Lucky, Six, and Mobius left his room together, with the hatchlings at Mobius' back, trailing several lengths behind him. Mobius had instructed them to follow behind, but not too closely, so as to not look suspicious. He had taken some treasures to bet with before they left, too; a silver tiara, a red infinity stone, and his rosary, and stuffed them all in his pocket. Lucky panicked a little every time Mobius rounded a corner, of which there were many, fearing they'd lose him. They always caught up though, sometimes with Mobius waiting patiently for them before taking off again. Eventually, they walked into a dim hallway deep in the outskirts of the TVA. There had to be some sort of outer wall to the place, if the giant open foyer was the center, but even in that barely-used hall there seemed to be more hallways to get lost in further down. It was a never ending maze of liminal office space.
Suddenly, Mobius stopped and found an innocuous looking door labeled 'Sub Basement: Main", knocked five times in a peculiar pattern, and the door opened for them from the inside. A maintenance man on the other side of the door gave them all a curt nod, then shut the door tight and waited for the next visitor.
The room they'd entered was dark and cool and reverberated with the deep hum of electricity and whatever ran through the pipes lining the walls. It was well kept, but everything was painted the same dark, depressing shade of gray, with nothing but bare lights hanging from the ceiling to guide their way. Their steps echoed sharply on the steel floor.
"The door has a badge swipe, Mobius," said Six as they walked, her voice bouncing off the metal on every surface. "Why do you have to be let in?"
"The TVA keeps track of every swipe. If they get suspicious, they'll look at which rooms you've been getting into."
Lucky was even more impressed by Mobius' knowledge than he had been before. He seemed to have thought of every scenario to keep himself out of trouble. That was a skill set he'd like to learn.
As they hurried through a long, narrow, dimly lit passage, the faint sound of rowdy laughter echoed up to them. It became louder as they came to the end of the hall, which ended in a ladder going straight down.
They seemed to cross a threshold as they descended: from the buttoned down precision of the TVA, to an unruly speakeasy filled with disorderly patrons. Lucky was stunned. The room was filled to the brim with employees, all of them disheveled in some form, with unbuttoned shirts and missing pieces to their uniforms. They seemed to be from different careers, from maintenance all the way to innovators. No one seemed to care, either. Everyone spoke to each other freely, as if they were trainees who'd been hatched together. They yelled over each other in the din, their faces red and blushing, smiling ear to ear, laughing, some already so drunk they had to hold each other up. In the middle of the room was a section of square space that had been cleared out and cordoned off with wires and posts. In the corner, someone was handing out every kind of alcohol imaginable, from every part of the timeline. The smell permeated the place, as if the whole room was fermenting.
"Come here!" called Mobius through the bedlam, waving them towards him as he made his way over to the alcohol server. A guard sat on a stool, without his helmet and gear, wearing only a black undershirt, pants, and boots. He listed over to the side a bit, holding a brown bottle in one hand. Next to him were several boxes and coolers full of different bottles and cans.
"Mobius!" he said as they approached, holding out his hand. Instead of shaking, Mobius slapped his hand and slid it against the guard's palm. "Casey said you'd be here! I wasn't sure 'cuz, you know… it's Casey…"
"He was right. What's the cheapest stuff you've got left, Mele?"
"This is up your alley, I think." Mele pulled out a stout, brown glass bottle with no label, capped with a cork. "Pirate grog? Tastes like mouse crap and hops. You'll love it."
Mobius popped the cork, took a swig, and grimaced.
"It's not Ravonna's whiskey, but sometimes that nasty stuff really hits the spot," he said with a cough and a shake of his head. Strangely, he really did seem to like it, as he took another swig right away.
"Can I have some, Mobius?" Lucky asked.
"Nope. No way. You can't get drunk if you're fighting. Gotta stay sharp. You want to win, don't you?"
Mele's face brightened. "Oh, so you're the trainee?" he asked with a chuckle. "Good luck, man. You'll need all you can get."
"He's gonna do great," said Mobius, patting Lucky firmly on the back. Lucky wasn't sure if he really thought so or if Mobius was just trying to make him feel better.
"Can I have some… whatever that is?" asked Six.
"Sure. You can try one."
Lucky jealously watched as she looked over a box of alcohol, then picked up a small, flat, clear plastic bottle and unscrewed the lid.
"Whoa, whoa," said Mele, reaching out a hand before she could take a swig like Mobius had. "You sure you want to do that?"
