“Rags! You’re okay!” Glee shouted, rushing over.

Rags looked over, appearing hollow and dull. Rags wore a glass eye, but Glee could hardly see it as it was swollen shut. Some sort of cream had been applied to the wound.

“Hi, Glee.”

“How’re ya doin’?”

“I’ve been better. Of course, I’ve also been worse…” Rags sighed. “They said I have to do physical therapy. It’s probably a good idea, considering… that.” He gestured to his arm. “But I don’t have that money, they don’t exactly give you a hundred crown chips an hour in that Arena.”

Glee looked at Rags’ arm for the first time— and saw that the arm was gone from right above the arm. Stitches ran where Ikina la Farla had scratched him on his upper arm, as well as bandages on the many scrapes and scratches he endured on his arms and legs. Glee remembered that the doctor had mentioned the injuries, but they’d forgotten.

“Uh.” Glee paused for a second, absorbing the wound, and decided to deal with that later. “Out of curiosity, how much does someone in the Arena make?”

“Oh. Depends. If you’re recruited, it’s… a lot. But I was born into it, so… not much.”

“Why not run away? Obvious you can. Ya got to the circus.”

“There’s a kid there. Griff. They’d hurt him, and I can’t do that to him. He just turned seven a few days ago.”

Glee didn’t know how to respond and switched to another, although also not easy, subject. “You planning to get a… whatcha-call-it.”

“A prosthetic?”

“Yeah, that. Robot limb sh… shtuff.”

“I told you you can curse. It’s no problem.”

“Eh. I’m tryna get rid of the habit.”

Rags tried to find something to respond with, but he couldn’t. The conversation had been slightly forced anyway.

“So… are you?” Asked Glee.

“Am I what?”

“Gettin’ a prosthetic.”

“Oh. I mean… I would. But I don’t know how I’d manage to do so without much money.”

Glee took a deep breath. “Rags, if you wanted…” he sighed again. “Nevermind, it’s stupid.”

“It’s okay. You can tell me.”

“Would you wanna work for the circus? If the Showmaster won’t take you, you could work for me. I could buy the robot-limb-shtuff and ya could pay me back off with your money.”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, sure!”

“Great— now where does one buy an arm?”

“Black market.”

Glee laughed. “A robot arm, dummy. Though, quick question; how could woman-you-fought see well enough to fight? I mean, you said she’s blind.”

Rags sighed. “As far as I’m aware, she was. I heard a rumor she could sort of sense where people were. Not objects, just people. And fire, weirdly.”

“Oh. She could probably see souls. Fire has a soul, just like people.”

“Cool. I guess.”

“Sorry for bringing that up, man. But I know a pretty good guy to get anything from.”

The two went to the market and Glee found the Alchemist sitting in a dark corner.

“Hello. What can I get for you today?” asked the Alchemist. They were known for making anything, asking no questions, and for the ability of other Moriokin: the unique ability to move around individual molecules, often using the ability to liquify objects, but none could manipulate any part of an animal or humanoid. The Alchemist, however, had gone a step farther; he could manipulate atoms and subatomic entities, as well as bodies. Glee said a silent blessing that the guy had no evil intent.

“Sup. This is a friend Rags, we were wondering if you could make him a prosthetic. Lost an arm.”

“Sure. Rags, can you roll up your sleeve so I can see what I’ll have to do?”

Rags complied and showed the Alchemist the stump of his missing arm.

“Hm. It’ll be a lot… fifteen thousand crown piques, perhaps.” The Alchemist said with a smile, digging through their bag to see what they had, what would be used, and how much what would be used cost.

Rags looked shocked—fifteen thousand crown piques? —but Glee appeared unfazed.

“Sure.” The Alchemist pulled several vials from their bag. The thread stitching Rags’ stump unwove itself as the skin mended behind it. He focused on moving a metallic liquid with the color of an oil spill into a vague arm-like shape as powdered metal melded into the shape and fused. They grabbed a chalky white chunk of some sort of stone and broke off a piece. It floated up and joined the shape, and several minutes later, a prosthetic was attached to Rags’ arm.

