Gray walls reflected wavering light from the ceiling panels. A wide table haphazardly piled with weapons occupied the center of the room. Sawed-off shot guns were crisscrossed with aged hunting rifles, well-worn axes mingled with dull katanas and long swords, and the barrels from disassembled pistols laid against the hollowed frames of Ak-47s. Fourteen men stood about the table. Injuries were commonplace, some had deep scars, most were missing fingers, and a few had large patches of red shiny skin, swollen and oily from the burns recieved while working with scrubbers. Some were wearing the same armor as the guards of Clinker corporation. A few even had the same primary weapon; a black submachine gun with a wide ended barrel known as the Clinker Special Two, or CS2 for short.

A man with patchwork hair interlaced between bald scar tissue supervised them. Compatible parts were separated quickly from the pile and placed into bins underneath the table. Potential melee weapons were sorted according to their need for sharpening or repair before being lined against the wall. Rifles and Semi-automatic weapons were sometimes claimed by the one examining them, or passed about the room to be given to somebody else. A shelf in the corner contained tagged weapons for distribution elsewhere. There was a symbiotic flow to the operation as the stash was sorted and exchanged.

A man with deep scars that traveled laterally across his face walked into the room. His bandage wrapped left arm was capped by a red fleshy nub of scar tissue with no fingers. The security vest worn across his torso said: Clinker Crowd Control 20. He held a combat helmet to match his vest. Everyone stopped working. In the sudden break the movement of pistons, the screech of machines, and the release of pressure on boilers spoke from the walls. The scarred man nodded to each one of them before slowly pressing his hands against the table.

"Men, we have secured the cooperation of the second brigade of the security force. This is the day we restore the true meaning of the collective! This is the day we liberate Mandaree for everyone! This is the day we rescue our families! We move tonight. For Mandaree!"

Fists raised with a cheer that drowned the speaking of the machines.

-----

Lauren shifted in her bed. Fists balled shut but she refrained from punching the matress and risking another scratch on her knuckles. The footsteps of security guards from outside sent a chill up her spine. Sometimes a shadow of a reflection appeared in the door window slot. The feeding slot opened and a badge fell. It skid across the floor. This elonged to a member of the high council. Who was giving it to her? She put her hands to her head and pressed tightly. Slowly her forehead went down to the metal bar at the head of her bed and pressed against it. There were more footsteps, yet nobody entered.

For the twentieth time she looked about the room. Nobody was coming to punish her, she hadn't even been beaten. She slumped back onto her bed and curled up on the mattress. As for Larox, for Tray, for Horst, and Lavinia, she couldn't help thinking about what was happening to them. She would have been glad to see any of their face's about now. Her hand reached out to the top of the bed and grabbed one of the bars; it felt warm, almost too hot. Then she looked down at the ID card again and the slot on the door.

Either this was a big trap, or someone was helping her escape.

-----

After being thrown down, the spear with the now dented bronze tip rolled into sand around the platform. Larox spread his lanky arms before bringing them forward to a fighting stance. With a swish of his index finger, he signaled his opponent to come at him.

"You really want to die?!" Tray screamed.

Muscles pulsated. Tray's clothes strained to contain them; his neck tightened and ripped the collar of his shirt. Biceps bulged; sleeves popped along the seams. A little sludge oozed from his pores. His legs became meaty posts, the thighs and hamstrings added muscle on top of muscle. Veins rippled along his forehead with an inky sweat. Larox kept steady and waited for Tray to lunge at him.

Pulsing knuckles swung forward like a battering ram. Larox pivoted his neck and let them fly past his cheek as the air stung his eyes. Then he grappled the wrist in its forward motion and redirected Tray's momentum to flip him over. He remained standing on his rock as Tray's back hit the platform. The noise from the speakers activated with a mix of boos as Larox spit on the sand.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"What happened to you? Did they sent you back to the hangar so they could attach a bunch of stupid to the ugly?"

The voice of Norimoto bellowed through the announcement speakers, "Well what do we have here? Do we have a secret Aikido practitioner? Well doesn't this make the match interesting!? No worries! Our punisher will not be defeated. You will see blood!"

Tray jumped to his feet. He darted for the pike Larox had thrown on the ground, picked it up, and tossed it straight at him. Larox dodged the spear, but received a punch to the center of the gut that threw him back a few yards. He went to his knees while clutching his stomach. Blood spurted from between dry lips as he coughed. The entire arena shook and swayed in his head as pulled himself up while resisting the urge to heave. Standing lasted a moment as he stumbled back on all fours.

"Leave him alone!" Horst yelled.