"Yeah. Why not?"
Mobius held a hand to his mouth, trying to hide a grin. "That's Everclear, Six. Pure grain alcohol. That will get you drunk in three minutes."
She shrugged, then took a sip, immediately shuddering and making a disgusted face.
Mobius couldn't hide his mirth and burst out laughing. "That's what happens when you drink paint thinner."
"No, it's cool, I can handle it," she said as nonchalantly as possible, taking another sip and shivering again. Tears came to her eyes, though Lucky could tell she was trying to hide them.
"Okay, that's enough." Mobius plucked the bottle out of Six's hand and screwed the top back on, then put it back in the box she'd gotten it from. "You don't have to prove anything. I don't want to have to scrape you off the floor."
When Mobius had his back turned, talking to someone else, Six quickly took the bottle out again.
"Hey, give me a little," Lucky whispered, reaching for it.
"No!"
"Come on! Just a tiny sip."
She relented, handing the bottle to him. Lucky tried not to retch as he took a sniff. The smell was… indescribable. Definitely not fit for consumption. But since Six had already taken two sips, Lucky took just the smallest mouthful he could. He nearly spat it back out in her face, but swallowed instead, shuddering just like she had.
"It's not so bad," he lied, before dissolving into a fit of coughing.
"I think you're going to be surprised tonight," Lucky heard Mobius say to the couple in front of him. Lucky recognized them as Jet and Libby, the agents from the cafeteria. Their faces were just as drunkenly flushed as everyone else's as they came over to give Lucky their support. Libby wore a gigantic grin on her face and seemed to sway ever so slightly as she stood, holding a long necked bottle of wine and wearing a strange, intricate, glowing green necklace.
"Hey, Lucky, right?" said Jet, his naturally booming voice easy to make out over the crowd. Lucky nodded. "If you had old Mobius showing you the ropes, then I know you're gonna do great tonight." He pulled a stunningly huge gold nugget out of his pocket and tossed it into the air a few times. It was as big as Lucky's fist. "This goes to my bet on the final fight. It's all on you."
"Yeah!" giggled Libby behind him, holding up her necklace. "And I'll bet my Eye of Ama… Avogadro… Avocado…"
"Agamotto," Jet corrected her.
"That's what I said!" Libby gently swung her bottle and bounced it off of Jet's gut. "I'll bet my time stone on you, too."
"Great, thanks," was all Lucky could say as the couple moved through the crowd again, holding each other around the hips. It wasn't just Mobius' treasure on the line. Everyone that Mobius could convince would be betting their most precious possessions on him.
"Are you okay?" Six asked, taking one more sip of Everclear. She didn't shudder that time, and barely winced, getting the hang of being cool while Lucky had to twist in the wind and wait to get pummeled.
He let out a long sigh. "No. I'm nervous. What if I make myself look like an idiot?"
"Then it's just another day," she said with a smarmy grin, already blushing.
"I'm serious!" he groaned. "If I lose then Mobius won't like me because I'll have cost him his treasures, and then he won't give me the agent recommendation, and then I'll be stuck in archives-"
"Mobius keeps saying you're going to do great, and I believe him," said Six. Her smile turned flirtatious as she took a step towards him, looking up at him with those irresistibly green eyes, nearly leaning into him. She put one hand on his chest and kept it there. That simple act made Lucky's heart feel like it was going to leap out of his throat.
"I believe in you, too," she added, a softness in her face he couldn't describe.
Without warning, Mobius had joined them again, putting his hand on Lucky's shoulder and leading him through the crowded room. Lucky saw Six slip the little bottle into her pocket.
"I regret not giving you enough time to meet the regulars," said Mobius, "But it seems to be a slightly different crowd every time I come here. There are people from different divisions, even. The Viscera connects the whole TVA, you see, and… hey, there he is!"
Mobius waved to Hal, who was sitting in one corner of the huge room with a slender, blonde maintenance woman perched on his lap. She was either very svelte, or stick thin, but it was impossible to tell under her baggy blue jumpsuit. There was a whiteboard on the wall behind him with two names on it: Casey and B-15, and underneath, two piles of shiny treasures… bets placed on them both. To Lucky's terror, Casey and D-132 were right next to Hal and his partner. Casey had no shirt on, wrapping some kind of cloth around his knuckles, and D-132's eyes never left his broad chest. His plain white dress shirt had apparently been hiding ripped washboard abs underneath. He did kind of look like a shaved version of the gorilla Miss Minutes had shown Lucky, which didn't make him feel better at all. Next to Casey was another, equally brawny man, but pale and stoic, with light brown hair. He sat on a chair, alone, staring quietly at nothing. Without his shirt, Lucky couldn't tell what his job was. On the other side of Hal were another couple, two women, one of them a sturdy Black woman sitting on a chair, wearing her tight fitting hunter undershirt, and the other, smaller, lighter skinned hunter helping her wrap cloth around her hands.
