It was only when Yuri strolled down the long hallway that he realized how drunk he really was. Fortunately, the interior of the ship was nearly empty, as most of the people had made their way to the ring cage to watch the upcoming fight. No one noticed as he staggered through the hallway, bracing himself against the wall. The ship's movements seemed to be amplified many times over in this state, and more than once he had the feeling that the floor was beginning to sway uncontrollably. In reality, however, it was only his knees that had gone soft from all the vodka. The best thing he could do was to go outside and get some fresh air. It would also be a good idea to get some more food. A few more snacks would surely soak up the alcohol in his stomach and help him regain his sobriety. While he was thinking about this, he turned once and looked around. Which way had he come? He no longer knew. He stumbled again and somehow managed to grab hold of a finely carved golden door handle. He fell forward, clutching the handle and accidentally pushing it down as he fell. The door opened instead of slowing his momentum, and after two long strides he fell to the floorboards like a felled tree.

"Ah... what a night, I hope nobody saw that," he spoke slurred in Russian and immediately tried to pick himself up.

"My goodness, are you all right?" a woman's voice told him in American. He felt two arms supporting him into an upright sitting position and looked into the face of a woman who, judging by her white uniform, must have been a member of the ship's crew. Startled, she looked at him, then let out an *oops* as her long brunette ponytail got caught between their arms, pulling her head back rudely.

"Oh, sorry," Yuri slurred, awkwardly trying to untangle her hair, but it didn't help.

"Do you need help, Lisa?" a voice asked from further back.

"'Who talking?" asked Yuri, looking confused at the lady holding him.

"No Cassy, I think I'm fine, the gentleman's just a little drunk," the stewardess replied with a grin. The fog in Yuri's head cleared a bit and he looked at the lady more closely. At least the vodka, which consisted almost entirely of water and alcohol, meant that he didn't have any unpleasant alcohol breath and didn't have to worry about that. She was pretty. Beyond pretty, he thought. And it wasn't because he was drunk, he was sure of that. He noticed a name tag on her uniform. The stewardess now noticed that he was eyeing her wordlessly, seemingly fascinated.

"Can you stand up?" she asked, her arms slowly becoming heavy as his upper body carried a considerable weight.

"Do I have to, Mrs. Lisa Muller?" he countered, looking like a quiz show contestant waiting for his answer to be judged.

"Yes!" she replied curtly and began to pull him up. Carefully, he stood with her help. From the looks of it, he hadn't hurt himself in the fall. Her colleague came up behind her and handed her a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Lisa handed the glass to Yuri, who looked around. He had apparently landed in a salon with many comfortable sitting areas. The two ladies were preparing a long table with all kinds of snacks. The area was meant to be a diversion for the guests when the fighting outside was over. Yuri nodded gratefully as he accepted the glass of juice and took a big gulp. That felt really good. Lisa already seemed a little impatient as she must have been pressed for time. He had to come up with something, fast!

"Do you have any plans for tonight?" he asked the stewardess with a heavy tongue. It was the first thing that popped into his head. Damn alcohol.

"Yes, I work here," she replied, raising both eyebrows. "The ship's doctor is one deck above us, if you'd like to see him. I'd be happy to call someone to escort you there."

"Don't worry, is not necessary," Yuri replied, continuing to look at her in fascination. It was truly incredible how beautiful she was. That hair, that voice, that attitude.... His posture still swayed slightly. Lisa now put her hands on her hips and her expression became displeased.

"Look, we have a lot of work to do here. So if you don't want to go to the doctor and you think you're feeling better, please leave the salon now," she said in a stern tone. What an incredible woman!

"When you are off duty, we could go out maybe?" he slurred. She shook her head and sighed. Then she walked behind Yuri and began to gently push him toward the door and out of the room. Staggering, he let her do it and found himself in the hallway after a few moments.

"Be careful and hold on to the railing," he heard Lisa say behind him. He turned to see her give him a quick wave, then close the salon door and lock it from the inside.

"Shit happened," he muttered, staggering further down the hall.

When Lisa returned to her colleague, helping her again to tastefully arrange snacks from large platters on the long tables, she chuckled.

"I guess that was a close encounter of the third kind? We should have locked the door in the first place," Cassy chuckled.

"You're right. Hmm... too bad really, he seemed awkward but also quite likeable. On the other hand, what do you do with a man who gets completely drunk at an event right from the start?", Lisa mused, taking the last small bowl of caviar from her plate.

"Yeah, he didn't look too bad. Pretty well toned, I guess.... Too bad he drinks so much," Cassy sighed. Then they began smashing a large ice cube with hammers and pouring the shattered pieces into champagne coolers with wooden scoops provided for the purpose.

