By Chant99
The roar of the spectators reached him even in the underground preparation area. The sole occupant of the dressing quarters sat upon the worn wooden bench and wrapped his wrists to the beat of countless feet stamping out their approval above him.
He let the noise slide through him, paying it no more attention than he had on a hundred other nights that he'd fought in the games for the enjoyment of others. He'd fought long and hard for his ranking in the clandestine matches. Carefully balancing his unnatural skills so that he won just enough of the important competitions to increase his status without raising suspicions.
Now he fought bigger and better opponents, but fewer times during the night, unlike when he first entered into the arena games, where he seemed to have fought in almost every other match.
While not a crowd favorite by a long shot, he'd finally perform well enough to earn himself a place on the finale' roster for each night. Now he was pitted against the nightly winners of the minor matches, or other "favorite" fighters. Whatever match-up was designed to separate the spectators from whatever final credits they wished to gamble at the end of the night.
He finished wrapping his wrists and hands and waited for the summons to the rings. He turned over what a few of the more experienced pit fighters had told him once he made the end roster. He wasn't popular enough with the gamblers to last long in the matches in their estimate; he just didn't have the flamboyant personality to be one of the top favorites - his style was far too cold and efficient compared to the more seasoned pit fighters.
Being "flashy" in the pit ring meant gathering more attention to himself than was necessary for his needs, so being "boring" was a trade off for more anonymity than the rest of the pit fighters that he wanted. His main purpose was to earn enough credits to survive and stay out of public scrutiny. The unsanctioned fights turned out to be the perfect answer to that situation.
Most of the advice he received centered on knowing when to get out before the fight promoters decided he's outlasted his usefulness, and arranged an unfortunate "accident." The occasional fatal accident in the ring was what kept the crowds coming back for more, and wagering their money.
He kept his counsel to himself... but he decided he didn't much care what happened. He was where he belonged as far as he was concerned and he would let fate unfold as it would.
Besides... he didn't have anywhere else to go.
The call to the rings came a moment later and he rose from his bench, taking the close fitting mask-like fighting helmet with him.
He entered the fight pit arena down the corridor that a guard had directed him too, and the announcer shouted out his pit-name over the address system to the waiting crowd. Like all the other fighters, his helmet covered most of his face except for this mouth and lower jaw. The fights were highly illegal on this world and all the participants worn similar headgear to hide their identity, though most were customized in some way to highlight each fighters' chosen pit persona for the crowd. Sinn's mask and helmet were the same as his pit attire, plain black leather with nothing to make him stand out. He wanted to be out of the spectators' minds as soon as he left the ring.
The pit-name was the only identity the fighters had to the crowd that wagered on them. He kept his simple and as far from the elaborate names the other fighters took as possible. Oddly enough he'd come to think of himself solely by the name Sinn even outside the rings in the last half-cycle or so now.
It was better than the other, the name he had carried for a short time and decided he didn't deserve. He'd left that as far behind him as he had the only other name he could recall - the one given to him as a slave by those who had turned him into a brutal creature of their vengeance.
Likewise any credits he or the other fighters won for participating in the matches would be in equally non-traceable denominations of various kinds.
"Entering the far-gate side of the ring is the challenger... Sinn!" the announcer supplied to the audience.
The crowd responded with a mixture of cheers and hisses, though the jeers far outnumbered the cheers. He did not care either way, nothing - no emotion touched him as he strode directly to the ring instead of capering like so many of the other fighters did to the spectators. The calm mind was part of the self-control he taught himself for the arena. To lose it would be to loose something sadistic and homicidal into the ring that might not stop with just killing his opponent.
He was there to fight, win his money, and leave with as little notice as possible. His business-like attitude did not please the fans overly much.
He did take note of the announcer labeling him the challenger - which meant he would be matched against one of the more favorite pitmen for this bout. They never told the fighters whom they would be matched against before hand; it was just an accepted part of making your living in the pits. You fought who they chose for you or left with nothing.
The announcer turned toward the opposite side of the arena and the cheap spotlights followed in that direction also.
"At the hero's gate... coming out of semi-retirement for tonight... and for your pleasure. Champion for six consecutive cycles... Undefeated in eight pit fighting regions of the Charted and Uncharted Territories... TaTarkus HemNiUs Zoon!"
