Ava and Sam sat on the couch, both practically shitting themselves. Sam had realized that killing Mr. Johnson was probably in the category of “bad ideas” from the jump. Ava, now that the adrenaline of doing so had worn off, was starting to have the same realization.
“So, uh… what’s the plan?” Ava asked. Sam paused for a second.
“Well, we’ve got three options, the way I see it,” he said.
“Three? Shit, that’s more than I was figuring we had,” Ava said.
“Yeah, there’s three,” Sam confirmed. “We could play dumb, for one. If anyone asks us what happened, tell them we didn’t follow him out, don’t say shit. Our story is that we had a brief argument with Mr. Johnson, and then he walked out on his own, and we went back to sitting on our asses watching Adult Swim.”
“Sounds workable,” Ava said, nodding. “What are options two and three?”
“Well, uh, option two is we just flat-out cop to it, turn ourselves in, let the chips fall where they may,” Sam said, unsure of this. “That’s probably not a good one. Option three, meanwhile… option three is that we own it, and we fight our way out and take down this whole operation.”
“I don’t mind the sound of that one, either,” Ava said.
“Trust me, I read shit you don’t. That is an extraordinarily bad idea, and will probably get us both killed,” Sam said. “I ordered the options from good to bad, pretty much, and it should tell you something that I ranked that below just turning ourselves in and throwing ourselves to the wolves.” Ava blinked.
“Well, okay, then, fair enough,” she said. “So we play dumb. But, uh… how the hell are we gonna get our money if I win this?”
“I mean, the prize money’s the prize money, even if one member of the committee dies,” Sam reasoned. “And, you know, it probably wasn’t just him we were making a deal with, right? It seemed like the whole committee wanted Maxim gone. So if we carry that out, we’re good.”
“That’s a good point, but I’m not sure it’s one hundred percent in the direction you want it to be in,” Ava said, a dark look on her face. “If the whole committee wanted him gone, that means it’s the whole committee that fucked with us.”
“So, we’re going for option three, then?” Sam asked, the color draining from his face.
“No, we’re going for a mix of one and three,” Ava said. “We play dumb and stick to your story until we win this and get our money. But as soon as it’s all changed hands, a whole lot of these corporate suit fucks are gonna die.”
“Don’t do anything stupid, okay?” Sam said. “Look, I’m not kidding when I say there is shit you do not want to mess with on this island. Like, Maxim’s not even the strongest motherfucker here.” The anger started to fade from Ava’s face a little as she took in Sam’s concern for her, and she put a hand on his shoulder.
“I know you care about me, okay? Like, I get it. I’d probably lose my shit even harder than I did over Luke if someone hurt you,” Ava said. “But, like… dude, you know me. You know telling me ‘oh, there’s some big strong guy you can go fight’ is not going to dissuade me from going and fighting the big strong guy. And, at this point, you should have a little more faith that I’m gonna win that fight, because I’ve damn sure picked up a habit of doing that. You’ve got specifics on these guys, right?”
“Ava, I don’t even know what they look like,” he said. “All I know is that whenever we’ve gotten anywhere the hell near the areas where the tourney bigwigs are staying, I pick up some wild shit. Like, I honestly don’t like going near that side of the concourse, and I’m glad they put us on more or less the opposite end.”
“What, do you have a map of this place or something?” Ava asked, surprised that Sam seemed to suddenly know it so well. Sam rolled his eyes and pointed to the map laying out the emergency exit route.
“We’ve got one right here in our room,” Sam said. “I’m guessing this whole greyed-out box on the opposite side from us saying ‘restricted area’ in all caps is their whole thing. Probably general employee stuff, too.” Ava blinked.
“Damn, I didn’t even realize they had that,” she said.
“I guess when you’re dealing with people this rich, being illegal doesn’t mean you can get away with not being up to code,” he reasoned. “Kanye West ain’t gonna go watch superpowered people murder each other in some rinky-dink little cockfighting ring, so they basically made a horrible The Fly teleporter-accident of the Astrodome and a mega-resort instead.”
“What, you don’t like this place?” Ava asked.
“Oh, come on,” he said. “I fucking hate it with every fiber of my being.”
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The night had passed more or less uneventfully; neither of them got much sleep, due to the anxiety that constantly washed over them, but they both got at least a couple of hours before a loud knock at the door awoke them both with a start.
“Alright, it’s go time,” Sam muttered to Ava from his twin bed, steeling himself to go answer. “Play it cool.”
Ava rolled out of her own bed a few feet away, nearly falling down, and went to answer the door. She was extremely groggy, and a little bit hungover, and decided to lean into these things to sell the bit, as she opened the door to witness one of the suit-and-mirrorshades goons, standing at least a full foot taller than her. He didn’t seem to be especially angry, and he had no backup or armaments; this seemed, to Ava, like it was a good sign.
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“Your sponsor, Mr. Vincent Johnson, was murdered last night,” the goon said, in a cold, professional tone. Ava knew that faking a massive grief response would be too uncharacteristic, but that going in the opposite direction was likely to be just as suspicious; she was forced to play a middle ground and fake surprise without faking grief.
Fortunately, she had been enough of a troublemaker in her life so far that faking surprise was something she was very, very good at, and she reacted to the news she had made with appropriate shock, eyes wide as dinner plates.
“Fuck,” she said. “So, uh… does that mean we’re out?”
“No,” the guard said. “Due to your personal arrangement with Mr. Johnson, and the tournament committee’s vested interest in seeing that arrangement through, the tournament as an organization has chosen to take over your sponsorship.”
Ava breathed a legitimate sigh of relief.
“Well, that’s good, at least,” she said. “So, what happened?”