"You're gonna kill it tonight, Bebe," said the smaller woman, giving her partner a huge grin as she finished wrapping her hand. The way they looked at each other, the way the smaller woman had her hand on Bebe's thigh as she knelt next to her, made Lucky wonder if they felt the same way as he and Six felt about each other. In fact, Lucky started to notice that all the people who had coupled off were very close, much closer than they ever would have been allowed to be on the surface. There were men and men together, men and women, women and women, throuples, just about every pairing Lucky could imagine. That meant Lucky and Six were safe here. They could kiss, even, without anyone caring.
Except, perhaps, Mobius. He didn't bring them there for Lucky to get close to Six, and he didn't have a partner, himself.
Mobius seemed like he was about to say something to Hal, then did a double take at Bebe and her partner.
"B-15? C-20?" he asked, astonished.
B-15 stood immediately, like she'd been caught red-handed, and C-20's grin fell from her face.
"Mobius! Sir!" said B-15. "I… let me explain…"
Mobius stared at them for a moment, squinting in confusion, then burst out laughing.
"What in the world do you think I'm doing here, B-15? To bust this place up? I'm glad to see you!"
B-15-Bebe, apparently-relaxed as Mobius reached out his hand for the special sliding handshake. She then narrowed her eyes at Lucky, sizing him up. She was shorter than him, but she still looked like she could throw him over her head, if she wanted.
"Do I know you?" she asked. Lucky shook his head.
"He's the trainee everyone's been talking about," said Mobius, giving Lucky a little nudge with his elbow. "It's sportsmanlike to greet your opponent before the fight, Lucky," he muttered.
Lucky hesitantly did so, giving her the secret handshake, though her eyes were still narrowed suspiciously.
"I swear I've seen you somewhere," she mumbled, shaking her head at him.
"Maybe in the cafeteria?" Lucky asked. "I was only hatched a few days ago."
C-20 snorted, then tried to hide her face when Mobius gave her a dirty look.
"Wait a minute… did I hear you call B-15 something else just a second ago?" Mobius asked, a grin beginning to twitch at the corner of his mustache.
Both C-20 and B-15 looked away guiltily, refusing to answer. Finally, B-15 sighed and broke the awkward silence.
"My nickname is Bebe… sir," she mumbled. "I thought it was inappropriate for a hunter, so I always go by my number."
"Yeah? And what's your nickname, C-20?"
"No, please, Mobius…" C-20 groaned.
"Aw, come on. I won't tell. I promise."
"It's… it's Cobra."
Mobius bit his lip, trying not to laugh again.
"Cobra?"
"Yes," she sighed.
"With a name like that, you should be the one fighting, huh?"
"I thought it sounded tough…" Cobra trailed off and folded her arms across her chest, pouting, as Bebe put her arm intimately around her waist. They nestled close to each other for a moment, then both seemed to realize Mobius had seen and gave him a panicked look.
He only shrugged. "I'm not a snitch, guys. I didn't see anything. I wasn't here." He then spoke to Lucky. "Let's get you ready."
As Mobius turned to Hal and picked out a pair of rolled-up cloths to wrap around Lucky's hands, Lucky thought he caught a shock of ginger hair from the corner of his eye. He quickly glanced behind him, but lost whoever it had been as soon as he'd seen it. It couldn't be who he thought it was. Lucky hadn't told him anything. Besides, there must have been lots of other people with red hair all over the TVA.
Mobius helped Lucky secure his hand wraps tightly, and every time Mobius' head was down, Six turned and snuck another drink. Hal kissed his partner on the lips as she left, then stood and spoke to Lucky.
"A few things before you start. I'm putting you at the end, so you'll get to see a couple fights beforehand, but there are some things you need to know. One: no eating or drinking before your fight."
"Mobius told me that already," said Lucky, with a pointed glance at Six.
"Two: no punches or kicks to the groin. Automatic disqualification."
"Uh huh…"
"Three: no weapons."