The crowd exploded in thunderous wild applause, as the huge muscled being that was TaTarkus ducked and strode through the gate doorway wearing his infamous spiked facemask and helmet.
"The last match of the evening will be unmonitored, no rules, until the last being standing," said the announcer. The fans outburst nearly broke his eardrums; they wanted to see blood.
"Dren" Sinn mumbled lowly. It seemed the promoters wanted to get rid of him sooner rather than later.
Unmonitored matches against the reining champion, Zoon, almost always ended in his opponent's death. Sinn had heard of a few occasions where the "challenger" left the ring as soon as TaTarkus Zoon was announced as the fighter they would be facing... only to be torn apart before they could reach the dressing rooms by the angry mob the spectators had become.
Neither thought particularly bothered Sinn, what would be would be as far as he was concerned.
He circled his corner of the ring, limbering up and stretching his muscles. Cries from the crowd told him that Zoon was the twenty-to-one favorite for the wagers. The odds were even higher that TaTarkus would kill Sinn.
The announcer informed the audience that the match would be "hands-only." Sinn allowed himself a dark smile at the proclamation. The promoters knew better from past experience than to allow him in a weapons match even against Zoon. They had witnessed the mayhem he could reek with them. They wanted a show where the acceptable outcome included Sinn's death, not one that might end in a maimed or dead favorite champion of the fans.
The ring judge called both combatants into the center of the pit to read the rules of engagement, which didn't take long as there weren't many, other than the match was to last man standing. He then gave each man the opportunity to forfeit the match at that point if they wished. Zoon received the offer with a show of contempt, while Sinn merely shook his head in the negative.
Zoon then took the opportunity to attempt to stare Sinn down while offering promises of coming pain. Sinn for his part, chose not to waste time or energy replying, and kept his features blank beneath the mask.
The fans could hear TaTarkus's banter carried over the judge's microphone and applauded with vigor at each descriptive comment.
Before they were allowed to return to their prospective corners, they were summoned to the middle section of the pit edge, where the high rollers habitually sat for the fights. It wasn't uncommon either for VIP visitors to ask to give the pit fighters a few words of encouragement... or offer an incentive for the delivery of an impressive combat match to the winner.
This time was no different as the wealthy humanoid waved a handful of credit markers at both men in the ring.
"My lovely companion for the night wishes to see something spectacular and memorable!" He waved the markers around once more in his bejeweled hand. "I will offer a reward of two thousand diamark credits to the winner if the match is a grand one. Action does so excite my lady friend."
Sinn paid the spectator little mind and only pretended to pay attention to the offer. He'd take the credits for sure, but the man offering them was of little interest to him.
Zoon on the other hand was all bluster as usual.
"I will give you a great demonstration of a true pit warrior's abilities and accept your reward gladly," the champion replied, which seemed to make the rich man swell with some pride that the famous pitman spoke directly to him. "But for such a beautiful lady's entertainment, I would kill five or six men like this pitiful retch for free."
The spectator clapped his hands excitedly. "This will simply be magnificent, my dear," he said to the female beside him. "The Champion Zoon himself has promised the match for you! If this excites you, we can invite TaTarkus to accompany us back to my apartments for some private enjoyment. I'm sure he can 'entertain' you in many other pleasurable ways. I would so like to see that for myself!"
"I don't know, Loremos," replied the female for the first time. "The other guy looks like he's only half his size. I don't see how it's going to be much of a fight with bare hands?"
The voice was slightly slurred from drink and most likely various recreational drugs... but it cut through Sinn like a blade. He knew it from somewhere in his not too distant past and thought to never hear it again.
For the first time, he looked down closely at the pair sitting in their VIP seating below the raised ring.
The girl was small and slim of figure. Dressed up in fine expensive silks that could only have been supplied to her by her male companion. The shades of red contrasted sharply with her grayish-white Nebari skin, which showed in various teasing places. The jewels she wore could not compete with her exotic looks and were obviously ignored by the other males in their vicinity in favor for the glimpses of her flesh.
