Sweat and blood splattered on Arik's face. The fighter in the cage, which Arik was currently pushed against, had taken a severe right-handed punch to the jaw. The crowd pressed hard as they roared in excitement, many trying to get closer to the fight. The steel fence around the cage bowed inward from the weight, Arik's face grinding against the lattice.

The match was Spin versus Zeus, their ring names, of course. Every good fighter had a badass ring name. Spin was favored in the match. He was a striker with a mean right hook and powerful spin kicks. It's how he got his nickname.

Zeus was a brawler. He preferred to stay close, where he could take advantage of his expertise in wrestling.

He shook off being rocked with the nasty right hand. Spin moved in, throwing a few jabs. Zeus took the stabs on the forearm, shouldering his way forward to close the gap.

This was it.

Zeus dove and engaged Spin's left leg, performing a flawless single-leg takedown. Spin's back slammed the mat hard. Zeus moved like a serpent, coiling his arms and legs around Spin's leg, forming a leg lock.

Arik howled in excitement.

The night fights were immensely popular. If you made it in Whitestone, you were a hell of a fighter, the best of the best. There was a circuit between the different cities across the country. Whitestone fighters would move to another town to start their careers. Else they get annihilated in the ring.

Being a member of House Drakk meant he was practically royalty. Plenty of people in the night fight scene knew who he was. This was where he grew up. He remembered fondly the nights he spent as a teenager, watching the fights with his friends. They were a bunch of miscreants like him. Until they chose their sect. Most had gone to the Worker Sect and abandoned the nightlife in favor of the corporate grind. They had families and responsibilities. Ark avoided those like the plague.

Spin was favored in this fight, but Arik had done plenty of intel gathering. Being well-known allowed him to get into inner circles. Many insiders Arik connected with knew the fighters personally and visited them during their training. They had insight into the mindset and the strategies the men would use on each other. It helped Arik make educated decisions. Usually, in return, all he had to do was listen and laugh at bad jokes.

Zeus had been sparring consistently against other taller fighters, perfecting his ability to engage and disengage without taking a beating.

While Spin kept practicing his striking, the one strategy at which he was good. He wasn't shoring any of his weaknesses. He relied on one way of fighting.

Arik had placed his bet on Zeus, who wanted to improve his weaknesses.

Spin thrashed like a cornered dog, struggling to break out as Zeus held on tighter, bending his knee at an uncomfortable angle. Arik could see Zeus was in complete control. If he wanted to, he could easily break Spin's leg. He intended to drive Spin into yielding. It was simply a contest of torture at this point.

After about a minute, Spin exhausted himself and succumbed to the pain, tapping out.

"Yes!" Arik shouted.

Nothing was better than winning. Arik reveled in the warmth of glory. In fact, to Arik, it didn't matter what he was betting. He loved to pick a fighter to root for, committing to their victory. Arik did, too, when they won the fight, and victory tasted sweet.

See, he learned from his mistakes. The money he borrowed from the Syndicate had been too much. Lately, he had been making conservative bets. He gambled on good intel. Sometimes he won big. He had been on a hot streak and had won six large bets. Adding his Syndicate money to his fat winnings, he put it all on the line. Only to crash and burn in an upset match. He decided not to touch his backup funds, instead returning to Whitestone where he knew the scene better, binding a little time to pay off the loan.

Now he bet conservatively. The downside, he had to work twice as hard.

Arik hated working. The toil to get even half the marks he owed the Syndicate had taken him weeks. He spent all his nights out and most of his days meeting with insiders.

In fact, he had been so busy, he forgot about Vivana. He liked the woman well enough. Not only was she beautiful, but she was a powerful woman with a force of personality. He was lured by women who had their life together, who lived for a purpose. Maybe because they were the opposite of him. He didn't know; he wasn't a psychologist.

He was also realistic. Despite his crush, he couldn't get bogged down by a relationship. He accepted himself a long time ag. For now he wanted to pay back his debts and make enough marks to set him up for life, without having to rely on his House's money. True independence was the dream.

Vivana had expressed her concerns about his gambling habits and his being Sect-less. They were legitimate concerns, of course, but what could Arik do? Quitting gambling was like trying to row against the current in a sinking boat.

The crowd dispersed, and Arik was able to peel himself off the cage. He checked his comm, flipping it open. A message from Fahon appeared.

Hey. Where have you been? Vivana left this morning and is headed back to Gade. You should contact her. She last heard from you a week ago.

Arik flipped his comm closed, slipping it back into his pocket. No need to ruin his moment of triumph.

The line started to get long for the payout window. Arik shuffled his way through the crowd. The press dispersed as people meandered their way outside or into side rooms, where the club served alcohol. Many would stick around to watch the three other fights scheduled.

Arik was playing it conservatively. He won a nice bet and would take his winnings home, letting them cool off. He reached into his jacket pocket and took out his ticket, handing it to the clerk.