Lucky swallowed hard. The fact that they made that rule must have meant someone tried it at some point.
"Four… pretty much anything else goes, as long as you don't do any permanent damage to each other. I'm talking stuff that a medic can't fix. Three rounds to a fight, if you're down for ten seconds, you lose the round. Simple, right? You got it, Lucky?"
Lucky nodded, wondering if it was too late to bow out. His throat was parched dry.
Hal gave him a final nod, then took a microphone off of a small table next to him.
"Fighters to the ring!" he shouted. B-15, Casey, the brown haired man, Lucky, and the whole entourage followed Hal to the edge of the crude, square pen in the middle of the room. The crowd gathered around, raucous with anticipation and alcohol. Hal squeezed through the wires and held up one hand.
"Are we ready for fight night?" he asked, and the crowd exploded with excitement. "I said, are we ready for fight night!?" The mob responded, somehow screaming even louder. The only people who weren't yelling were the fighters, their entourage, and an older woman standing at the outside corner of the ring. She wore a light gray coat, unlike any of the other uniforms, with a little red cross on the shoulder. That must have been the medic Hal was talking about.
"First match is B-15 and Casey! Fighters, take your places!"
Casey and B-15 stepped through the wires and approached each other in the middle of the ring. The crowd was wild, now, even C-20, cheering on her partner. The fighters sized each other up, chins tilted, fists guarding their faces, circling each other slowly. Hal let his hand fall and shouted one word.
"Fight!"
They lunged at each other ferociously, fists flying, trying to catch each other in a chokehold, trip each other, anything they could do to get their opponent down. It was much more brutal than the practice round with Mobius. Faster than Lucky would have thought, B-15 and Casey locked themselves together, heads down and pressed against each other, circling, trying to knock the other to the floor. Suddenly, with an explosion of energy, Casey burst forward and slammed B-15 into one of the posts. The crowd cheered, raged, screamed. C-20 hid her face, and Six took another drink of Everclear, her cheeks bright pink, eyes glazed, but full of excitement.
Casey finally had B-15 down for the count, pummeling her around the face and head until she put up a hand in submission. She'd lost the first round quickly. C-20 rushed over to wipe the blood oozing from B-15's mouth, giving her a few encouraging words.
Lucky wished he'd never seen that stupid handshake. His knees were jelly. He crept out from between the raucous patrons shouting for their favorite fighter. Mobius would forgive him, eventually. And Six hadn't even wanted him to go in the first place, so really, he was doing the right thing by running away…
As he put a hand on the ladder, someone grabbed his arm from behind. Expecting Mobius, or Six's drunken, angry face, he closed his eyes and sighed.
"Look, I know I-what?!"
To his surprise, it wasn't either of his friends, but Sarge standing behind him. He wore a dark, self-satisfied smirk that made his angular, freckled face even uglier.
"I knew you were a coward."
"How did you-?"
"I followed D-132 here," he said, as if that made him a genius instead of a creep. "I didn't know you were fighting, though, until someone pointed you out." He chortled, patting Lucky's shoulder, to his disgust. "Don't worry. I'll do you a favor. I can take your place and win fight night, and you can run back to your room and piss your pants."
Lucky pushed Sarge's hand away, glowering.
"I wasn't running anywhere. I'll do you a favor and beat up D-132's new friend, but she'll still ignore you. Jerk." He threw the last word over his shoulder as he stomped back through the crowd and took his place back with Six and Mobius.
He came back just in time to see Casey pin a battered B-15 to the ground in the third round. Hal broke them up, then declared victory for Casey, putting his bloodied hand into the air.
"Casey wins! Everyone betting, go to Mele and Evette to gather your wins and place new bets! Next up is Casey and Zeit!"
Hal's partner, Evette, erased B-15's name, wrote in Zeit's, and placed B-15's pile of treasures into Casey's pile. She then helped Mele sort out everyone's winnings. It was a strange scene of organized chaos, dozens of people yelling over each other, but no one pushing or getting angry or arguing over their winnings. Lucky saw Mobius' silver tiara go from B-15's pile to Casey's, then get handed over to a stranger, who already had two infinity stones. Mobius came to him and leaned in close so Lucky could hear over the din.
"Casey's usual strategy is to get his opponent on the ground as fast as he can, he doesn't waste time with fancy kicks and punches, so watch out for his legs. Don't let him grab you. He might not make it against Zeit, though. He likes to save up his energy for power moves that knock people down flat… hey, are you okay? You look pale."