He almost let slip her name but managed to cut it off at the first syllable, and she gazed up at him through wild-white banks with dark drink-blurred eyes. She tried to refocus on him then, but was clearly unable.
Zoon saved him from the slim chance of being recognized by fiercely slapping his broad chest and drawing her attention back to him with more promises of spilling blood for her amusement. The girl smiled at him lopsidedly, forgetting for the moment her slight curiosity about his smaller opponent.
Both fighters return to their corners to await the signal to begin the competition. Sinn swore viciously inward to himself. How the hezmana could she have found him here of all places, he asked himself? Their paths had parted, for the better... why had fate cruelly brought them together once more? Why did the Goddess seek to continually torment him with the presences of the one person he could never be with? Reminded him of the love he could never have ... or give in return?
The gray girl sat up higher in her seat for a better view, regarding him again, now with more concentration on her lovely face.
His normal composure weakened, and he felt his long labored for, but still meager, control began to slip. He felt the cold fingers of what he once was creep anew through his being, what he thought he had brought under rein in the last half-cycle of fighting in the pits was slipping away - this is what she brought to him.
This is what stood between them.
This is what made him the most dangerous.
The ring judge signaled all was ready for the match and the crowded cheered wildly in anticipation. An attendant raised a mallet, poised to strike the match gong. The Nebari focused on him, biting at her perfect lower lip in thought. The vicious voice that had been blissfully silent for so long pricked the back of his mind like the point of a hot blade as the mallet fell.
The gong shattered the crowds' racket with its loud crack.
Sinn snarled.
Zoon strolled confidently forward to the middle of the ring and waited for him. Sinn made one last attempt to reassert his waning domination of what he had once been, biting the growl off short.
TaTarkus beckoned from center ring, and Sinn had to make himself move to join his opponent.
The champion took his hesitation for fear, and mockingly pointed the observation out to the crowed, who immediately booed Sinn all the louder.
Without warning, Zoon sprang forward to meet Sinn on his own, driving one huge fist into the smaller man's face. Sinn was picked up off his feet and sent sprawling a few steps backwards to the mats.
The audience roared its admiration as the champion held his arms victoriously skyward, signaling his fans to show their appreciation even louder for him. Sinn rolled over to climb back to his feet, the leather of his pit attire and the mask had kept the blow and the fall from inflicting serious damage, but the punch had still caused Sinn's mouth to bleed. As a result he spat out a mouthful of the red fluid to clear it.
"First blood!" Zoon roared. "First blood in your honor lovely gray girl," he called to Chiana.
That sinister voice jabbed at his mind, eroding the efforts to stay focused on control.
"Blood must be paid for with blood!" it near howled inside his skull.
Sinn felt the twisted grin form unbidden on his face, his vision sharpened to near painful clarity. He knew that under his mask his eyes now blazed with silver wrath. He was losing the inner conflict.
"Blood for blood," he heard himself repeat as his legs coiled beneath him.
He exploded forward as if shot from a projectile firearm. Without conscious thought the move was timed perfectly. Just as Zoon spun around to face his direction again in his victory dance, Sinn's powerful legs hurled him into the air. He soared passed just in front of the larger man. At the apex of his arc, his own fist pistoned out and flattened Zoon's nose into paste.
Sinn hit the mat gracefully just behind TaTarkus, who clutched at his smashed nasal extremity and bellowed his growing fury. The crowed had been awe struck to respectful whispers by the tactic for a few microts, but then screamed its own approval at the daring maneuver.
"You frelling little bastard!" Zoon yelled. "I was going to kill you without making the pain last for too long. Now I'm going to make you suffer!"
Sinn stood there, his only reply a shift of his head to one side, and an unhinged cock-eyed grin.
The champion roared his challenge and charged forward to trample the smaller man. Sinn waited with the same near-mad grin, even as Zoon cocked back one massive arm for a blow obviously meant to remove his opponent's head from his shoulders.
The audience held it's collective breath as it looked as if the punch was going to connect and tear Sinn's skull from his body. Somehow at the last split microt, Sinn slipped to the outside of TaTarkus's striking limb, the devastating blow blasted pass harmlessly. Before Zoon could recover, Sinn latched on to his huge forearm and used it to steady himself as he sent a high front-snap-kick up between the larger man's arms and into his face. Zoon's brick-like jaw rocked rearwards just as Sinn released his hold on his opponent's arm and dropped into a backwards roll away from the man, coming back to his feet smoothly at the end of it some distance away.