At that moment, Abigail wanted nothing more than her backpack, which contained her walkie-talkie. It was at home next to her bed. With the small handbags and her fancy evening gowns, it had been impossible to bring the relatively large and bulky radios. Besides, they would have caused an immediate stir if they had used those things among all these people. She could only hope to find Yuri as soon as possible. As fast as her new pumps would allow, she hurried down the stairs and was now on the floor where spectators were crowding around the outdoor ring cage, their loud cheers echoing practically everywhere. Somewhere around here had to be the reserved room, number 13. Her heart was beating fast, not so much from the exertion of running, but from the most confusing encounter with Viktor Konakov. What had actually happened there, and how had this man managed to do everything right by her in such a short time? Lost in thought, she almost ran past the door she was looking for, stopped, opened it and stepped inside. It was a nicely furnished cabin with a double bed and a bathroom. On the bed were Harry's clothes, which he had obviously exchanged for the battle dress, and Yanny's handbag. They had agreed in advance not to lock the cabin door in case of an emergency. A gurgling and snorting sound came from the bathroom. Abigail's hand instinctively went to the dagger on her garter, but moments later Yuri emerged from the bathroom, his head soaking wet. "What in the world happened to you?" Abigail asked him in astonishment.

"Ah, just had to wash head with cold water, is long story. Well, maybe not so long, but...", Yuri spoke still with heavy tongue, but already quite a bit more sober.

"Tell me the story when we get home, you *Hero of Steel*. Listen: Dennis Dexter will have a secret meeting in his private cabin during the finals, that's our chance to finish him off. He's holding the meeting there so that all the attention will be on the fight. This gives us an added advantage because the guests will not immediately notice his controlled demise," she elaborated.

"Is very good," Yuri replied, then gave a good burp, causing Abigail to grimace.

"Say, have you been drinking? We're on a red-hot mission here and you're putting a load of booze in your skull?" she huffed indignantly.

"Why no, just a little indigestion," he grumbled, waving it off. "Where's cabin of Dexter?"

"We'll find out in a minute. Dry off some more and we'll be on our way," she ordered firmly. Then she adjusted her bra, in which she had tucked Viktor's business card, and smiled to herself.