"I'm… I'm fine," he lied, then let out a breath and looked Mobius dead in the eye. "You won't lose your treasures, Mobius. I promise, I won't let you down."
Mobius gave him a tilted, concerned look, then led him over to a slightly less noisy corner of the room.
"You know this is all for fun, right Lucky? Everyone betting and fighting knows what they're getting into. We're not doing this to make a fortune or anything. It's just a way to let off steam. Look."
He gestured to the back of the room, behind Mele and Evette, where the medic was treating B-15 with some kind of plastic handheld device she waved slowly over her bloody mouth and swollen eye. Casey had come over to change his hand wraps and spoke to B-15 as if they hadn't just beaten the tar out of each other.
"See? It's just a sport. No one's out to kill anybody. If you really want to back out, though-"
"No! No. I'm staying. I'll… do my best."
Six wandered over to them through the crowd, her half-empty bottle of Everclear dangling in her hand, completely forgetting about Mobius. She swept one arm around Lucky's neck and nuzzled into his chest, practically hanging off of him, to his shock and secret delight.
"You're gonna beat the shit out of all these losers, Lucky," she slurred.
Mobius' eyebrows shot up as she grabbed the hair on the back of Lucky's head and brought him in for an open-mouthed kiss. He felt himself getting buzzed off of her saliva. He didn't care about that, or his upcoming fight, or the astonishment on Mobius' face. He couldn't care about anything else.
"Hey!"
Mobius' shout made Lucky jerk away from Six's embrace, thinking they'd angered him. Instead, Mobius plucked the bottle out of Six's hand and shook his head.
"You drank half a bottle of Everclear? How are you standing?"
Six shrugged, then hiccuped and burped at the same time, unfortunately right in Lucky's face.
"Sorry," she snorted, giggling madly.
"Next round is about to start! Zeit against Casey, place your bets!" called Hal, and there was one last scramble at the betting table as everyone rushed back to the edge of the ring. The burly, brown haired man entered the ring with Casey, and the two men stared each other down, with Casey looking barely any worse for wear. When Hal shouted for them to start, they didn't rush straight at each other, like the last fight, but seemed to take longer to size each other up, with Zeit barely even putting up his guard. Casey would make a move to grab him, but Zeit would push him off easily. The crowd grew restless, clamoring for the action they'd come to see.
Mobius wore a huge grin as he leaned in close. "We'll see who makes the first move… my bet is on Zeit. He's going to use his weight to-there he goes!"
Before he could finish, Zeit finally attacked with a mighty yell, throwing himself at Casey and knocking him to the ground. It seemed Casey was done for, as Zeit wrapped one huge arm around his neck to choke him, but Casey pushed himself away against a pole and wriggled free, with both of them scrambling back to their feet again.
D-132 held both her hands to her face, as if ready to cover her huge, bulging eyes at any second.
The men came at each other again, fists flying, crowd going mad, blood spraying the floor. Whose, though, wasn't clear, until Zeit fell to the ground with blood pouring from his nose. Casey had won another round.
Lucky steeled himself. Mobius said they weren't out to kill each other, but he still wasn't so sure. Six, at least, seemed to be having the time of her life, screaming her throat raw, cheering whenever anyone went down, no matter who it was. He wished he had her confidence… and just one more sip of that Everclear, to give him courage.
The next two rounds went by in a flash, both men getting good hits and kicks on each other, until Casey swiped Zeit to the floor in the final round and he stayed down. The mob once again went insane as Hal lifted Casey's fist.
Mobius clapped his hands together in glee. "This is great, Lucky!"
"What?! How?"
"Casey's tired out from fighting six rounds. He's fast, he's strong, but he's also at the end of his rope. It's gonna be hard for him to last three more rounds. You have a real shot at this thing!"
"You said he did before," said Six suspiciously.
Mobius stammered and shrugged. "Eh… well… he has an even better shot now!"
As before, the crowd left for the betting table, gathered their winnings, and placed new bets. Evette replaced Zeit's name with Lucky's, and he couldn't help but notice how small the pile of treasures under it was, compared to Casey's huge loot of shiny things. Mobius placed his precious rosary on Lucky's pitiful pile. Jet and Libby kept their promises, too, placing their bets under his name. Lucky didn't know what was worse: knowing that he'd almost chickened out, or that hardly anyone believed he could win, anyway.