Zoon recovered quickly, only shaking his head to clear it. He regarded his opponent shrewdly for a few microts as his tongue explored the inside of his mouth. Sinn adopted the same nonchalant inquiring stance as before as TaTarkus paused to spit out a tooth his tongue had found wandering loose in his mouth.
"All right," the big man said as he took a serious fighting stance and began to edge forward.
Sinn circled as Zoon advanced, the champion was obviously done playing to the crowd and bent on killing his adversary.
TaTarkus stepped in with a straight punch to Sinn's chest, as he expected the smaller man swept the blow aside with a deflecting inside forearm block. The punch was part of a ruse and Zoon let his arm be brushed away, only to let it naturally drop downward and roll back up as a backfist strike designed to return the favor and flatten Sinn's nose.
The challenger responded by turning sideways to Zoon, using the same blocking arm turned into a raising head block to meet the incoming backfist, which was exactly what the champion wanted to happen.
The backfist never completed it journey, instead Zoon moved in with a cross-over side-step, coming out of the move with a vicious side-kick that plowed deeply into Sinn's lower ribs.
Bone audibly snapped over the chanting to the crowd and Sinn buckled at the waist. TaTarkus smiled, as he knew he'd shattered his rival's floating ribs and most likely driven the sharp ends of bone into Sinn's lung as well. The other fighter slipped toward the mat and Zoon followed up with a stomp kick, targeted at his nearest knee. Surprisingly his opponent wasn't there and had managed to roll away once more, though not as gracefully as before.
This time Sinn only was able to get up on one knee instead of to his feet, his left arm pressed tightly to his side, confirming to the champ that he'd done serious damage to the frellnik.
Zoon grinned wickedly. The fight was all but finished; there was no way that Sinn could last very long as hurt as he was. But he would last long enough for TaTarkus to pay the bastard back with the suffering he had promised. After tonight's crowd witnessed the retribution he had planned to inflect on Sinn, his fame as a pit fighter would grow ten-fold. It would be so terrible that none would dare get into the ring willingly with him ever again... much less dare to lay a hand on him if they did. Instead they would beg for a quick death rather than fight. The memory would last twenty cycles!
He spared a glance at the rich nurfer and his tramp. The man's eyes glowed with excitement as he waved his fistful of credit markers his way, his cheers lost in the rest of the audiences'. The gray girl sat beside him with wide anxious eyes, her tiny fists tensely clutched up in front of her perfect mouth.
Zoon smirked to himself. The little bitch was a looker; perhaps after he'd taken the fool's reward credits, he'd also take him up on the offer of joining them for a little fun. Frelling the hezmana out of the Nebari tralk would top the night off just perfectly.
He turned back to his injured opponent, ready to finish him off in a long, drawn out, and gory way.
Sinn clenched his side and felt rib bones grate against each other. He tasted blood in his breath and knew his lung had been punctured by a shard of bone.
That pain was nothing compared to the searing heat of microbes mending tears in his lungs and kneading together bone at hyper speed. Beneath his hand he could feel rib being reconstructed and forced back into place within split microts. Even after all this time, the microbe healing process was just as out of control as the ghost of the control collar in his mind. The thought made the scars on his neck burn with phantom flames.
The agony seemed to last an eternity and Zoon approached him in what appeared to be slow motion.
The champion reached him and threw a lazy flat-footed kick designed to knock him down into the center of Sinn's chest.
The pain in his ribs faded just at the moment of impact, and Sinn allowed the blow to carry him backwards into a roll, which ended with him back on his feet again. Zoon raised one bushy eyebrow in bemusement expecting his rival to have stayed flat on his back. He dismissed the thought to odd luck and took another step forward and threw a basic right cross into Sinn's jaw.
The smaller man's head snapped back and re-straightened again in time to meet TaTarkus's follow up left cross. The champion fully expecting both punches to have done their job and send the other man to the mats, giving Zoon plenty of time to go work the crowd up into a proper frenzy before finishing him.
