The stacks of houses and shops go up four stories on both sides of the bustling street. Holographic ads for fights, bars and eateries burst with bright neon colors, lighting the walkway and faces of everyone around us. A few ads feature the classic anti-Mhinto propaganda. An over-sized, projected propaganda ad, high above the end of the street displays the enemy country with snakes being trampled on by a heroic Cronus soldier. The words "Destroy the Mhinto Empire'' pulsate above the soldier's head as he clutches our red and golden flag. Several people in the crowd wear shirts that match the flag's colors and feature phrases worshiping the Cronus government.
A fusion of pungent curry and savory bean dishes fill the air from the endless food stalls on each side of the street. With it though, is an acrid stench from the expired government rations. The scent doesn't bother me. In a way, I find great comfort in the rotten smell that seems to exist in every corner of the Sectors.
It's the smell of home.
A wave of heat hits my cold cheeks as I feel myself getting annoyed. This place used to be home. My jaw tightens as I think about having to move to the other side of the mountain in the Elite and my damn brother who forced us there.
I force the anger away as Nick and I navigate through the crowd.
A few people spot us and nod silently. Others simply hurry away. They aren't noticing me as we walk past them. They notice him. In recent years, people have either avoided Nick entirely or treated him like a god. Perks of working for one of the Sector's most powerful crime groups.
"How's your shoulder?" He turns and glances at me, ignoring people who detect us.
"It's fine," I lie.
He frowns at me, knowing I'm just brushing him off.
"Seriously. Try once in a while not to worry about me, Nick," I insist.
"You know that's impossible," he chuckles.
"I'm fine."
Turning to the left, we approach the best pot pie stall in the entire city. The shopkeeper, Sani, waits patiently for customers to approach. His smile looks empty and desperate as he watches the endless crowd pass by his shop, going to all the other eateries, and leaving his tables empty.
As we walk to the register, Sani's smile suddenly brightens. Smears of his pink lipstick mark his yellowing teeth, but his smile is truly genuine.
"My favorite customer!" Sani greets me.
"I'm your only customer."
He shakes his head laughing.
"Hello Mr. Larsen." Sani turns and addresses him formally the way he always does, with a nervous smile.
"Call me Nick, Sani." He frowns, correcting him for the millionth time. "Everyone calls me Nick."
Rolling my eyes, I find a small place in the back corner, closest to the building behind the pot pie stall. I take the ice off of my numb cheek and slink back in the chair, feeling all my muscles give up. I've grown accustomed to the fatigued feeling that always takes over my body after a fight, but I feel the exhaustion even more tonight.
"Hungry Mr. Larsen?" I ask him with a hint of a smirk as he sits down across from me.
"Well." He leans forward with a fake smile. "For terrible pot pie? No." His face drops and he groans. "Don't know why you like this place so much."
"It has many great qualities, Mr. Larsen. The customer service, for one." My smirk grows into a full grin as I tease him. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back. As he stares at me, taking in the sight of my messy appearance, his lips curl into a soft smile.
The long scar that begins on the right side of his neck and travels up to his right cheek never quenches the warmth in his eyes. The scar across the bridge of his nose, however, stabs at my heart every time I look at him. It's from working with Vaughn.
"Hey, it's Friday! So...no curfew." His smile grows into a full grin.
"Right." I nod. I almost forgot we can take our time tonight. The military won't shut down the city at 9pm. They only do it three times a week, but rushing home before curfew is beyond annoying.
We fall silent for a minute, enjoying the familiar and comfortable presence between us. I glance around the busy street and take in the sights of the hollow faces pushing forward into the night. Their empty expressions seem to echo an unspoken feeling that creeps into my heart with every passing fight. It's a dangerous thing.
Before I can dwell on the feeling or the forbidden memory for too long, I push the image of their cold, dead bodies from my mind, and with it, the feeling of powerlessness.
No. I won't let myself go to that place or feel that way ever again. I'll never stop fighting.
Sani interrupts my bleak train of thought when he puts our orders down on the table. The smell of sizzling chicken inside the doughy pastry makes me sigh. I lean forward, fork in hand, ready to devour the ultimate comfort. Upon seeing my reaction, Nick chuckles.
The burst of salty juice makes me groan as I close my eyes and ignore his judgmental looks. No, the food here isn't the best, but it has a special place in my heart. It's the first thing I ate that wasn't government rations after my parents died.
Once again, I force the thoughts of that cold memory away from my mind and open my eyes to see Nick picking at his food with a fork. I shake my head at his lousy performance.
"How did you find out about my fight?" I ask between mouthfuls.
"I was in the neighborhood and saw the sign outside." He hesitates for a moment before finally eating his food. "Business for Vaughn."