His ears rang, the crowd and his anxiety deafening him. This was really it, this time. No turning back, no begging for mercy. He took a long, slow breath. Before he knew it, Hal had come back to the center of the ring. Mobius gave Lucky a final pat on the shoulder.
"Go get him," he said in his ear, then pushed him forward. As Lucky squeezed through the wires, Hal shooed him into the center, where Casey waited, bruises beginning to form on his face. Casey panted heavily, looking tired, but ready, the sweat pouring off of him in rivulets. The ring smelled of sweat and the coppery tinge of blood. The crowd hushed slightly in fascination, watching the rumored hatchling take his place in the ring.
Because the other male fighters had been bare chested, too, Lucky took off his short sleeved shirt and tie, crumpled them up, and tossed them over to Six, who barely caught them before they hit the floor. His chest and arms were lean and toned, but they just couldn't compare to Casey's six pack and biceps, even if Casey had been through the wringer. A few whistling catcalls came from the crowd.
"Whoo!" Six screamed from the sidelines, "Get him, Lucky! Kick his ass!" Mobius pulled her down gently from standing on the wires of the pen. He looked much more embarrassed than she did.
"Here we go, folks!" said Hal into the microphone, "The fight you've all been waiting to see!"
The crowd responded with a few scattered chuckles and even a few jeers. It was worse than he feared. They expected a sideshow attraction, a jester's diversion from the real action. Lucky lowered his head and gave Casey his most menacing stare, keeping his guard up and his stance grounded, like Mobius had taught him. They weren't going to laugh at him. Even if he lost, he refused to go down in fight night history as a mockery.
Hal lifted his arm once more and let it down for the final time.
"Fight!"
They circled each other, Lucky's heart pounding in his ears. Casey lunged a few times, slapping at his fists and tapping his shin with his foot, almost experimentally, like a shark nipping at him to see how much he would react. Lucky stood his ground, didn't flinch or lunge back. The crowd chanted Casey's name. As the fighters circled, Lucky caught a glimpse of Mobius at the front of the audience, his eyes wide, mouthing the words, "Come on, Lucky."
That moment when his eyes left his opponent was Casey's opportunity to strike. He gave Lucky a powerful left hook to the temple, which sent Lucky reeling against the wires. The crowd exploded with excitement. Lucky could barely react in time as Casey rushed to him, fists flying. It was all Lucky could do to keep up his guard. Casey flung half a dozen short, powerful punches in a row, some of them connecting, others glancing off his arms.
Casey swung his arm back for what he thought would be a finishing move, and Lucky saw an opening. He gave Casey a few powerful shots of his own, right in the ribs, which sent Casey stumbling away from him, hunched over in pain, but not falling.
Lucky heard Mobius and Six cheer wildly, but didn't look over to them. Lesson learned: never take your eyes off of your opponent.
The next few moments were a blur of fists and feet. Lucky could barely feel anything but the adrenaline coursing through him, a sense of primeval, overwhelming power that surged with every heartbeat, as if there was a beast underneath his skin waiting to sink its teeth into something. He was laser focused on Casey, ignoring his own pain. He understood, then, why people liked doing this so much, despite the danger. There was no greater way to feel alive in a place where you weren't allowed to do more than shake hands.
Casey lunged hard with his foot, meaning to knock him down, like Mobius said he would, and Lucky followed his training and leaned back, hopping away before Casey could trip him. In that split second when Casey was off balance, Lucky rushed him again, toppling him, and interlocked his leg with Casey's so he couldn't get up. Lucky brought his fists down on him over and over, barely registering Hal's grip on his arm.
"First round goes to Lucky!" he cried, holding up his hand in victory.
The crowd yelled, cheered, booed more wildly than they had for any other fight so far. Mobius and Six were ecstatic, pumping their fists, screaming. Casey's face and Lucky's fists were covered in blood, but Casey got up anyway for another round, with a shuddering hiss of pain.
They took their places once more, Casey seemingly more cautious than he had been in the first round, keeping his guard closer than ever. Lucky actually felt he had a chance. He really could be the king of fight night. A huge bruise was starting to form on Casey's front leg, the one he put most of his weight on. Lucky decided to focus on that, get him down, and do the same thing he'd just done to win the first round.
Lucky spun around to give a high kick to Casey's knee… or so he thought. Turning his back to him for a split second was a mistake.
Casey grabbed Lucky's leg, then flipped him off the floor, sending him twisting midair to land hard on the ground. Lucky felt the impact of his head hit the steel, but saw and felt nothing afterward. His vision swam with gray, barely registering the screams around him.