The end result of the arm was a strangely beautiful thing; its framing was a bronze-colored metal and the material behind it was a dark blue swirled with black. The arm wasn’t removeable, it had been fused to Rags’ upper arm. It was difficult to pinpoint where the prosthetic began and the natural arm began, with the bronze-colored framing running up the natural arm like strange tattoos, with the colored material swirling up in estranged yet beautiful patterns. The hand was an almost-white, faintly tinted blue, and faded into the dark blue color. In the center of the palm was a black circle, the nails matching the color.

“Wow,” Rags whispered.

“Thanks, Al. Here’s the money.” Rags watched as Glee passed over several coin pouches that they’d stopped by to pick up at the circus.

Glee paused. “Wait,” they said. “I know that doing stuff on bodies isn’t your strong suit, but, uh, do you think you could heal cracked or broken ribs?”

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The Alchemist cringed as if physically pained by the words, but he told Glee that yes, they could in fact heal ribs. He’d even do it for free.

Glee thanked the Alchemist after he’d healed Rags’ ribs.

“Thanks for the business…” The Alchemist paused, shooting a glance at the pin on Glee’s shirt. “Thanks, Glee. I hear you work at the circus? I’ve got a ticket for your next show. I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

The Alchemist pulled Rags aside just before Glee and Rags left. They whispered something in Rags’ ear that Glee couldn’t hear, and Glee saw Rags squint at the palm of his prosthetic. Their eyes narrowed in suspicion, but they didn’t say anything about it.

Glee thanked the Alchemist and bade them goodbye as they walked away to the circus with Rags.

“Glee?” Rags said during the walk.

“Hm?”

“Can we stop by the Arena?”

Glee blinked. “I mean… why?”

Rags hesitated. “Y’know. Griff.”

“Sure, yeah, let’s go.”

When the two arrived, Rags led the way through the maze that made up the half-underground building, almost catacombs, that made up the contestant’s living areas. Glee tried to keep track of where they were going; right, left, right, right, left, forward, left… but he quickly lost track, wondering how on earth Rags, who was walking quickly without second guessing where the two were, could get anywhere at all.

The two eventually found a door with a faded bronze label that Glee guessed must have once read something along the lines of ‘dorms,’ because when Rags pushed the door open on its rusty hinges with a loud creak, Glee saw dingy mattresses lined up on the floor in rows. People—they must’ve all been kids, it looked like Rags was one of the oldest—sat or laid, looking dejected and depressed, on the dirty, bug-infested mattress.

Glee wrinkled their nose at the stench; it smelled of bedbugs and roaches, mice, and pest feces, all mixed with an unwashed human smell.

Rags didn’t appear deterred by the smell at all as he made his way to Griff.

“Hey, Griff,” he said in greeting, ruffling Griff’s fluffy hair.

Griff’s eyes widened. “Is this the circus man?”

“Pfft, I’m a great circus person,” Glee responded, not even trying to stifle their laughter.

Griff and Glee continued in conversation. Many questions were asked by the young boy; he wanted to know why Glee had antlers, if the fire ever burned them even if they told it not to, (“No, of course not, Shuzu listens to me!”) if it was dangerous to juggle knives (“Not if you’ve had the right training.”) what it was like in the circus as a kid. Glee’s answer to the last one dodged around the actual question and was very vague. Rags took careful note of it, eyes narrowing as he noticed Glee’s pupils shrinking as if scared.

“Well, Glee,” Rags said smoothly, unlike his usual childlike fashion. Glee guessed it must’ve been being in the Arena, obviously a stressful setting for Rags. “Why don’t we go ahead and head out?” His eyes primarily focused on the palm of his prosthetic, flicking up to Glee at the beginning of his statement.

Glee’s face fell. “You can’t leave Griff in here.”

“I… you’d let him come?” Rags blinked in surprise, cautiously optimistic, looking up from his hand.

“Well… yeah. He’s a kid, I ain’t leavin’ a… what, how old are you?” asked Glee, turning to Griff.

“Seven!” Griff’s voice was excited, his thoughts buzzing with the possibility of going to the circus. “Can I work there if you take me?”

“Maybe, kid, depends what the Showmaster says.” Glee turned back to Rags. “I ain’t leavin’ a seven-year-old in here. That’s cruel.”

