Will's entire world was spinning out of control. The word had come down that Branch had lost it, that the event was over, and Will felt like he was standing there with his dick in his hand. "Bill, what is this bollocks?"

"It's over, Will," Handsome Bill was securing the weapons and helping to herd the would-be combatants. "Call it a night."

"That was my ring out there," he said. "He fought in my goddamned ring and he defeated the fucking Crusher! That tosser got the win I had been planning on for bloody years!"

"He didn't kill him or anything."

"He had him down! They had to stop it so he wouldn't kill him!"

"There was an experimental mind control device installed in Crusher last night," Branch emerged from the shadows. "You may have heard some of the... complications from it last evening."

"Fuckin' hell I did."

"We thought we had it under control—you saw him out there, didn't you?"

"That pisser Gabriel?"

"No, Crusher! Crusher, William. He was calm, serene even."

"Oh, well, that was the kicker innit?"

"It was working so well, then Gabriel had to kick him just in the right spot, just the right spot to interfere with our work, to disrupt his brainwaves, bring back memories, I don't know what it did, but Crusher is a mess now."

"You let him defeat the Crusher," Will said. "That was mine. We'd been teasing it for how long?"

"Crusher isn't dead yet, Will."

"Fuckin' hell. Everyone saw that wanker knock 'em down," he said, fuming. "They saw him fall to that pissant!"

"I'd watch your tone with me, Mr. Farrington," Branch scowled. "Your grasp on that crowd is tenuous at best right now. From what I saw, they seemed to buy what Mr. Gabriel was selling."

"Erm, eh," Will felt like he had just been punched in the gut. "I didn't mean to, Mr. Branch, I just—"

"I've got more pressing matters to deal with than your bruised ego, Mr. Farrington. You and Mr. Gabriel will meet in that arena, eventually. Let's just hope that for both of our sakes that you emerge the victor. I'd hate to lose your... comradery."

Branch turned and strutted off. William left standing there, lost. He remembered the conversation that he had with Vera the night before about being careful and being aware of where Branch stood. That creeping thread of a thought in the back of his mind, of what would happen if things with Branch went south, even after all he did to help build up Branch's arena, was all he could focus on. William had been the avatar for everyone's hopes, dreams, and fears after the apocalypse. He was the everyman who came from nothing and brawled his way to whatever was left of fame and fortune in Branch's new world.

All that was left for William in this bleak husk of a world was his glory in the arena. Without that, what was he but a British tourist in the wrong place for the end of the world? Stuart had found his calling to be a thug. In fact, it felt like the most natural thing ever for him. William had done everything in his power before the fall to ensure that Stuart kept out of trouble, which was more trouble than it was worth. In a way, the end of the world was beneficial for the both of them. Stuart was a natural with a machine gun slung over his shoulder and Will was a natural performer wearing an electrified gauntlet in front of thousands of people, blowing up the heads of the undead.

"I guess you didn't need that thing looked after, anyway." Vera's voice broke him from his reverie.

"What?"

"I didn't have time to give that a full diagnostic last night, anyway." Vera stood before him like an apparition. "So it's a good thing they don't want you out there, I'd say."

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, your brother can probably answer that better than I can, but when I was looking over it last night, he burst into my workshop and—"

"What the fuck do you know about my life, cunt?" Will was seething, unable to control himself.

"Whoa, hey, what the—"

"No, bugger the fuck off!" Something had snapped inside of him. "You want me to fail, don't you? This is all some fuckin' game for you. This is my plowing life."

"Okay, first of all, you don't talk to me like that," she said. "I'm the one keeping you alive out there. That gauntlet is—"

"I said bugger the fuck off!" He shouted in her face, watching her recoil in disgust.

"Fuck you, Will," she said, storming off in a huff.