The grizzled-looking old man had a series of wicked scars on his scalp and face. He was likely a retired warrior who served during the Unification Wars by his graying hair and deep wrinkles. The veterans were all taken care of by the Ophani Government and could live comfortable lives. Many of them found jobs anyway to pass the time.

The clerk scanned it.

"Big winnings today," the clerk said.

Arik smirked. He observed as the man counted out his marks and put them in an envelope. Arik snatched the envelope from him. Riding high on glory, he pushed his way outside.

The cool night air refreshed him, a relief against the stuffy heat of the packed fight club. As usual, the Lakeside District was bustling on a Rest Day night. People, mainly Worker Sect in a veritable rainbow of colors, gathered in clumps at the corners and strolled along the sidewalks in streams. The low white stone buildings ran along narrow streets packed with vehicles, bumper to bumper. The lake was visible at the end of the way, orbs of light from the city reflecting off its dark waters. Haven loomed ominously over the town, shining cerulean clouds swirling into the tight knot of a vicious storm.

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Arik considered finding a bar to have a celebratory drink.

A yawn reminded him of his exhaustion. It was well past midnight. Getting some sleep for once during the night would do him some good. He decided to head back to where the cybermind parked the coupe, tracking its location on his comm.

He found his way to a side street, where the pedestrian traffic dwindled to a trickle. A dark truck idled, double parked adjacent to his coupe. Stepping alongside it, he knocked on the passenger window.

"Hey! You need to move. I can't get out of here."

The side door of the truck slid open and two brutes, covered in tattoos, hopped out.

Syndicate thugs.

Arik cursed. The first thug yanked the collar of his jacket and pulled him towards the van. Arik struggled to pry himself free. The second thug snatched his arm. With their combined strength on him, he couldn't break out. They hauled him into the van and slammed the door shut.

Arik raised his hands. "Whoa! What is going on here fellas?"

They patted him down, grabbed his comm and the money envelope, throwing him into the seat. The thug sat, grinning as he stuffed the envelope, Arik's precious winnings, into his pocket.

"Well, you're cruel. How will I pay your boss back if you steal my marks?"

They laughed at him. The truck pulled away from the curb, gliding silently with its electric motor. Arik stared out the windows, watching the streetlamps pass by. These guys weren't the ones he needed to talk to anyway. They were the pickup crew. No doubt Arik was on the way to meet their boss.

He couldn't be too grumpy about it, not after having won. It stung a little to have his winnings taken away. He could quickly recover and be ahead in the coming weeks if he were alive after this conversation.

All he had to do was smooth talk his way out of a dire situation against people who hated him.

I'm going to die.

Arik had been in denial. In that moment, he found himself surprised he hadn't died.

Ever since the incident in the park, he had lived on borrowed time. Even if he produced the money before the Syndicate went after him again, they wouldn't let him walk away. Once you ruined your reputation in the Free States and proved yourself a liar and a thief, the underground was not merciful.

He couldn't escape the Syndicate. They were everywhere, in every city, across the entire moon. The Ophani pretended to be cleansed of organized crime. Like it didn't have its own little dirty underground. It did.

The truck pulled into a parking garage and found a spot on the third floor. Arik leaned back on the seat and closed his eyes. The thug across from him, who stole his marks, pulled out his own comm and wrote a message.

The door slid open suddenly, startling him. Kormel pulled himself into the seat beside Arik and closed the door.

Sitting on his palm was the orb of a Caster, shell red with two white vertical lines. The Bonded criminal wore a midnight blue suit with no tie, fitted to his lean frame, with polished black shoes. Despite being dressed sharply, as usual, he had a haggard look. A week's worth of stubble lined his face, his mustache was bushy and untrimmed, and his dark hair was crudely combed.

Arik couldn't believe his eyes. "How, in the name of Promise, did you get out of jail? Let alone get your Caster back."

Kormel elbowed him in the face. The force of the strike drove his head into the window. He grunted and held his hands to his mouth. Luckily, the enforcer missed his nose, hitting him in the mouth instead. Arik's teeth cut inside his lips, and he drooled blood.

"Arik," Kormel said in a sinister voice. "How've things been?"

He grabbed Arik's collarbone, squeezing enough to make it uncomfortable. Arik winced from the pain.

"Busy," Arik said between busted lips. "Making marks to pay you. I'm close and would be even closer if your minion didn't steal my earnings."

"I don't care about the money anymore. Not after what happened when you ran from us into the park."

By the ancestors, Arik's face hurt. All he could do was nod.

This is it.

Kormel materialized a lucent red Phasematter knife into his hand. Arik closed his eyes as Kormel raised the blade toward his face. He pressed the blade against the bottom of Arik's chin and lifted it a little. Arik carefully opened his eyes.

Kormel's rust-colored eyes were reminded him of a lion about to devour a slab of meat at the zoo.

"I should kill you. You and your little Argent Knight friends."

Arik shook and couldn't stop himself.

