Miraj was none too pleased to see the gift Anakin bestowed to her acting out. It is a sign of disrespect she did not care to be associated it. "Your fighter is fun to watch, not so much pleasant to have." Miraj sighs. "I expected better from you."

"Wrestlers are not known for their etiquette, your majesty. No matter how hard I tried, they simply do not take." He tells her.

Miraj casts her gaze elsewhere, noticing Ahsoka cleaning up after the mess left by her highnesses friends. "They?" Anakin's choice of that word caused her to ponder. Studying Ahsoka from her appearance, Miraj could tell she was well fed for a slave and even had muscle. "Is Monix the only wrestler you manage, or trained?"

"I trained a few." He replies quickly.

"And where are they?"

"We had a falling out." He lies. Miraj didn't seem to buy it.

"Shame. So your slave girl over there, she is only a servant and cannot fight?"

"She can... I can't have somebody abusing my property." Anakin explains.

"But she is partly mine, right? You are letting me borrow her."

"Why yes, but-"

"So if I wanted to throw her into the ring to face somebody you wouldn't object? Because if she can fight, she's far more than capable." Miraj was pleased with herself for coming up with this plot. "Maybe she could teach Monix some manners?"

"Oh, your majesty, I don't-" Miraj cut Skywalker off, not interested in hearing why she couldn't have her way. "See they are friends and-"

"Then how about I put them together in a exhibition tag match, disconnected from the tournament?" Miraj wasn't actually asking for Anakin's permission, her mind already was made up. The gears in her head are turning, oh, the money they'll print at the gate by teaming the most hated wrestler in the Zygerrian Empire with a race they historically subjugated.

"I don't think that's a good idea, your majesty."

"Then it's good this decision isn't up to you." Anakin is dismissed by Miraj, perturbed at the turn of events. He knows Ahsoka can handle herself in a fight. His main concern was the unraveling of their ploy. It's clear they're running out of time.

A handler walks quietly over to Miraj, careful to choose his critical words. "Your majesty, we cannot afford to play these games. I think we should cancel the tournament and skip to the auction."

Miraj ponders for a moment. "Yes, I do believe you are right. As much as I want to say otherwise."

(Scene break)

Vakidis couldn't stand to see Kyle down in the dumps, he managed to drag him outside to get some sunlight. Despite the beautiful weather, it was accompanied with the ugliest sights. The Queen made it known she didn't want any Togrutas sold until the arena was finished hosting the tournament, but owners couldn't wait that long and decided to sell off their property on the black market.

"Remind me how this is supposed to cheer me up?" Kyle sighs, looking at the crowds huddled hooting and hollering racial slurs at the captive Togrutas in the auction bloc. "I hate them, Vakidis. I know it's wrong to say that. Not all Zygerrians are like this, I know. But I hate them all." He confesses his prejudices with a lump on his throat, aware the ire it'll deservingly draw.

"Perhaps I made a mistake taking you here. I didn't know about this." Vakidis apologizes. "Kyle, you cannot generalize about an entire race of people. Us Humans historically do not have a good track record of treating others." He reminds him.

"I wish I could make them feel the pain they are making them feel." Kyle gnashes his teeth, his knuckles tightened until they turned white as snow. He goes into his jacket to retrieve his lightsaber. Screw the mission. He's out here playing entertainer while this is happening. Some hero he is. Vakidis rushes over to stop Kyle, believing he was about to pull out a blaster.

"Are you insane!" He chastised. "You'll end up dead and nobody will have been freed. You're emotions are getting the best of you, calm down!"

"How can you say that when children are being torn from their families?"

"I don't like it either, but there's nothing we can do. Come on, let's head back to the arena."

Returning to the locker room, Kyle no longer wondered why he always remained there as opposed to venturing anywhere else. The locker room is in his preferred world. Inside here, he can block out the noise and get to work in a field he knows he can make headway in. Inside here, he is the man with control of his own destiny. Not a part of a universal pot of folks with their own agendas running around aimlessly. Kyle is master of it all when he is in this world. Not when he's out there. He wants nothing to do with that anymore.

"You loosened up." Vakidis notices happily. In reality, Kyle had every reason to be relaxed. His match is scheduled down the line for him to get some rest, and if he won this match he'd advance to the final round.

"Say, what is the reward for winning this tournament?" Kyle asks Vakidis.

"The Queen will grant the winner of her tournament one wish." He tells him. "No, you can't wish for an end to the slave trade."

Kyle's opponent was his size, only larger in muscle mass. He overheard the announcers billing "Mr. Phoenix" as a submission specialist. So he had to be careful not to take too many risks, or he would fall into one of Phoenix's traps.

The bell rang and the two circled each other, neither eager to make the first move. Phoenix leaps at Kyle like an eager animal, going for the quick submission by snatching his ankle. Kyle scurries to the ropes forcing the referee to break the hold. He escapes under the ropes to take a walk, opening himself up for Phoenix to run up from behind and smash him in the back of the head.

Phoenix picks Kyle up by the hair and smashes his face against the ring post twice before rolling him under the ropes, unable to get the pinfall as he kicks out at two. "He's doing a number on you, do something!" Kyle's subconscious tells him.

Phoenix trues to slingshot Kyle to the ropes, but he reverses throwing him over the top turnbuckle landing hard on the outside. Phoenix struggles to get to his feet, seeing an opening Kyle soars through the ropes and lands squarely on his back, before throwing him into the guard railings to add insult to injury.