And giving the Nebari tralk enough time to build up her lust for him for later that night.
To Zoon's dismay, Sinn's head rocked with the second blow but he still kept his feet.
When it resettled straight once more, the other man gave the champion a cold grin that would have been more at home on the face of an insane mental patient than on a man with shattered ribs who was facing his death.
The audience chanted for him to finish Sinn off, obviously thinking his double punches had rendered the other fighter senseless but still on his feet. The other's smile grew slightly wider and TaTarkus consider that perhaps he had knocked his rival brainless. He set himself before his defeated challenger, drawing his right fist back for the trademark deathblow. The crowd roared their crazed approval as he paused a few microts for effect.
"Goodbye, eema-hole," Zoon sneered. The audience suddenly lapsed into near silence as the blow started to travel its path of fatal destruction toward Sinn's temple - which was the weakest part of the humanoid skull. It was his chosen method of finishing off beaten opponents.
Zoon felt a jarring stop that numbed his entire arm. Confused, his eyes traveled down his striking arm until they found his fist - trapped hentas away from its intended target of Sinn's head - by Sinn's hand.
The spectators and the arena hall were dead silent; no one including Zoon seemed to be breathing for that bare microt. Sinn tilted his head in an alien way, still with a mirthless smile on his features below the mask.
The champion recovered himself and tried to wrench his fist away, only to find it trapped like it was set in solid stone.
Sinn responded by giving the hand a slight jerk that made Zoon stumble a half step toward him. The smaller man leaned in to the bigger fighter and whispered in his ear.
"Welcome... to my world."
The voice sounded as if it had risen from a graveyard. Zoon jerked his head back away from Sinn.
Impossibly, Sinn's fingers began to exert pressure on the entrapped limb, first bringing pain, then near blinding agony that drove Zoon to his knees on the mats before the man. He looked up in horror at eyes like burning mirrors behind the eyeholes of Sinn's mask.
"My turn," growled an animalistic voice from the smaller fighter.
Zoon shrieked as the bones in his hand split and then shattered.
The crowded murmured lowly as the pit attendants scrambled to quickly pick up pieces of corpse while keeping as far from the survivor as they possibly could.
Sinn had literally torn Zoon apart limb-from-limb in less then a micron. The savagery was so severe that a number of spectators had gotten up and left the arena, and a number of others were still vomiting in their seats. The pit fighter had managed to gain control of himself once more just after twisting Zoon's head from his torso. The screaming ghost in his head had wanted to continue on with the slaughter, but Sinn had gotten it locked behind some mental door before it could have its way any further.
He found himself looking out at the awestruck fans, which gazed back in stunned silence. He turned back to his corner to retrieve his towel and began to wipe the blood from his hands, using his water bottle to help wash the gore away. Surprisingly, it wasn't as bad as it should have been.
The crowd began to talk softly once more as he did this, and then suddenly some die-hard fan began to cheer and chant Sinn's name. A few more spectators with stronger stomachs picked up the mantra until all that were left were yelling his pit-name at the top of their lungs, including Chiana's wealthy companion.
The prosperous man was now waving an even bigger handful of credit slips in his direction.
The Nebari herself was regarding him with obvious heavy thought and he feared she had now figured out who he was. The look passed a microt later and she began to clap and recite his name like the others, though with somewhat less zeal. She smiled and nodded to her escort as he spoke to her excitedly, it seemed as if the girl might have dismissed or forgot whatever she had been thinking a moment before as Sinn took the opportunity to exit the pit ring.
Sinn paused outside the pit only long enough to accept the offered credit reward from the rich spectator.
Both he and the gray girl offered their commiserations as he accepted the money.
Before they could offer him anything else or engage him in idle chatter about the match and it's unexpected conclusion, Sinn turned away and headed into the corridor heading back to the lower dressing rooms, dodging congratulatory handshakes and pats from other fans as he went.
The pit assistant's were still busy removing Zoon's body from the ring and cleaning the mats, and the fighter considered it would be best to make his departure before the crowd got over it's shock and possibly tore him to pieces for killing their favored champion. He had no doubt that the fans could be fickle once the cold fact struck them that Zoon was now permanently retired from the games for good.