I always thought I would be brave in the face of death. Only I'm about to piss my pants.

Kormel lowered the knife and dismissed it, the weapon shattering into thousands of tiny red embers. "Bah—I decided against killing you for now. I need your help instead."

"My help?" Arik squawked. Admittedly, he did not see the meeting going this way. Should he be relieved or terrified about the unknown favor?

"You're going to get me into Drakk Palace."

Why does he want to get into Drakk Palace?

Arik wiped blood onto the back of his hand. "I am sorry, but I can't. It's the Sovereign's home, for the Cosmos's sake. There are rules for getting in there, a schedule. Also, tight security, cameras, and armed palace guards."

Kormel grunted as if he expected Arik's answer. "I heard. Good thing it's not my problem. It's yours now."

Arik slumped. He was alive, for now. Now he had to smuggle a wanted criminal into the palace, who escaped a max security prison. Put his family, and the government of Ophan, in imminent danger. If he did this, there would be no coming back from it. His family would never forgive him.

Betray his family or die? Those were his options. Both seemed undesirable.

There must be a way out of this.

"Take us back to his car," Kormel ordered

The truck pulled out of the parking garage on its path to the Lakeside District. The thug tossed Arik's comm over to Kormel, who slipped it into his jacket pocket.

"Give it back," Arik demanded.

"Not until you get me inside the palace."

Well, they're not stupid.

Anxiety wracked him. How was he going to warn anyone? His brain failed him to produce a solution. He sat huddled against the window, shaking, with his face throbbing. He wanted this to be over and wished he had skipped the fights and gone to bed. For all the thrills gambling brought him, it was digging him a more profound and deeper grave.

The van dropped Arik and Kormel off at the coupe. Its cybermind sprang to life once inside, driving the vehicle away from Lakeside District. The traffic was light this time of night. The highway wound its way through the hills surrounding Whitestone. Arik found a napkin in a storage compartment and used it to clean the blood, staring at his busted face in the mirror. Kormel remained silent, Caster in one hand, staring directly ahead, expression absent. His left leg bounced in anticipation.

Kornel seems nervous.

Arik could talk him down from this ledge. "Why do you need to get into the palace? We both know you're not a spy. Also, my aunt and uncle do not keep any of their riches there. It's mostly a government administration building and some personal quarters."

Kormel didn't respond. He kept staring, leg jumping.

As they neared Drakk Palace, Kormel slid his Caster behind him, lower back leaning against it. The guards at the security checkpoint wouldn't see. They stopped in front of the gate, which did a quick security scan. Usually, the red light beside the gate would turn green and automatically open. The scanner detected a passenger and the light flashed.

Two armored and well-armed palace guards exited the gatehouse and trotted to the coupe, knocking on the window. Arik rolled the window down and smiled at the guards.

"Evening, gentlemen," Arik said.

"You have a guest," the one guard said, glancing at Kormel. He stared back at the guard silently.

"What happened to your face?" the other guard pointed at Arik.

Arik touched his battered mouth. "This…Well, I got into a little scuffle tonight. The crowd was rowdy." He motioned towards Kormel. "This is a buddy of mine. He saved my ass back there. Told him I'd show him around the palace, have a couple drinks, maybe watch some fight highlights on the Repository."

"We weren't aware of any guests tonight. You must fill out the paperwork first and get him a guest pass. Sorry, next time. Get out and order the cybermind to drive him home."

Kormel shot a scowl at Arik. The pressure was on, and Arik's heart thundered in his chest.

"L-Look," Arik said, reaching for his wallet. He pulled out a five-hundred-mark bill and offered it to the guards. "I'll fill out the paperwork in the morning. Trust me, gentlemen, he's a good friend of mine. We'll stay in the guest quarters."

Those words stung him to say. These were good men who took their job seriously. Before turning in, he had spent a few nights chatting with them about the fights and their families.

The guards exchanged a look. One chuckled. "Are you trying to bribe us, sir?"

"It's not a bribe. Think of it as a small token of gratitude for your leniency."

The guard hesitated and snatched the bill, stuffing it into a front pocket on his body armor. He slapped the car's roof, a friendly grin on his face. "I better see paperwork first thing in the morning. Must've won big tonight, throwing bills around like that."

No, idiots. Don't take my bribe!

"Oh yeah—I bet on Zeus," Arik said, gulping hard. "Watch the match when you get home. It was as glorious as the Twins at sunset."

They returned to the guardhouse and waved the coupe through, the heavy steel gate sliding open. The vehicle glided along the driveway, passing the lawn, and approached the palace's entrance.

Kormel opened the door, stepping out. His Caster sprung to life, orbiting around him. He smoothed his suit and leaned over, facing Arik. "You stay right here. Hear me?"

Arik nodded as cold sweat trickled down his brow as Kormel shut the door. He ran his hands through his messy red hair, panic hitting him like a spear to the gut, and held his breath in quiet desperation.

By the ancestors…What do I do?