Sam
To Sam’s surprise, Serene wanted to come with her when she left for the fairground early the next afternoon. She even stayed somewhat sober for the occasion, which Sam gathered was a rare occurrence for the escort.
“If your manager is as clueless as he seems, you’re going to need help,” Serene explained. “Not that it’s really any of my business, but seeing you throw yourself headfirst into the dragon’s den is making my fingers itch.”
“I’m happy to have you along,” Sam replied, finding that she meant it. “And I’m sorry about yesterday. I think I made some unfair assumptions about you when we first met.”
Serene threw her a sidelong smirk. “Like what?” Having once more set the Illusion over her face, the sharp angles of her face were smooth and flawless.
“Um…”
“Like that I’m a disgusting junkie masochist whore?”
“That’s not…”
“Oh, relax! It’s not like I’m ashamed of it.”
They met Mongrel near the entrance to the fairground, away from the worst of the writhing human ant colony flocking to see some blood spilled.
“Hoy,” the pot-bellied man greeted. His leathery neck sported several purple love bites, and there were messy smears of lipstick around his mouth. His hair was even more of a mess than usual, sticking out in every direction. “Sleep well?”
“More or less,” Sam replied. She had planned on giving the man a piece of her mind for making her bunk up with a prostitute, but seeing how things had turned out all right anyway, she saw no need.
Mongrel’s gaze wandered onto Serene, going up and down, before returning to Sam. “Isn’t this the girl I set you up with? Why’s she here?”
“Oh, I made a friend!” Sam said with a broad grin, hands on hips. “She’s just here to give me moral support. Well, it’s not like she can’t enjoy herself at the same time if she wants.”
“Friend…?” Serene repeated doubtfully.
“Yeah! Aren’t we?”
“No, just… You could probably do better than…” She sighed, shaking her head. “Nevermind.” Turning to Mongrel, she added: “This one isn’t quite all there, is she?”
“Her and common sense are vaguely acquainted at best.”
Sam eyed both of them quizzically. She opened her mouth to reply, but before she got a word out, Serene said: “That wasn’t a compliment, babe.”
Sam scoffed. “Agree to disagree.”
With the chimps helping them clear space through the jostling crowds, Sam and the others made it to the edge of the pit where the qualifiers would take place; the largest of them all, located in the center of the fairground. It was called Hell-1.
The circle was maybe a hundred feet across, depressed about ten feet into the ground, with vertical logs supporting the walls the whole way around and a thick layer of gritty sand covering the floor. A whole heap of fighters had already gone down there, some stretching while others glared balefully at those around them.
“Remember,” Serene said, “for this round, you don’t actually need to beat anyone. As long as you’re one of the last sixteen fighters still standing, you’re good.”
Sam nodded. “Anyone I should be looking out for?”
“Hmm… a couple, yeah. More than a couple, actually, but there’s no time to go over them all. Most of the fighters that focus on this bracket make sure they never pass Level 5, and focus their builds around maximizing power at low levels. Since almost all the normal matches are non-lethal, that means you’ll be going up against some pretty experienced guys.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Sounds like fun.” Sam tried to keep the nerves out of her voice, rolling her shoulders as the memories of every fight she’d ever lost flashed through her mind.
Serene pointed to one of the fighters, a shirtless man with scars across his thin torso and a cloth tied over his eyes. “See that one?”
Sam nodded.
“That’s Jax. He’s blind, but he uses some kind of ability to sense what’s going on around him. He’s good with his hands, but his stamina might not be that great, because he’s kind of a quickshot in bed.”
Sam blinked at that last factoid, but Serene just blazed right past it, pointing to an unassuming man standing off by himself in a corner of the ring. “That one’s Henke. Henke the Hero, they call him. Undefeated, supposedly, and he's got the longest winning streak in the whole Sheerhome promotion behind Buck, the former unlimited-division champion. Henke’s been doing this a long time, and he won the last five-under tournament they ran. He’s got a pretty high opinion of himself, but he’s generous with his money, so I guess it’s all good.”
“Right.”
“Also, he’s got a really big dick.”
“Okay…?”
