Axel downed another whiskey, his sixth of the night. He couldn’t see straight anymore. That didn’t matter, though. He didn’t have anything to see. The couple of days since his defeat to Hammerfist had been the worst of his life. Worse even than when his parents died. At least then, he’d had a future. He’d had hope. Now, he had nothing. Nothing but broken dreams and a child he’d completely and utterly failed.

Rose disagreed, naturally. She’d come to him in the infirmary as soon as the medics let her in. The teleporter hadn’t zapped him out of the arena until Hammerfist got several good hits in. He’d been covered in sweat, blood, and bruises. But that didn’t make a difference to Rose. She hugged him, kissed him, and told him everything was going to be okay. But Axel couldn’t even bring himself to look at her. Mr Williams was right. What business did he, a failure, have being with a woman like Rose? None.

A loud crash sounded on the opposite side of the tavern as a few brawling drunks flipped over tables in their intoxicated fury. Axel ignored them. He’d claimed a corner booth precisely to avoid that sort of crap. This wasn’t his usual watering hole. It was darker, dingier, and frequented by a rougher clientele than he was used to. But nobody knew him here, and nobody bothered him. He had the eyes of a fighter with nothing left to lose. Not somebody anyone wanted to pick a fight with.

Axel raised a hand, signalling the bartender to bring over another whiskey, then gazed into his empty glass. Why am I so pathetic? Why couldn’t I win? Everything I ever wanted was one fight away, and I failed. I’m a disgrace.

He looked up as a glass clinked down on his table, but he didn’t see the bartender. Instead, his eyes landed on a tall, slender man with a gaunt face and hollow eyes. Axel recognised him.

Caraxus. He belonged to the Syndicate, a loose coalition of criminal groups that did almost as much as the Apollo Corporation to make life on Hades Station miserable.

Axel’s expression soured. ‘What do you want?’

Caraxus smirked and gestured to the full glass he’d just placed on the table. ‘I want to buy you a drink. It’s Rydellian icewhiskey, the good stuff.’

‘Why?’ Axel asked.

‘Can’t a man help a fellow lost soul in his time of need?’

‘They can, but they usually don’t. Especially not men like you.’

Sober Axel would later want to cut out drunk Axel’s tongue for speaking to Caraxus like that. No sane person ever dared insult a Syndicate rep, not if they wanted to keep breathing. But at that moment, Axel wasn’t exactly sane, nor was he entirely sure he wanted to keep breathing.

Luckily, Caraxus didn’t seem to take offence. Instead, he sat on the bench opposite Axel, still smiling. ‘True enough. I’m not known for my charity.’

‘No. You’re not. Spit out what you want, or leave me in peace.’

‘Very well. I’m here with a business proposition.’

Axel snorted. ‘I don’t do business with the Syndicate. I’m not a criminal.’

Caraxus raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t you at least want to hear my proposal? I promise you don’t have to do anything illegal, not really. May I continue?’

Axel didn’t respond, staring into his cups.

‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ Caraxus said. ‘I can arrange a match for you.’ At that, Axel’s head snapped up again, and Caraxus chuckled. ‘I see I have your attention.’

‘You can arrange a match? Another chance for me to get off this heap of scrap metal and join the Tour?’

Caraxus held up a hand. ‘Hold your horses. Yes, and no. I can get you off Hades Station, but not onto the Tour.’

Axel frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘The fight I have planned won’t get you the ranking points you need to get back into the top five, even if you win. But you won’t win. You’re going to lose.’

‘Why the hell would I do that?’

‘Because if you do, I’ll pay you enough to get yourself and your little girlfriend away from Hades Station. Far away. As for getting onto the Tour, you’ll have to work that out yourself.’

‘You’re talking about match-fixing?’

Stolen novel; please report.

Caraxus cocked his head. ‘Is there a problem with that?’

‘Yes, there’s a problem with that,’ Axel said, baring his teeth. ‘If I get caught, I’ll never have a chance of getting onto the Tour.’

Caraxus frowned. ‘You are a stubborn one, aren’t you?’ He sighed. ‘Look around, Axel. You’re running out of chances. In fact, this may very well be the last opportunity you ever get. You’ll have a better chance of fighting your way onto the Tour out there than you will if you remain on Hades. It’s worth the risk, surely? Besides, even if you don’t get accepted onto the Tour, at least you’ll be free. Your family will be free.’

