The upper deck was much less crowded than the other decks. Occasionally, a few guests would gather at bar tables or sit on comfortable-looking benches and loungers set up around a large pool. Many small lights were set into the bottom of the pool, illuminating the water in an atmospheric way. Abigail stood at the edge of the pool, admiring the glistening water reflecting the stars and the waxing moon. She would have liked to jump in and swim a few laps, but there was no time. Who knew, maybe one day she could have a pool of her own if she saved diligently and survived the next few years at this job.

"Madame, may I disturb you for a moment?" a voice came from behind her. Abigail turned to see an older gentleman who, from his appearance, had to be a butler. He motioned for her to bow.

"Yes, please, what do you need? How can I help you?" Abigail asked in surprise.

"If I may introduce myself, my name is James and I am Mr. Konakov's butler," the gentleman began. Abigail smiled broadly. James the butler, what cliché had she fallen into now? "Mr. Konakov would very much like to meet you and politely asks if you would give him a few moments of your precious time?" With these words, James turned 90 degrees and with an inviting gesture of his hand, pointed to a bench further back by the pool, in front of which was a small table with a candle, some bottles and a plate of fruit. On the bench sat an extremely attractive and, it seemed, rather tall gentleman with dark blond hair. Like most of the men that night, he was wearing a black tuxedo. He held a champagne glass in his hand, and with a winning smile, he made a toast in her direction.

"Who is... Mr. Konakov?" Abigail asked James, then smiled in the gentleman's direction.

"Mr. Konakov describes himself as a private citizen. He used to be part owner of a large oil production company in Voligrad until he sold his shares. We've been traveling the world ever since," James told her, crossing his arms behind his back. Abigail had not taken her eyes off Konakov. He was still looking at her expectantly. A Russian millionaire, then, who had sent his servant to meet her. It had to be that red dress, there could be no other reason. In the office, she had mostly worn baggy second-hand clothes, and no one had given her a second glance. Now she wore this tight outfit, was suddenly mistaken for a model, and was being propositioned by handsome and wealthy gentlemen.

"I'll give Mr. Konakov a moment," she heard herself say. What exactly was she doing here? She was supposed to find out Dennis Dexter's whereabouts and walking routes; this wasn't a pleasure trip. As she followed James, she chewed her bottom lip a little. Her back tingled, what kind of night was this? She had never felt this sexy. A few moments with the gentleman couldn't hurt. When they arrived at Konakov's, he immediately rose from the bench and Abigail looked up at him. He was almost as tall as Yuri, she thought. When she shook his hand, he shook it gently and bowed slightly.

"In the North, we do not kiss ladies on the hand. I hope you won't hold that against me," he spoke softly, looking at her with his steel blue eyes and a sympathetic smile. "My name is Viktor Konakov. Thank you for accepting my invitation."

"Abigail Lindsay, the pleasure is mine. I am only slightly surprised that you..." The programmer suddenly struggled to find the words, for his confident gaze was now a little off-putting.

"I'm surprised that you're surprised," Viktor said, picking up a fresh glass of champagne from the table and handing it to her. "How could a man with two good eyes not want a lady like you to exchange a few words with him?" Abigail couldn't help but blush a little as she accepted the glass. Normally, she would have at least polished it to make sure there were no germs on it. However, her obsession with cleanliness didn't kick in at that moment. To bridge the moment of embarrassment, she looked in James' direction. But he was suddenly not standing where he had been a moment ago. He had retreated discreetly and unnoticed. Perhaps it was a trick one learns at a butler school?

"May I ask what you are looking for, Madame Lindsay? Perhaps I can help you in some way?" said Viktor, his voice still pleasantly soft. It sounded so reassuring and somehow familiar. She could have listened to him for hours. Suddenly the thought occurred to her to ask him if he would record an audio book for her. Now she perked up.

"What makes you think I'm looking for something?" she asked, curling her lips into an innocent pout.

"Forgive me, but I couldn't help but watch you for a while. You were looking around the deck without any apparent company. So I assumed you were looking for something or someone," Viktor said, smoothing his jacket in one place. Abigail cleared her throat, then took a small sip from her glass to buy time for an answer.

"Maybe I'm here with company?" she replied, smiling. In fact, she was curious to see how he would react to that answer.

"That would honestly be painful for me," he said, swirling his glass a bit.

"Are you always this direct?" she asked, taking another small sip.

"Yes, does it bother you?" he confessed.

"No. No, not at all. Directness saves time," she nodded, smiling again.

"Are you just asking me the counter-questions because you want to cover up a slight embarrassment and take control of the conversation?" he asked, grinning teasingly.

"Yes, does that bother you?" she confessed now, laughing.

"No... no, just the opposite," he said, holding out his glass for a toast. As the two glasses made a nice, bright clink, their eyes met for a long time. "You really are... quite extraordinary."

"So are you." Should she dare to tell him what she was really looking for on this deck? He seemed so nice and so different from the men she had met so far. "If I tell you what I'm looking for, will you tell me why you're here tonight?"

"Gladly, it's no secret. I'm a martial arts fan, always have been, and I train myself, but not on a professional level. I just do it to keep fit. Traditional Sambo has always been taught in the northern cities, and this art has its roots in the even older Japanese school. It is therefore a special thrill for me to witness a real fight to the death. Mankind has come so far in its evolution, yet we still seem to long for those pure moments when we can transcend boundaries, completely shed the cloak of morality and reason, and return to our animal selves. Strange, isn't it? Inexplicable, really? Perhaps it's a kind of outlet that each of us needs in one form or another. Do you judge me for it?" His blue eyes still rested on her expectantly. She smiled, circling the rim of her glass with the middle finger of her left hand as she listened to him.