Kyle stretches his legs, feeling he's tweaked a hamstring on his left side. He re-enters the ring and sure enough, so does Phoenix, who surprises him with knife edge chops, staggering Kyle, he recovers and delivers a clean kick to the jaw which is enough for the pinfall. Fans groan, their enemy remains spotless and this time he was about to rub it in their faces.

Before the ring announcer could cement the outcome, Kyle snags the microphone from his hand with the maddest flint in his eyes he addresses the crowd in the center of the ring.

"Let me tell you a story... a story about the man of the hour and every hour. I came here once upon a time with my group, wide eyed innocent, just happy to be the road living my dream of being a professional wrestler. I come here, and I have only seen pieces of trash unworthy of my presence! I'm only here to get what's rightfully mine, and that's the Universal Championship." His voice became hoarse, but he puts more force in his words laboring his throat to its limits.

Fans chant for the next match, having enough of this cocky kid dragging their home. "Knock it off." He replies, not so much offended by the obscenities hurled at him, more threatening retaliatory action. He slides under the ropes and grabs the Zygerrian flag from someone in attendance in the front row and uses it to clean his nose, before resuming his promo.

"Here's the deal" He smiles. "I am the best you'll ever see. They'll never be another one like me. I'll take on anyone. I've already beaten what your sorry asses could provide. I'll take on anyone you have in that dressing room. I don't care if they're Zygerrian, Human, Twi'lek. Jedi or Sith, just bring them out because I'm not done delivering a can of whoop-ass!"

Instead Harley comes out, his beer belly sticking out of his undershirt. Clearly he is miffed at Kyle's episode. He meets him inside the ring. "Monix, can you please calm down?" He pleads with him. "You've won, go home and rest." Kyle is defiant.

"Harley, I respect you. But I am not leaving until I hammer the point home that I am always a level above these amoral slug balls!"

Harley sighs. Fighting with Kyle is always futile. One way or another, he'll get what he wants. "Very well. A singles match was scheduled between Kadavo's tag champions, but I guess that'll have to be a handicap match. If they win, they get a bye in the next round. Bring them out." The crowd pops, roaring at the top of their lungs at the announcement. Finally, they'll enemy will get his comeuppance. But Kyle wasn't troubled. The announcement might as well have been a B-12 shot because he was more hyper than ever.

"No matter what the odds, I'll overcome. No matter what obstacles you throw at me, the Cardiac Kid will prevail. The old Cardiac is back!"

Two six foot Zygerrians part the curtains more then overjoyed at their turn of fortunes. They share a devilish smile, their beady eyes focused squarely on Kyle. "Something tells me, Monix is going to regret asking for this match very soon." A play-by-play announcer warns with a loose jaw, genuinely concerned. "I know Monix is bold, I know he's talented, but this is too much for one man - let alone a youngster."

"It's fair to assume he's snapped. The fans finally ate him up and will soon spit him out." Another predicts.

Kyle starts the match with his hair on fire, introducing himself to the Zygerrians with right hands, until they overpowered him, slingshotting him into the ropes for a spine-buster. One Zygerrian holds Kyle's head, his bulging bicep nearly crushing his windpipe. He holds him down so his partner can rabbit punch him in the back of the head. They proceed to stomp on him. Kyle is slingshot into the ropes again, this time in the corner, his back harshly connecting with the turnbuckles. One of the Zygerrians walks over, and to their surprise, Kyle lifts up his boot and nails him in the jaw to stagger him. Kyle goes to the second rope and delivers a double axe-handle to send his opponent outside of the ring.

His momentum was stifled though, the remaining Zygerrian drives his elbow in the back of Kyle's head and beats on him with all his fury. His forehead began to bleed and the constant punches to the area only worsened matters. His partner made it back inside and assisted with the beat down, again slingshotting Kyle to the ropes, but he thinks fast and performs a double clothesline. They lay on the canvas breathing hard, feeling as if their legs have been cut out from under them.

Kyle kips-up and makes his way to the corner, his right foot getting all jittery, feeding off the crowds hatred he demands one of them to get back to their feet. One poor soul does and is nailed in the jaw, wasting no time Kyle achieves the pinfall victory and proceeds to flail his arms around wildly in jubilation.

"I didn't think he could do it, but Monix survived a two-on-one against the tag champions!"

"Well, he format get anything for this, besides some brand new scars. His own hubris is already taking him down. Look! He can't even stand up."

Kyle struggles to get to his feet, both of them wobbling considerably. Vakidis rushes out to help his friend back to the locker room and carefully lays him on the bench.

"You mind telling me what that was all about?" Kyle knew Vakidis was irritated with his outburst.

"What?" Kyle pretended to not know what Vakidis was refereeing to.

"What did you accomplish doing that?" He asks. "You gain anything from making an ass of yourself."

"It's about sending a message!" Kyle dismisses Vakidis' claims this was all for vanity purposes.

"What message? Your forehead is bleeding, and your leg is swelling up to the size of a ballon. I don't think you've done anything." Kyle only glares at Vakidis as a response. Seeing no use in continuing this, he sighs. "You always marched to the beat of your own drum."

"Anyways, your manager wanted to see you."

"Manager?" It takes a second for Kyle to remember the facade he's putting on. "Oh,"

"He said he Queen is planning a gala."

"A gala? She's inviting wrestlers?" Vakidis nods. "That sounds like a horrible idea." Kyle doesn't believe he's ever seen a wrestler do anything respectable, all they do is scratch their hairy backs and spit.