The pit announcer was going a good job of keeping the crowd in a positive mood as he rehashed the highlights of the match, but he wasn't going to wager that the spectators would stay in a good mood for long.
He also considered it wouldn't be long before someone got to thinking about the fight and realized something hadn't been right about Sinn's performance... or his abilities.
It would take very little after that for word to reach the wrong ears. While the Scarran Imperium was at peace... the Syndicate was still very much interested in him.
His time in the games was at an end.
He had only gone a few steps into the safety of the ill-lit hallway when he heard the voice behind him.
"Please... wait!"
Sinn's blood near froze; it was the Nebari girl calling to him. A quick glance over his shoulder told him she had followed him into the hall, leaving her affluent companion behind. He opted to pretend he hadn't heard her and continued on. She only called again and increased her speed to catch up to him.
Another look behind him showed that Chiana was still unsteady on her feet from drink, she weaved slightly from side-to-side as she ran toward him. If he continued trying to escape her, it was likely she would trip and fall, or slam into one of the walls and injure herself... if not something worse.
He had no choice but to stop and wait for her, hoping the dim lighting would continue to hide his identity from her.
She came to an unsteady halt in front of him, brushing some of her unruly banks from her dark eyes.
"Please... I'd... I'd like to invite you to come back with us tonight," she asked. "I... I like you better than that other guy. I'm glad you won."
"Not interested," Sinn replied, the sudden dryness in his mouth making his voice more raspy than usual, which also served to disguise it from the girl in a way. He'd hope the curt dismissal would be enough to deter the young Nebari and he turned away once more.
Instead she reached up and grabbed his arm.
"Please, don't go yet," she said. "Its... its not what you think. I'm not one of those rich pit-tralks looking for a thrill-frell."
Below his facemask, Sinn's jaw tightened noticeably, the girl took the facial motion to be disbelief on his part.
"I know... I know," she responded before he could voice the doubt she thought he harbored. "I came to the fights tonight with Loremos, but I'm not his wife, mistress, or his kept tramp. I just met him a few solar days ago, and I'm just having a good time is all."
"Still not my concern," Sinn tried while freeing his arm from her hold, though he did wonder in the back of his mind what had happened to her Luxan lover.
"Listen... I'm from a ship," she went on to explain hurriedly. "We're just here for a few days. Just lookin' to relax and patch up after some hard bangs... and forget some things."
Sinn found himself tilting his head in slight curiosity despite his growing unease. He wanted to be gone... away from her. But it was growing harder to make himself turn and leave, and make for the heavy security door at the end of the corridor.
"Some bad things," she continued sadly.
"Perhaps your rich friend would be better suited to help you," the fighter added lowly.
Chiana shook her head, and almost lost her balance in her condition. She reached back up and retook his arm to save herself from falling over. Sinn took her weight almost without noticing.
"No... no, it's not the same thing. Sex... only makes me forget for a little while. The drugs only make the feeling worse when they let you down," she told him. "I want... I'm just looking for... a connection, I guess you can say."
"I don't understand?" Sinn replied. "What has this to do with me?"
She tried to straighten herself a bit, looking up at him with deep soulful eyes, eyes that clouded with pain even through the glaze of drink and drugs.
"In the pit tonight," she said, "You reminded me of someone... two someones, I knew." She suddenly got a faraway look in her eyes. "They're both dead now," the young Nebari continue, on the verge of a choked sob. " I keep losing everyone I love, everyone who means anything to me. For some reason you brought them to mind again even though I was trying to forget... though I'm not sure which one it is that I'm thinking about mostly. D'argo and 'Ret are both gone... and I'm alone now. Sex doesn't keep it away, and the drugs and Raslek don't numb it no more. I'm so... so frelling tired... of the emptiness."
She reached up to touch his stubbled cheek below the mask. He had become less caring about his appearance the last few weekens, and it appeared it might have been a fortunate thing. His unshaven features had made it more difficult for the girl to recognize him, even this close up.
The remark did reveal something to him. She had thought him dead now for a second time - which is what he wanted. Perhaps that is why he gravitated toward the illegal pit games, some unconscious attempt to make that deceit into a reality.