Vaughn. Of course it was for Vaughn. Nick's entire life had changed when he met him. He went from a starving boy stealing on the streets to one of the most feared and respected crime operatives in the organization and even among some of the other crime groups. Working for Vaughn means certain privileges, but it also consumes his life. I don't know the extent of his loyalty or what he's done for Vaughn and I prefer not to know. To me, Nick is Nick. He's my closest and most trusted friend. He's more of a brother to me than Jackson and he adores my younger brother Cameron the same way I do. Vaughn doesn't deserve him.
"How's your face?" With his mouth full, I can just make out his words as he changes the subject.
"It's numb." I shrug as we continue our usual routine.
"Did you get hurt anywhere else?" He presses.
"I'm fine."
"Ray, you're not fine," he snaps suddenly. "What did Diego give you? It had something to do with your shoulder, didn't it?" He leans forward and glares at me.
Sighing loudly, I lean back in my chair and look away. Please don't ruin my dinner.
"Can this wait until I'm at least done eating?"
"No," he decides.
"It's nothing, really. He just gave me information on an experimental program," I sigh. "He said it might be able to help my shoulder. The thing is...Cronus is running it."
I bite my lip as the scene replays in my head. The sticky blood soaking into the sidewalk, their lifeless eyes open and staring into the infinite cosmos, me and Jackson's screams echoing throughout the alley. It all comes crashing down on me as I think about the Kardeslik crime group slaughtering my parents and the Cronus soldiers who did nothing to help those years ago.
Never again. I ignore the sickening feeling of powerlessness in my stomach and choose hate.
I hate them. I hate the military. And I hate Jackson for joining them.
"You know I'm not going to do it, so there's no point in talking about it," I snap, staring down at my white knuckles in my lap.
"Let me see the document."
Without arguing, I pull up the file and transfer it to him. We fall silent as he reads through it, his eyes intense in concentration. I finish my pie, but it suddenly lacks flavor.
"Ray." His eyes flutter back to mine with something I've only seen once or twice before. Desperation. "You really need to consider this."
I cross my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes. There's no way I'm doing it.
He reads my mind and scoffs, shaking his head.
"This surgery could heal your shoulder. You could be back to normal again. You can't even lift your own bag!" He growls.
His reaction takes me by surprise. Unlike my brothers, he's never tried to get me to stop fighting.
"I'm not doing it," I state simply, trying to hide my shock. "It's my decision - my choice."
I prefer cheery Nick.
"Ray," he mutters through clenched teeth. "You have no idea how hard it is. You have no idea how...difficult it is to see you get in that ring over and over and put yourself through that beating." He pauses for a moment, leaning forward over the table.
"When that fighter beat you six months ago," he says slowly and carefully. "You almost died."
"I remember."
It was the worst loss I've ever experienced in my life. It was also the last time I ever fought in the mixed-gender division. The older boy really did a number on me and I could hardly defend myself with my torn shoulder. I would've died if Nick hadn't stepped in to drag me out, which strictly broke the rules. I had to forfeit my money from the fight because of it. You win, pass out or die, and my stubbornness nearly killed me.
"What you don't remember is what happened after you were carried out of the ring. The doctor said you might not make it through the night." He looks away and takes a deep breath. "I held you in my arms the entire night, hoping you'd push through." The devastation in his eyes tears at my heart as he looks down at his hands.
"Do not put me through that again, Ray." He finally looks at me, all tenderness gone. "You know I support you and your career. In spite of how dangerous it is, I know why you do it. Hell, I respect why you do it. All I'm asking is that you consider it. Go to the consultation."
I remain silent for a moment, absorbing his words. Scenarios pour endlessly through my head, but the only image that seems to stick is Jackson and my parents. I can't do it.
"If you don't do this," he continues. "You know your career will be over. It might not be over today, but soon." I hate his words. His truthful, gut-wrenching words strike my stubborn spirit. He's right. Being in denial any longer might not only cost me my career, it'll no doubt cost me my life. Has it really come to this? What's more important, my career or my hatred for Cronus?
I can't lose fighting. It's the only thing that makes me feel in control in this world. But can I trust them? My heart thumps harder in my chest as fear courses through my veins. It feels like I have no choice. Just the consultation, I think over and over. Just the consultation and nothing else.
"Ok." I slowly nod. "I'll do the consultation." My voice comes out strong, but I feel shaky. There's a million other things I'd rather try. Anything but this. But, I've been down this road so many times and every single attempt led me to the same place, with no hope of recovery. I've done irreparable damage to my body and this is my punishment. It's this or give up.
One thing's for sure - I will not give up.
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