Axel had been about to tell Caraxus where to shove his dirty money, but hearing those words made him pause. He could get out. He could get Rose out. Their child out. Caraxus was right. Even without the Tour, life outside would be better than on Hades. Worst-case scenario, he could find a gig at one of the smaller provincial arenas and live a comfortable life. It wasn’t his dream, but at least his little family would be together. Together and free.

Then again… Axel sagged back onto his bench, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. This was a big decision, one he was far too drunk to make.

‘You still hesitate. Why?’ Caraxus asked.

‘I’m a failure. How can I trust myself to look after my family? All I know how to do is fight, but what if I’m not good enough to make it out there? I’m too inflexible. I can’t adapt to my environment. Everyone’s saying it.’

Caraxus nodded his understanding. ‘Ah. I see that your last fight affected you more than I thought. Tell me, if you’d fought on terrain more suited to your skill set, do you think Hammerfist would still have won?’

‘Maybe. I don’t know. We’ll never know.’

‘Come now, are you telling me that if you and Hammerfist met in an arena designed for purely aerial combat, you wouldn’t win?’

Axel sighed. ‘Yeah, probably. But that would be completely unfair.’

‘Precisely. There’s a difference between losing because you couldn’t adapt to your environment and losing because the fight was rigged.’

Axel opened his eyes and leaned forward. ‘What?’

‘You don’t really think that your fight against Hammerfist was fair, do you? Any impartial organisers would never have allowed the arena to be so obviously one-sided. It was a con, a set-up.’

‘But why?’

Caraxus smirked. He had Axel hooked, and he knew it. ‘Who benefitted from your loss?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Yes, you do. Think.’

‘The guy who took my place, I guess.’

‘And who was that?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t look.’

‘His name is Marcus Lieselheim. Now, did you know that Mr Lieselheim has an uncle who’s rather highly placed in station management? Highly enough to influence the arena configurations.’

Axel slammed a fist onto the table. ‘Those sons of bitches. They set me up.’

Caraxus leaned closer, so close that Axel felt the man’s warm breath on his skin. ‘Yes, they did. How does that make you feel?’

‘Angry. Fucking furious.’

‘Don’t you want revenge?’

‘Of course I want revenge.’

‘Then join me. Throw the fight. You’ll cost Apollo a fortune and buy your ticket away from this place.’ He pushed the glass of icewhiskey towards Axel, who stared at it for a moment before picking it up and downing it.

***

Axel was back in his dressing room yet again. This time, though, there was a difference. He wasn’t going through his old pre-fight ritual, not anymore. This wasn’t a real fight, after all. It was a chore. A task he had to complete to get Rose off of Hades. He had a new ritual now, one he’d stuck to with dedication since his meeting with Caraxus. To an outsider, this ritual might just look like sitting in a chair and staring into space. But that’s not at all true. It also involved self-loathing, rage, and a whole lot of whisky.

By the time the light turned red, Axel hadn’t even finished strapping on his armour. He staggered into the ready room, missing one gauntlet and with one of his crucial jet boots out of fuel. He barely even noticed. The announcer called out, but Axel didn’t hear a word of it. He lived in his own little universe of sadness and suffering.

The light turned green. Axel didn’t move. The announcer called out. ‘AXEL MURRAY, WE’RE WAITING.’

This, at last, shook Axel out of his stupor. He staggered forward, stumbling through the door and yanking a single blaster from its holster. The crowd cheered at the sight of him. Those cheers didn’t last long.

He waved his blaster around wildly, firing shots everywhere apart from at his opponent. They smashed into the ground and sizzled against the force field protecting the crowd. The arena was pretty simple this time, a large plain dome. With plenty of open space and room to soar through the sky, it should have been the perfect domain for the Hornet to show off his skills. But, of course, Axel wasn’t the Hornet anymore. These days, he was barely even Axel.

His opponent, a green kid with shiny new armour taking part in his first fight, gazed on in confusion. He didn’t move as Axel wandered around the arena, blasting away. He probably didn’t know what to think. The crowd, however, made their feelings extremely clear. A loud chorus of boos and jeers echoed from all corners of the arena. Axel didn’t like that one bit.

‘Shut the hell up,’ he called out. Then, drawing his second blaster, he activated his one jet boot and soared up towards the crowd. At least, he tried to. He didn’t even get halfway before his lopsided propulsion sent him spiralling out of control. He slammed into the force field at the edge of the arena, sliding down it until he crumpled to the ground.

His opponent, scarcely believing his luck, strolled forward, pointed a blaster at Axel’s head, and pulled the trigger.