"Not at all. I know exactly what you mean." That wasn't a lie. It made her think of the moment she had bought her first gun from Harris D. Bonzo. "If you're going to bet money tonight, I'd put it on the fighter with the last name of Harima, if I were you. He has the most potential, in my opinion." Viktor nodded slowly.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"Isn't that the underdog no one knows who stepped in for the fighter who dropped out? From what I've heard so far, everyone is betting on his opponent, Troy..." he replied.

"You won't regret it," Abigail said with a smile. "I'm sure he'll do a very good job."

"I trust you and will follow your advice," Viktor confirmed. "Thank you."

"I'm here to find out where Dennis Dexter is, by the way," Abigail heard herself say and swallowed. Did she really just say that? She might have jeopardized the whole mission, because she didn't know if Viktor wasn't a close friend of Dennis Dexter. The latter raised an eyebrow and then grinned.

"So you're planning something? One of those pure moments where you knowingly put yourself in danger for a thrill?" he spoke much more quietly now.

"Yes," she whispered. If only he didn't have those terribly beautiful eyes.... She was acting like a teenager, overwhelmed with emotion. She knew it, and she couldn't help it.

"I don't know exactly where he is right now. However, well-informed sources have told me that he will use the finale to have a private meeting in his luxury cabin. What exactly it is and what he wants to do in the cabin, I do not know. He just uses the time because then all the attention is focused on the fight. Maybe this helps you in some way?

"It helps a lot, thank you," she whispered again.

"Promise me you'll take care of yourself?" Viktor took a step closer and she looked back at him.

"I will... why did you give me this information?" Abigail asked and their eyes met again, neither avoiding the other. He didn't answer, but slowly leaned down and kissed her tenderly on the mouth. She was struck by lightning, at first not knowing how to react. But then she surrendered to the moment and returned this unexpected kiss, which now lasted longer and longer. She felt his strong and large hands gently touching her waist and holding her. Where exactly was she and what had she been doing? She had forgotten. Suddenly the whole ship went dark for a second and the two of them broke their kiss, startled. Then the light slowly returned, but only dimly. On the deck below them, spotlights were turned on the battle ring and a loud fanfare sounded.

"Oh... the semi-final is starting already," said Viktor, whose mind also seemed to have been completely absorbed in the kiss. "Shall we watch it together?" he asked Abigail. "There's a good view from here," he said, pointing down. He was right, this spot was like a box seat and you could see the ring cage perfectly from above. Abigail thought about it feverishly and then shook her head. She would have liked to stay with him, but it was not possible. The new information had to be passed on to her comrades.

"Forgive me," she breathed, "I must go." He was about to protest, but stopped, nodded and forced a smile.

"I understand..." he spoke, then motioned for a slight bow. She swallowed, turned and started to leave.

"Abigail!" she heard him say again from behind her. She turned and he hurried the few steps to her, pulling a small business card from his jacket pocket and holding it out to her. She took it and looked at it. The card had his name and phone number, but no address. She smiled at him, put the card in her pocket, and started walking again.

Loud fanfares blared from oversized loudspeakers as guests gathered in large numbers around the ring cage. The lights of Elysium's skyline could be seen several kilometers out to sea, providing a truly breathtaking backdrop. A handful of spotlights created an effective play of light and the atmosphere was comparable to the start of a rock concert. On the way to the dressing rooms, a narrow corridor was kept clear by the security guards for the fighters to enter the ring. Harry put one foot in front of the other. His hands were in black boxing gloves, but their surface was made of very sturdy hard plastic. He wore long black tracksuit bottoms, along with sneakers and a white muscle shirt, over which he wore a cape of black artificial silk, the hood pulled low over his face. Despite his previous research, he had been unable to find out more about his opponent than the name Troy. The preliminary rounds of today's fights had all taken place underground, in shady clubs, backyards, parking lots, or abandoned factory halls. But that made little difference to him. As a former bodyguard, he was used to never knowing the identity of his opponents in advance anyway, and to reacting quickly to new situations. Close behind him was Yanny, carrying a bucket of water and a sponge in one hand and a bag of medical supplies in the other. While he was already deep in concentration, she was noticeably more tense and nervous. The cage had an entrance for each opponent on opposite sides that would be locked during the round. Only three rounds of three minutes each would be fought and basically anything was allowed. Yanny and Harry took the right side of the ring and entered the cage where Travis Campbell was already standing with a microphone in his hand, grinning as he waited for them. The crowd was already roaring with anticipation, and mixed in with the still booming fanfare, you couldn't even hear yourself think. Then the spotlights swung back to the aisle and his opponent made his way to the ring. He too was wrapped in a hooded cloak and there was no way to make him out. He was followed by two men, probably his trainer and a doctor. Then his opponent entered the ring and Harry took off his cape and handed it to Yanny who looked at him with an extremely worried look and then left the ring, closing the door behind her. Harry turned to his opponent, who had also just removed his cloak, and was startled. Troy's arms had both been replaced with mechanical steel prostheses below the shoulder joint, and he was not wearing boxing gloves. His scarred face showed that he had been in countless hard fights. His mohawk and goatee were dyed neon green, giving him an even more surreal appearance. Troy looked Harry in the eye and banged his mechanical fists together hard, making a horribly loud metallic clang that could be heard over the din. Then the fanfare faded, but the jeering of the crowd grew louder.

"What the fuck, this guy's completely cybernetically upgraded! This is even worse than if he had shown up with a gun!" Harry shouted at Travis, who had just started his ring speech. Travis calmly turned the microphone in his hand and stepped close to Harry, speaking directly into his ear so he could hear him clearly.

"That's right. And when he's beaten you to a pulp, I'll take care of your sweet-smelling little girlfriend. It's about time she met a real man."