“Like, in a bad way, you know? Do you know how hard it is to pretend you’re having a good time when you’re actively being split like a log? Pretty damn hard, I’ll tell you. And that’s coming from a girl who likes getting her face stepped on for fun. It's kinda like when you're at the dentist and they're really getting in there, just prying your mouth open and shoving all kinds of shit in there and you feel like you're gonna choke and die. You know what I'm talking about?”
Sam shifted uncomfortably. “Serene, I really appreciate the help, but could we keep it to the relevant bits, please?”
“What part of that was not relevant?”
“The part about his dick, probably.”
“How is it? That thing’s a big weak spot—you could twist it off or something.”
Sam looked to Mongrel for support, but he just spread his hands with an amused smirk.
Serene spent another minute scanning the crop of fighters, then snapped her fingers and pointed again, this time at a short, thin man with a bald head and an overly serious, Type-A middle-manager look about him. “There!” she said. “That’s one you’ve definitely gotta watch out for.”
“Who is it?” Sam asked, bracing herself for the inevitable penis-based commentary.
“That’s Raider. He’s never bought my services, so I don’t know all that much about him, but what I’ve heard is slightly terrifying.
“Obviously most people don’t really like to talk about whatever fucked-up shit they did to land themselves here. Well, Raider’s not like that. He’s pretty proud of the hobby he used to keep in his past life. He, uh… was a serial killer. Carved up like twenty women before he finally got put to death. Supposedly he'd even eat pieces of them. So… watch your back. That’s all I’ve got to say.”
“Noted.” Sam found that her mouth had gone dry, and she was unable to tear her eyes away from the little man down there. He looked so… ordinary. Could that fellow really be a bloodthirsty serial killer? It didn’t seem plausible.
“Oh,” Serene went on, “and that’s—”
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE TIME IS HEEERE!!!”
Sam almost clapped her hands over her ears at the screech of the amplified voice. Looking around, she could not find its source—but she did recognize it.
“TODAY IS THE DAY WE’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR,” Golden Boy spun on. “SIXTY-THREE BRAVE MEN AND WOMEN WILL ENTER THE ARENA AND TEAR EACH OTHER TO BLOODY RIBBONS!!! ONLY ONE WILL BE DECLARED VICTOR AND GIVEN THE CHAMPION’S PURSE OF FIFTY THOUSAND GLORIES. NOW, MY DEAR FRIENDS, IS THE LAST CHANCE FOR YOU TO PLACE YOUR BETS BEFORE THE QUALIFIER, AND WE WILL BEGIN THE CARNAGE SHORTLY!”
The round, chromed-up man floated into view above the pit, soaring as gracefully as a dandelion seed on the wind. He wore a pair of tiny white wings on his back that Sam was fairly certain were only decorative, and not the cause of his miraculous flight, and he held his gem-tipped scepter to his mouth as a microphone.
“Guess that’s all we have time for,” Serene said. “Remember, these are just the preliminaries, so be careful and try to take as little damage as possible. Since all the fights will take place tonight, it’s going to be an endurance race.” She got up on her tiptoes and kissed Sam’s cheek. “Knock ‘em dead, tiger.”
“Go out there and win,” Mongrel said in a somber tone. “I’ve bet a lot of money on you. And, uh, it’s important to Will or something.”
Sam grinned and winked. “I’ll get your money back, don’t worry.”
Number Five, the youngest of the chimps, made a series of signs. Mongrel translated. “He says they all wish you good luck.” Number Three signed something. “Three says he hopes you die.”
Sam gave the first a soft pat on the head and gave the other one the finger. She slipped out of her shoes and tunic—stripping down to the light undershirt beneath, which she tucked into her roomy trousers—and gave them to Serene to keep an eye on.
“And remember,” Mongrel said, “if you win, we split the champion's purse.”
“I mean, honestly, you've been kind of a so-so manager thus far, so you could have like... ten percent, if you want.”
“Ten!?" Mongrel spluttered. “Fifty-fifty is industry standard.”
“How do you know what's industry standard? You don't even know the rules.”
“Gentleman's rules, kid. I know all those by heart.”
“Right, of course. Well, it's ten or nothing.”
“Sixty-forty, your way! Last offer!”
With an admonishing finger wag at the old bastard, she hopped over the flimsy wooden railing that bordered the pit. Laughing, she took a short step backward over the edge of the ring, dropping inside. “Cheer for me, guys!” she called as she fell.
The last thing she heard from above was Mongrel cursing at her.