It also seemed that during their time apart, D'argo had meet a similar fate, but only for real. He had heard stories about her human companion's part in the Peacekeeper - Scarran war, and concluded the Luxan had perished during the fighting. He had done his own part in that conflict, but no matter how many Scarrans he had killed, it never seemed to lighten the load of guilt he carried... or appeased the sadistic ghost left inside his damaged mind. Neither did it totally bring down the Syndicate or any of the Houses; nothing he did seemed to touch them in any important way.
In the end he had wandered away from the fighting and found himself here.
"You're still wondering what that has to do with you," she said when he didn't say anything more in the brief period of silence. "I'm not really all that sure myself. Maybe... I'm just really all frelled up on Raslek and poppers, and I don't really know what it is I'm thinking. I just know watching you made remembering... not hurt as bad some how."
"I'm sorry for your loss, but I still don't know what you want of me?" Sinn responded. Inside his head he begged the Goddess to let the girl get tired of explaining herself and leave. The voice just chuckled cruelly in amusement and reminded him of how the girl's grief for him would change to disgust if she knew all he had done before she had known him in service to his masters... and the further carnage he'd committed in vengeance's name since leaving her and her comrades. What he had done to Zoon had been a child's game compared to what he had done on the front lines during the conflict.
Unaware of his thoughts and secrets, she looked downward and got the drunken half-smile humanoids get when something suddenly made a sort of sense, even in their inebriated state. On most beings that look would be amusing to the sober, the gray girl unknowingly made it look heart-stoppingly exquisite.
She looked back up and patted his broad chest with one hand, while still bracing herself against it with the other to help keep her balance.
"Listen," she began with a low voice and small easy smile that melted most hearts, "I know all that dren... it's not your problem... but I'll make a deal with you... If you give me something I want ... something simple, that won't cost you anything... but a few arns of your time."
"What deal?" he asked.
She suddenly looked shy for a moment; her fingers began idly picking at the leather lapel of his protective pit suit.
"I know all I said can't really matter to you," her gazed focused straight at his chest instead of his eyes, as if she felt almost a sense of awkwardness for what she was about to ask for. "And I don't expect you not to get something out of it... I don't mind. But if you come back with me tonight, I'll let you do whatever you want with me..." Now she couldn't help but to look up into his eyes as she finished her request. "If afterwards... you'll just pretend you care... and just hold me for a few arns," she near pleaded. "Just let me sleep... and feel safe and not alone again... if only just for a little while. Even if it's fake."
Somewhere along the line her hands had traveled up to his shoulders and he felt her trying to draw him down to her. Sinn stiffened his body as he realized what she was doing.
"I can be very, very, good to you," she said seductively now. "You won't regret it."
She was tilting her head up to bring her lips to his, Sinn pulled away.
Sinn cursed silently as he went to remove her hands. How ironic that the one person he could remember ever wanting in his life was throwing herself at him... and he was rejecting her! The specter screamed with sheer delight at the situation, taunting him that the object of his vain desires only now wanted him after she had witnessed him on the verge of near madness as he slaughtered his opponent in a pit fight.
Sinn countered the voice by reminding himself that Chiana wanted "Sinn - the pit fighter", not who he had been before. She wanted the comfort of a stranger - not him!
Her mouth dropped open in shock as he firmly peeled her hands from his shoulders.
"What! You don't like females?" she asked amazingly.
"It is not that..." Sinn replied.
"You don't like my body then?" she cut him off with a hint of hurt in her voice. "Its me you don't want?"
"That is not it either..."
She drew herself up a little straighter, becoming slightly angry through her drunken fog now.
"Then why? Why can't you do what I asked? Is it too much of a bad trade - all the sex you want for just a few arns lying in your arms after? Aren't I up to your standards or are you just use to a better class of tralk?"
"I did not say that," Sinn snapped with some growing resentment of his own.
"Then what the hezmana is wrong with you?" Chiana shot back.
Faster than her eyes could follow, Sinn seized her by both shoulders. His moved surprised her and her dark eyes suddenly cleared of their haze in fright. The pit fighter's grip caused no serious harm, but was firm enough that she felt her feet leave the ground as he brought her up to eye level with him.