"Cunt," he hissed while she stormed off, finding himself pacing alone in the bowels of the parking structure. Bill had run off to tend to the fighters and to stow the weapons so they wouldn't try to use them for some sort of escape or uprising, meaning that it was just him and his thoughts. Will didn't need to worry about that, about being penned up before his time to fight, he had his suite to return to, he had the loving, warm and sometimes sticky embrace of Jenna to keep him occupied, but he felt like he just needed a drink. The gauntlet was still on his hand. He knew he should return it to Vera, but he could always give it to her later. She was in a mood, and he had probably just fucked things up with her for a while. No need to make it worse. Walking around with it made him feel powerful, which was more than he could say after such a lousy day. He staggered towards the glass doors and the lifts, having had enough of lamenting on his grasp on the crowd and Branch's affections.

"Going up?" A voice came from in front of the elevator. William had somehow not seen him standing there, but knew who it was. His blood boiled. "Need a drink, then?"

"Fuck off," Will snarled.

"Whatever," Gabriel said, standing there without a shirt, his ribs taped with blood-soaked wraps.

"You'll fall outta favor soon enough," William stared at the numbers above the lift, watching the light crawl down towards the B2 level like it was taking an eternity. "You'll see, fickle cunts, I've seen 'em eat poofters like you alive out there."

"I'm sure that you have."

"Well, what the fuck do you know?" Will gripped his right hand closer. He could, in a single stroke, be done with TK Gabriel once and for all. William glared up at TK, standing there watching the elevator, clenching his fist and imagining the blood everywhere. It would be murder, no doubt about it, but it wasn't like society still existed. This was Jordan Branch's society, and William had killed many in its name. What would one more be? William gave himself some distance, lining up the shot with his eye when the lift chimed, the door sliding open.

"Oh fuck," TK said. "I forgot something, it's all yours." He motioned for William to step in, William doing so and sneering.

"Fuckin' cunt," he snarled, the door shutting. "If you only knew how close you came to losin' yer cocksuckin' head."

The lift stopped on the penultimate floor, William plodding out towards his room. Branch claimed to hate Gabriel, yet he gave him a suite after all of that? None of it made any sense anymore. Gabriel should've been down with the rest of the murderous scum at Bill's Den. At least he'd have Jenna, still. At the end of every day, that was something that he knew he could rely on; Jenna was always there, in her loving embrace. In fact, he heard her laugh while he slinked towards his suite. There she was out in the hallway, still dressed up from the night out in the arena with a champagne flume in hand; she was talking with two men in suits that were also drinking. She was being friendly with them, perhaps too friendly.

"Oh god," she snorted. "That's just amazing and—"

"What the fuck, Jenna?" Will jerked her by the elbow.

"What?" she asked, tugging her arm back. "Don't do that, Will. This is Brett and Sean. Mr. Branch introduced me to them tonight."

"I don't care 'bout these poofters," he said. "Had a rough day, let's go back to the room."

"I can't now," she said. "I sang for them tonight in the box and they are talking about having me sing in the arena!"

"Who the fuck are they to do that?"

"Well, Mr. Farrington, or Will, can I call you Will?" The one with the slicked back hair reached out his hand.

"No," he swatted it away with the gauntlet.

"Anyway, we work with Mr. Branch in talent scouting for the arena and Ms. Passenier here is a marvel, you see—"

"Fuckin' hell," William raged. "He's gotten to you, too, Jenna? It's one night, one bloody night! He can't take it all away just like that. I'm William Fucking Farrington! I'm the Champion of the Arena!"

"What's wrong with you?" She asked. "Why can't you be happy for me?"

"You go suck both of their cocks for all I fuckin' care." He stormed off, slamming his right fist into the door to his suite, it bursting open. "Like I fuckin' care."

Everything was turning red. Everything in the suite reminded him of who he was, who he was supposed to be. The belt that he won on his first night in the arena hung up on the wall. William ripping it down and slamming it onto the table, empty beer bottles clanging and sliding off of the table with a crash. He rummaged around before finding a bottle of scotch, spinning the cap off and taking a mighty pull from it, sitting back into the chair and staring at that belt, at what it meant to him and all that he could lose.

"Motherfucker," he said.