They were 15 minutes into the game when the Migs scored the first goal. Their supporters, stacked in a corner of the rink as they were the guest team's, roared with joy while their players gathered into the usual congratulation hug. Metcalf shouted some orders, and the first line jumped on the ice, ready to fight, to try and even the score before the end of the first 20 minutes. Kazansky won the faceoff, passed to Maverick who raced towards the Migs' goal; Maverick heard Kazansky call the puck back, glanced at him, decided he was in better posture, shot, and missed. A Mig intercepted the puck. Mitchell was circling the goal to get back to their defensive side when he got violently projected against the board, his back getting the most of the impact, his head following closely; the "WHAM" resonated in his ears as he fell down with his checker, letting go of his cross just in time to put his arms behind him and absorb some of the second shock. He tried to inhale but his lungs seemed closed. The referee blew his whistle, thinking of a foul; he then realized the two were on the same team, and looked rather confused. Heatherly was skating towards the mess of the two bodies. When he was close enough, he shouted over the crowd: "What the fuck, Ice?!"
Maverick was breathing again. He looked around, made out the crowd and various players zooming towards them; he didn't understand what had just happened. Kazansky was trying to get up, which he finally managed to do after three attempts. He skated away uncertainly, but was stopped by an angry Heatherly. "What is wrong with you, Kazansky?", the latter was shouting. "What are you trying to do?"
"MITCHELL! KAZANSKY!", Metcalf called from the bank. Maverick had gotten up with the help of the Migs' goaltender and skated shakily towards the bank. "Locker room, now", said the coach, his features all messed up with anger.
A doctor followed Maverick as he entered the locker room and sat down heavily. The doctor removed his helmet and started checking his pupils for signs of internal damage. Kazansky entered the room with Metcalf on his heels. The coach looked at Maverick briefly, and then started shouting at Ice. "What on earth was that about, Kazansky? Do you realized that you've just jeopardized the whole game, and with that our whole season? This is a critical game, in case I haven't made it clear enough. What are you trying to do?!"
Kazansky took off his helmet and threw it to the ground. "I warned him!", he shouted back, pointing an aggressive finger at Maverick. "I warned him that playing solo wouldn't work against them. He's jeopardizing the season, not me!"
"What, and you just decided to… take him out?", Metcalf shouted louder.
"Someone had to do it, and you weren't going to! Just because you played with his father! He's not good for us, Mike! He's dangerous!"
Metcalf seemed to think for an instant, and then spoke in an even tone: "Well, doesn't matter now, does it? You're both out. Now–"
"What do you mean we're both out?" Iceman exploded.
"Did you think I was going to let you go on the ice again after what you've done? You're the danger here, Kazansky! You're out because I say so!"
Kazansky looked revolted. Metcalf continued calmly: "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go back out there and try to motivate a bunch of shaken players to win this fucking game with half of their first line missing."