Rags was slightly taken aback—and then ashamed. He, of all people, should be standing up and fighting for Griff’s freedom from the Arena. But then again, where was the guarantee of an escape?

“Listen, Glee, I’m totally up for getting Griff and I out of here, but how? I know how to physically get us out of the Arena, but how do we stop people from chasing after us? They own us, Glee.” Rags’ voice broke slightly at the end of his statement.

Glee sighed, sitting down. “I can tell you a thing or two about that,” he said, barely audible, and continued: “Anyone can be bought. And if that doesn’t work? Everyone has someone they care about. If they don’t care about a spouse, a child? They care about themself.”

“Glee, what!? You can’t just bribe or threaten everyone to get rid of your problems!” As soon as the words left Rags’ mouth, he regretted it.

Glee slowly turned to Rags. “My problems?”

“I’m sorry, Glee, I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, you didn’t mean? You didn’t mean what? That I don’t need to help you get out of this shithole of an Arena? That’s what it fuckin’ sounded like.”

It shocked Rags how quickly Glee could go from a playful, teasing, almost older-brother-like individual to harsh and impatient.

“Glee, listen. I apologize—”

“For what!?” Glee’s voice had risen to a shout; they were standing up now.

Rags heard Griff give a whine behind him and turned around to find the young child sitting on his mattress. He looked around and saw that almost all of the children in the room had turned around and were staring at Glee and Rags.

“Glee, be reasonable.”

Glee blinked, seeming to have noticed the same thing as Rags. They gave a heavy sigh and slumped into the chair. “Do you want help or not?”

“I do.”

“So do you have a better idea?”

Rags looked down, index finger circling the black mark in the middle of his mechanical palm. “No,” he answered quietly.

“Yup. Let’s get outside.”

Rags was shaking visibly as he led Glee and Griff through the catacombs that made up the area around the Arena, taking the group of three to the exit.

When they reached the double doors that led outside, Glee stopped the other two, attention focused on Rags. “Okay. I assume whoever ‘owns’ you two lives here?”

It took Rags a second to realize Glee was asking a question. “Oh. Yeah. He lives on the third floor.”

Glee looked up at the Arena; it was only one story. “Uh, third floor?”

“Negative third floor,” Rags explained shortly. “The place is a maze, I know. You go down three floors and navigate the tunnels, and you’ll find him.”

Glee nodded. “Rags, you’ll be staying with me. Guard the doors to wherever he’ll be—I assume an office of some sort—and lead me there. And back, obviously.”

Rags nodded. “So how exactly do I guard? Just sit there and spin knives and look threatening?”

“Basically. Just keep out anyone who tries to get in, goddit?”

“Got it.”

Glee paused. “Is there any way to get all of the kids out of there?”

“Sorry, Glee, no chance. They’re valuable leverage in the Arena. How else would they control the contestants?”

Glee looked disappointed, but they pushed down their anger at whoever was doing this to kids and focused on the problem at hand. Maybe they could do something after Rags and Griff were out.

Glee turned to Griff. A vague thought crossed their mind about how the kid could be so quiet—not a “make-no-noise” quiet, but a sit still quiet. “Well, Griff…” Glee’s mind raced. What would they do with the kid? Didn’t seem like they could just—

“I can stay out here! There are woods nearby. I’ll climb a tree and stay there.”

Glee was reluctant to agree, but Rags seconded the plan quickly. Glee eventually gave in and Griff moved off to the woods, hoisting a brown backpack farther up on his shoulders as they and Rags snuck into the complex maze of the Arena.

Rags quickly led the way to the stairs, which led the way to another maze, which led the way to the real set of stairs. Going down those stairs, the two made their way to the negative third floor.

After only a few incidents with employees, all three of which were hit very hard on the head, the pair found a set of double doors. As a contrast to the stone walls of the catacombs, the doors were made of a rich, dark wood, with intricate golden framing on the corners and golden door knobs.

“Fancy door,” Glee muttered. “To think all the money spent on a goddamn door… that coulda helped so many people.”

Rags glanced towards Glee nervously—his last interaction with them while they were angry hadn’t gone great.

Glee noticed and their shoulders slumped slightly. “Listen, kid; sorry about earlier.”

Before Rags could respond, Glee slipped between the doors and disappeared into the room.