“We have absolutely no clue,” the guard stated, in as professional and neutral of a tone as he could muster. “He was found, stabbed to death, on the floor of the café in a pool of his own blood. No weapon, no sign of the killer, no unusual fingerprints.”
“Are y’all gonna look for who did it!?” Ava asked, half-faking indignation. They shouldn’t be making it this damn easy, she thought to herself.
“We’ve been ordered to stay on the lookout for any future violence, but for the moment, the tournament committee is uninterested in investigating further,” the guard said, sternly. “Our assumption is that the assassin was interested in Johnson for reasons unrelated to his work with the tournament, and as such, there is likely no danger to the tournament committee as a whole.”
Jesus, if only they knew, Ava thought to herself.
“Well, alright, then,” Ava said, pretending to be cowed. “Was there anything else you needed?”
“No, that will be all,” the guard stated, walking away as Ava shut the door.
“Well, that was piss easy,” Ava muttered.
“Yeah, no shit,” Sam concurred. “Guess they didn’t like that guy either.”
“Shit, I guess,” Ava said, shrugging. “Or there’s just no honor among thieves of tax dollars. Who knows?”
“Yeah, I dunno, honestly,” Sam said. “You want some coffee before they start the matches? I don’t think either of us slept much.”
Ava thought to herself for a second, and then a lightbulb went off in her head.
“Let me change real fast, and then I’ve got a better idea,” she said.
“…what’s your idea?” Sam asked, unsure where she was going with this.
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It didn’t take long before they were at the arena’s own dispensary, even bigger than the cruise’s converted gift shop.
“…please, God, tell me you’re not going to do what I think you’re about to do,” Sam said, noticing the neon sign advertising cocaine and putting two and two together.
“Hey, they don’t call it Bolivian marching powder for nothing,” Ava said. “Good enough for Wall Street fucklords in the eighties, good enough for me.”
“Have you ever, like, done coke before? Do you even know how to do coke?” Sam asked.
“No, and… I think? You just kinda chop it up on a flat surface with a razor, roll up a dollar bill, and put it up your nose, right? Or some people powder it up and put it all in a little bullet necklace, I was gonna ask if they had one of those. Probably better for fights,” Ava mused.
Oh, God, if I let her do this, she’s going to be the most terrifying thing since the age of the fucking dinosaurs, Sam thought to himself, imagining a coked-up Ava rampaging through the streets of Houston, giggling madly while tearing people to pieces with her Code.
“Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to just, I don’t know, go get a cup of coffee or a Monster or something?” Sam asked, pleading.
“Dude, we’re on a private island off the coast of Mexico at an illegal superhero deathmatch where we can buy literally any drug we want. We can get coffee and Monster at home,” Ava said, annoyed. It was at this point that the dispensary worker took notice of the two.
“Hey, you’re Ava Hidalgo, right? The Lockheed girl?” the woman behind the counter asked. She was seemingly in her mid-twenties, and had short black hair with a side-cut and a dark blue streak in it; a noticeable eyebrow piercing completed the look.
“Yeah, why?” she asked.
“What do you mean, why? You’re fucking awesome, girl! It’s so inspiring how you’re still going even with your sponsor getting murdered,” the woman said, awe in her voice.
So that’s the spin they’re going with, Ava thought to herself.
“Yeah, well, awesome as I may be, I’m not running on a whole lot of sleep, and I don’t wanna be asleep on my feet in the ring. What’dya got?” Ava asked, putting her elbow on the counter. The woman stroked her chin for a second.
“Let me run to the back,” she said. “I’ll make something for you. By the way, I’m Ashley.” It didn’t take long for Ashley to return with two vials of powder, one small, and one larger.
“So, what’s this all about?” Ava asked.
“These are the two house combat blends,” Ashley said. “You don’t want to take either of these long term, I’m just going to say that up front.”
“Worrying, but okay,” Ava said. “What’s in the big one?”
“The base chemical of the big vial is N-ethylhexedrone, also known as hexen,” Ashley explained. “That gives you stimulation and makes you feel less pain, but it fucks your heart rate. So we balance it out with ketamine and a tiny dash of China White heroin to keep your heart from exploding, which also enhances the lack of pain and keeps your courage up.”
“Oof, heroin. That’s one I’m definitely not bringing back with me,” Ava said.
“Christ, Ava, you shouldn’t be taking these at all,” Sam said, well aware of the futility of his protests.
“What’s in the little guy?” Ava asked, ignoring Sam.
“That, uh… that, you wanna bust out for emergencies only. Half MDPV, half PCP,” Ashley explained. “MDPV is bath salts and PCP is… PCP. You only get one dose, because if I give you more, it’ll either kill you or make you do very stupid things.”
“How do I use them?” Ava asked. Ashley looked at her like she was an idiot.
“Pop the cork, hold it up to your nose, and sniff,” she said. “Easy as can be. They’ll both burn like the fires of Hell itself, but they’ll both work. I don’t make these for experienced druggies, they usually know what they want.” She handed them over.
“No charge?” Ava asked.
“Oh, I’m just gonna charge them to your sponsor’s account,” Ashley said, nonchalantly. Suddenly, the PA system rang out, asking for Ava to come to the ring; she had been down too long and missed the light for her match.
“You know who I’m up against?” Ava asked Ashley, presuming the friendly employee would have a better idea. She tapped her forehead for a second, thinking.
“Oh, you’re up against the Korean girl, Mind Stalker!” she said. “Oh, she’s cool too, I should see if I can get my fifteen-minute break and come watch you guys.”
“She do psychic shit?” Ava asked, guessing from the name as she dashed off to the ring, carrying the vials in one hand and dragging Sam along with the other.
“Yeah, that’s her thing!” Ashley called back out.
Ah, fuck, that’s just what I need when I’m running on low sleep, Ava thought to herself.