Harry could hear his own blood rushing in his ears. Travis Campbell's last sentence had thrown him off his game. He wanted to pounce on him immediately and was seething with anger when the announcer left the ring with a mischievous grin in his direction. Losing his cool in a situation like this could be fatal. The jeers and cheers from the crowd grew louder as the gong sounded, signaling the start of the first semi-final. Troy immediately marched towards him, indicating a punch with his left fist and then following it up with a right haymaker. Harry had expected such a feint at the beginning and dodged backwards. It became clear in the first few seconds of the fight that he would have to fight his own reflexes to block his opponent's punches. Many of the techniques he had practiced for years were based on blocking his opponent's attack and, if possible, countering at the same time. There was no way he could stop Troy's arms without risking breaking his own arms or hands. He would have no choice but to dodge the blows and wait for an opening in his opponent's guard. This was highly inefficient as it would cost him a lot of energy the longer the fight went on. Energy he would need to complete this mission successfully. The next fist came flying in and he dodged again, still feeling the breeze of the swinger on his face as the steel knuckles narrowly missed him. Another step or two and he would have reached the bars behind him, for the cage was not very large. If he ran out of room to move, it would be over for him. Troy's left jab shot forward with the sole purpose of pushing Harry further back. Harry reacted again with lightning speed, slipping to his right and throwing a left hook with all his might into Troy's unprotected stomach. Troy gasped for air, but the rush of adrenaline made him barely notice the pain. Immediately after the hit, he turned back to his opponent and unleashed a hail of short, imprecise punches. Harry tried to dodge again, but this time he was hit right in the chest. It felt like he had been kicked by a horse. A sharp pain spread through his upper body, and he had to concentrate hard not to tense up and be distracted by Troy's next attack, who was now trying to end the fight quickly with an uppercut. Harry jumped to the side. Too late he realized that this had also been a feint and so he jumped right into Troy's following low left hook. The blow had been delivered with great force and hit him right in the lower ribs. Harry's breath stopped for a few seconds as he realized what had just happened. He could feel his ribs cracking at the moment of the fist's impact and immediately realized how his labored breathing was causing him additional pain. His vision blurred for a few moments and he was no longer in control as he staggered backwards against the bars, barely avoiding falling to the floor. Troy took advantage of the impact and lunged at Harry, grabbing him by his belt and neck, lifting him over his head like a weightlifter and carrying him to the center of the ring. It was obviously a demonstration of superiority, a display of the dominance of an engineered body over a man of pure flesh and blood. The crowd went wild as Troy held Harry horizontally above him like a trophy. He slowly turned to display him like a slain animal. Harry, on the other hand, didn't know what was going on and took a few moments to reorient himself. Above all the noise, he suddenly heard a voice he recognized. It was Yanny, he was sure of it. He couldn't understand what she was shouting, were they even words? Was she safe? It was too late. Troy threw Harry a good half meter into the air from a standing position, sending him crashing to the hard ring floor. Harry's whole body screamed in pain from the impact, he was coughing, doubled over and could barely breathe. Troy, on the other hand, raised his arms and let the crowd celebrate him one more time in victory pose. Harry tried to breathe, tried to lift the left side of his body off the ground with his broken ribs. But he could not and was on the verge of losing consciousness completely. Then he heard Yanny again and tilted his head as best he could in the direction of her voice. In a blur he saw her pointing and screaming in great panic. Then he suddenly realized what she meant and what she was trying to warn him about. Troy had dropped his victory pose and was approaching him with quick steps. Then he dropped to one knee in front of Harry and took a big swing at his head. Dying, today? Wasn't it a bit early? It was strange what thoughts came to mind in moments of imminent death. And Harry perceived this moment as if in slow motion. Troy swung the haymaker at his head with full force. Harry spun away from the blow in a quick movement that Troy, in all his certainty of victory, had not expected. He was unable to stop the blow due to the force he had applied and the fist broke through the floor of the ring where Harry's head had just been. Harry tried to get up as fast as he could and noticed that Troy's fist was pinned to the floor. He tugged and pulled with all his might but could not free it. Apparently his steel hand had become wedged in one of the slightly springy supports that stabilized the ring floor from underneath when he threw the punch. This was Harry's chance, he had to seize the moment. If Troy broke free now, there would be nothing he could do to stop him. Despite his chest burning like fire, Harry took a deep breath, took a running start, and with all of his remaining strength, launched a kick. He added a slight twist to the movement to increase the momentum. His right foot struck the head of his still kneeling opponent with such force that his neck snapped instantly as his head was jerked at a grotesque angle towards his shoulder. Lifeless, Troy collapsed, his hand still stuck in the ground, and the crowd fell silent from one second to the next. However, when they realized what had just happened, new cheers erupted and instead they began to celebrate Harry as the winner, who barely managed to stay upright. The gong sounded and the fanfare began, and moments later the door to the opponent's corner opened and Travis entered the ring. His expression said it all. Of course he had expected Troy to win. But then he forced a smile, took Harry's left hand and raised it as a sign of victory. He held a microphone in his other hand and was about to make a short speech to announce Harry as the winner of the first semi-final when Harry suddenly tore his left hand from his grip with a jerk, grabbed Travis by the jacket and pulled him close. Travis stared at him with horrified eyes and dropped the microphone. A short, loud screech came from the sound system as it fell to the ring floor.

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"No more sniffing for you, asshole..." Harry snarled, lunged and landed his forehead on the ring announcer's face with a thud. A stream of blood immediately gushed from Travis' broken nose as if a faucet had been turned on. Harry, now unable to control himself, struck again and his opponent went down. The crowd, on the other hand, continued to cheer frenetically. They clearly wanted to see more blood, come what may. The gong sounded several times in a row at a deafening volume and three of the security guards ran into the ring to stop Harry from continuing his attack.

"Wasn't that a fantastic fight, people? Wasn't that an extraordinary show? Oh man, I almost peed my pants!" a comparatively high pitched male voice suddenly boomed from the loudspeakers. All heads turned. It was Dennis Dexter, who had been standing on the upper deck watching the fight, just a short distance from where Viktor Konakov was standing. He was wearing a white suit with a large red flower in the buttonhole and round sunglasses with lenses as dark yellow as his hair, which was slicked back with copious amounts of gel. Next to him was his wife, Carla Brandon, with a big smile on her face. For her, everything had gone according to plan; Harry had won the semi-final. "I hope you had as much fun as I did, my dear friends. Congratulations to the winner. A bit unexpected, but what would life be without surprises? But before you dispose of Troy, think about which parts of him are best for recycling. You can have the metal, I'm not interested in that. I'm more interested in his liver," Dexter laughed, then raised his champagne glass and took a big gulp. The crowd was laughing with him now, clapping enthusiastically.

"What a shithole this place is..." muttered Harry as the guards let him go and he walked towards Yanny who was already hurrying his way.