter what happens, I want to see it.
Even if he defected and caused my downfall, I'd love to see how would he manage to do that. I can't stop the feeling I'm underestimating him.
Maybe even his humility I witnessed a moment ago was fake, only said to appease me. When I think about it, I find this possibility more and more probable. Maybe he knows very well who sent the assassin.
That would be one more reason to eliminate him.
But I still can't force myself into that.
Maybe it's because I'm partially afraid? It's possible since looking at the dead assassin makes me uneasy. She was a half-Vulture with spectacular strength and agility. But he still managed to kill her, seemingly with ease. These looming thoughts stay with me when I wrap the body in the black bag I brought with me.
As I carry it out of the building, I encounter Roxanna, the Scarlet Sparrow. The Champion veteran is currently my favorite lover, but it's probably because she's still relatively new. Soon, she'll lose her attraction and I will have to find someone new. Fortunately, she's aware of it and doesn't seem to mind.
However, there's something hot about the people who defected from the enemy side. Maybe she won't lose her charm as quickly as some other.
She raises her eyebrows. "Let me guess. Maverick is still alive."
"Obviously," I utter. She helps me with the bag; we carry it to a nearby hospital containing a morgue. I observe the harmony of firm muscles on her arms and midriff. I guess I can convince her to help me unwind tonight. I need to clear my mind a little after the business with Isaiah.
"You know, I can do it for you," she looks at me once we finally take care of the body. "I wasn't the Champion of Champions for nothing. I'd be able to do a better job than this... Augment-filled thing."
"Won't be necessary," I reply. "I changed my mind."
"Changed your mind? I thought you're a person of firm beliefs."
"He escaped, that means he deserves another chance," I smirk. "Besides that, you were taught to not question my decisions, weren't you?"
Roxanna chuckles. "You're such a cruel evil mastermind."