The blade of the dull katana lifted. Horst charged while screaming at the top of his lungs. The crowd's roar rang from the speakers. Horst darted quickly, his feet perched on the ground to spring forward. Tray turned to deal with the approaching threat. The raised faux katana swung for Tray's side. With a jerk of an elbow and flick of the bulging muscles of his wrist, Tray back fisted the side of the blade. The counter sent the sword swinging from Horst's sweaty palms. It swung in like a fan blade as it swished into the arena wall with a resounding clang before falling in the sand blade first. Tray rushed in. Thick flexing fingers wrapped Horst's neck to lift him off the platform. Horst kicked madly.

"You like that Horst, maybe they'll write a song in that crappy music you're always listening too, all about you and your pointless death in this pit and how you became a silhouette!"

A strike came down horizontally against the side of Tray's bulging neck, followed by a low roundhouse kick to Tray's ankles. Tray never budged. The attacks might as well have hit a pile of stone.

While continuing to strangle Horst with one hand, Tray batted Larox away with a single backhanded swat from the other. Sand dusted Larox's clothes as he rolled off the platform. With his body bruised and broken, his stomach thrashing, and blood leaking from between his lips, he struggled to get up. He stared up at that monster. What had they done to the captain?! His vision became blurry. He couldn't just pass out, Horst was dying! By clutching the dirt with his broken fingernails, he pulled himself on all fours and watched as Horst's face turned purple while his eyes bulged out.

Tray laughed, "I'm gonna make him watch as your neck is slowly squeezed until yer head bursts like a water balloon, and then I'm gonna do the same thing to him. I'm sure the crowd 'ill love seeing you both POP!"

"Captain! Stop it, you're killing him! If there's any bit of human left in there..." he sputtered and spit up blood in a fit of coughing, "I can't-"

Another fit of coughing prevented Larox from saying anymore. A smile twisted across Tray's lips as he continued to grip into Horst's neck. A larynx crunched between gasps.

A scream echoed. In the suite, Alfred watched as Lavinia's eyes glowed a bright blue, her entire body shrouded itself in a blue luminescence. Slender fists pounded on the glass. Alfred shook his head and pulled the controller out of his coat with an apology. His finger returned to the button as the glass panel into the precipice shattered into tiny beads. She dove into the three-hundred-meter-deep pit. The neon blue light streaked from her body. The audience gasped. Her right arm extended an open palm aimed for the pitted scar on Tray's forehead.

A rush of air followed an explosion of blue light. A booming, earsplitting sound hit the walls of the arena. It shook like an earthquake. A rain of beaded glass fell upon the contestants. The strangle hold released, so Horst rolled into the sand. Air rushed back into his lungs and vision returned as he gasped.

Lavinia held herself upright on her one palm, which seated against Tray's forehead. They stared into each other. The force of her attack dissipated and Tray's eyes went blank as his body froze. Lavinia pivoted her wrist and turned her body to conduct a flip to land in front of him. She stood with her arms at her side. Tray loomed over her as he recovered. Her eyes narrowed and a frown formed as she rubbed her fingers together. A sickly purple hue emanated from Tray. His eyes darted left and right, up and down.

"You want a piece of me girly!"

Lavinia said nothing as steam escaped from Tray's nostrils while he grunted. Then he vanished. Lavinia dodged the incoming fist with only a millimeter to spare. Tray launched a flurry punches, yet she dodged everything by the same margin. Tray's skin became red; his eyes popped outward, and yet he refused to look at her. He kicked; she jumped onto his leg. He followed it with a punch; she pushed off of it and closed the distance. Her nose was almost against his as her stare flooded his vision. A soft hand pressed into the center of his chest. Soft blue light enveloped Lavinia before bursting over them both like a flame. His breath became gasps as his movements froze.

Her hand felt so nice, so warm, that tears of actual water ran down his cheeks.

"Thank you," Lavinia said, "For being so kind to me. I won't forget you."

The flame of blue light intensified as a gruesome gurgling accompanied the expansion of Tray's core. A splattering mess of blood, tar, and flesh exploded around her. Tray's top half flew upwards and fell back to near Larox with a splatter. His bottom half toppled backwards where it stood. Fluids seeped into the sand as the energy dissipated. Lavinia fell to her knees with her body and clothes splattered in remains.

Larox stumbled to the top half of his former captain. Tray's face became pale, but he still blinked.

"Tray, you still there?"

Failing lungs issued a gurgling cough as Tray's arms gripped the dirt for support before they withered and went limp. What little life remained slowly faded from his eyes.

A wide grin broke his death pallor, "Got any bourban?"

The grin remained as the stare became vacant.

Larox closed his captain's eyes.

Tray died.