Inside his mask she had seen a brief glint of his eyes that looked to be on fire with silver ice, and she swallowed hard.
"I..." he began in a tone now clear and sharp as a razor, "Cannot help you with your pain!"
Sinn abruptly let go and Chiana fell to the floor, still looking up at him, taken aback for the instant.
"Go back to your friends... you belong there now," he said in a rasping growl.
The fighter turned on a boot heel and stalked away before the girl could say anything else.
The encounter had been too much for the Nebari girl and triggered a flood of memories that she had been vainly holding back. She reached out to his back with one hand.
"Please... just for a little while," she pleaded from her position on the corridor floor.
Sinn heard but forced himself to harden his will, knowing that if he turned back to look one more time, he'd lose the battle with himself and rush back to reveal who he had been to her. She'd never be free of the monster he was... and he'd never be free of his hopeless desire for her.
He made it to the heavy door that blocked the dressing chambers from the public and signaled the guard there to let him through. The hired thug opened the portal with a smirk.
"Please... I just want to forget for tonight!" Chiana cried out one last time after him. Sinn didn't have to turn and look, too plainly he could more than hear the tears in her voice.
"Frelling sluts can't get enough, huh?" the guard remarked callously.
The thug turned back from sneering at the Nebari girl and the ridicule faded unexpectedly as he came face to grim face with the masked Sinn. "What's your problem?" he asked dumbly.
Just as Sinn's rock-hard fist blasted into his face with full force.
Sinn slammed the security door closed behind him just as the guard's body finished its slide down the corridor wall outside it. The fighter was almost sure he'd killed the guard instantly; he was more than acquainted with the way skull bone shattered from a microbe-augmented straight-punch.
Sinn couldn't care less about the hired muscle's abrupt eradication at his hands, he'd done far worse to Zoon in the pit ring just a short time ago, and Chiana had been present on both occasions that he'd taken a life tonight. He wondered if on the morrow, when she sobered up, if she would put together what she saw and figure out whom he actually was... who he had been, he mentally corrected once more.
He hoped for her shake, she did not. He didn't want her attempting to find him again, which he was more than sure she would try. It was better off that the person she thought she knew be dead. It was better for her, and better for him.
He knew he could never be a person deserving of what he wanted from her. And thief that she might be... she deserved someone worthy of her... like D'argo had been he grudgingly admitted to himself.
She would never find another like him if he were there to interfere with her life.
He stopped only long enough in the locker quarters to quickly clean out his dressing space.
As soon as he had gathered up his few items, he left the room without changing out of his leather fighting attire, instead throwing a worn jacket over it. On his way out he tossed the pit mask onto a bench - he wouldn't be needing it again, at least not on this world.
He made it to the street without anyone confronting him and headed back to the cheap rooming house he was staying at. Once there, he would gather up the rest of his meager personal possessions and then head out of the commerce port. A few metra outside of the town was an old farmstead where he had paid the old Delvian owner fifty Hynerian crown-coins to store his Wrath-class stealth ship in one of his massive barn structures.
He tried not to think of the Nebari girl as he approached his rented room, knowing that if he did, if he'd thought about her being planet-side and so close, if he thought about how her fingers had felt against his cheek... his brittle fortitude would fail him, and he'd stay and try to find her again.
Instead he focused on his immediate plans. He'd retrieve his ship and burn out of system within an arn of getting his things from the room. Once away, he'd figure out the best choice of destination within reach of his fuel supply.
The fighting between the Scarrans and Peacekeepers had stopped - for the moment anyway. There were still countless petty squabbles and wars going on in both the Charted and Uncharted Territories. Any one of them could probably use a good mercenary. As he considered this option, he decided that if he went this route, he'd try and find a just cause to fight for at least. Perhaps that would give him some direction, some purpose in life... until he met his end.
The ghost in his head gave him its electronic version of a scornful chuckle. It cared little what he fought for... as long as there was mayhem and killing involved. The laugh sounded too Scarran for his liking.
He consoled himself with the though that maybe the next planet would be the last, the next fight would be the one that ended his torment. The next wound would be the one that silenced the specter forever and gave him peace.
The next battlefield, a grave... that would end the possibility for two paths ever crossing again forever.
Peace for him. Freedom for her.