His thoughts… they were replaced by something strange: another man's memories spreading across his nearly unconscious mind, like a drop of blood blooming in water…
"Come on, brother! What are you going to do? Tell father?"
Thor had Loki in a chokehold, grinding his knuckles rapidly, painfully into Loki's scalp, laughing. The teenage boys struggled against each other, Loki's gangly legs and arms flailing like an octopus. He was starting to lose consciousness, but refused even then to let Thor get the last laugh.
Loki turned into a small, scruffy direwolf, the size of an enormous dog, then bit the inside of Thor's elbow hard. He drew a considerable amount of blood.
Thor screamed and let go, holding his arm, looking at his brother with astonished terror… as if Thor hadn't just nearly choked him to death. Loki shook himself and sat up on the palace floor. Panting heavily, he turned back into his normal form and spat Thor's blood out of his mouth onto the golden tiles.
"Are you mad?" said Thor, his voice cracking into a squeak. Loki let out a single, mirthless chuckle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"You know better than to ask such an obvious question, you moronic oaf."
Thor set his jaw as he grabbed at his dripping elbow. It was Loki's turn to laugh. Thor had suffered far greater wounds while practicing for battle. He'd get over a wolfbite in a day.
Without a word, Thor took off down the hallway, Loki's mocking laughter echoing with him. Loki gasped, his laughter cut short, when he realized where Thor was going.
"Thor, Thor, wait!" he yelled, tagging along behind. "Don't tell mother! Please! If you don't tell, I'll let you ride my horses for the whole week! Wait!"
"Wait! Wait!" cried Lucky, though he didn't know where the words were coming from. His vision came back, like white specks of static, until he saw Hal and Casey standing above him, Hal lifting Casey's hand in the air. Lucky could only see clearly through one eye, the other clouded pink with blood. He brought himself up on his elbows. Both Casey and Hal stared down at him, astonished.
"I guess it's not a knockout, folks," said Hal into his microphone, to a chorus of confused shouts. Hal knelt down to speak to Lucky confidentially on the floor. "You sure you want to keep going? Can you even stand up?"
Lucky nodded, then got to his feet, a little shaky, but still grounded. He put up his bloody fists. The crowd cheered. He'd suddenly, unexpectedly become the favorite, the underdog that refused to go down. Lucky knew that something had happened to him in the split second he'd been unconscious, but even then, a moment afterwards, he'd forgotten all the details of that strange vision.
There was no time to think about whatever had been knocked out of his head. Lucky had one last chance, and he intended on using it.
"All right then! Round three! Let's go!"
Hal moved away, and Casey and Lucky stared each other down once more. They both wore ferocious masks, but were wary of each other, knowing without words that they were taking each other deadly seriously, now. Lucky shook the last of his daze out of his head, every ounce of his attention on Casey. Seemingly in unison, they flew at each other, punching and kicking with unmatched savagery. Lucky heard Six and D-132 cry out in rage and terror, respectively, but his eyes never left Casey. A few good hits to the stomach and chin nearly put Lucky down for the count. Casey made a mighty swing, but Lucky ducked, feeling Casey's fist glance off his ear, then sprang forward with his last burst of energy, giving Casey a brutal hit to the head with his elbow.
Casey showed the whites of his eyes as he stumbled back, then fell to the floor, limp. The medic jumped in the ring with surprising agility for her age and gave him a quick once over. She nodded to Hal.
"Knock out! Lucky wins!" Hal announced.
The crowd went completely apeshit. Even Mobius screamed with excitement.
Mobius practically shook Mele by the collar, standing next to him, cheering as well. "Did you see? Did you see that?"
Lucky pumped both fists in the air, lifted his battered chin high and proud, soaking up the crowd's admiration as they chanted his name, just like he'd imagined it:
"Lu-cky! Lu-cky! Lu-cky!"
"Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing with that?" said Hal suddenly, not into his microphone.
Lucky's glory was cut short. He turned to find that Sarge had jumped into the ring, holding some kind of long stick, one end metal and sharp, the other glowing orange. Sarge's stare was mad, like a crazed animal. It took Lucky a moment to realize what he was actually holding.
"He's got a time baton!" screamed someone from the crowd. "Stop him!"
A few people jumped into the ring to apprehend him, but Sarge swung his baton around with wild abandon. C-20 grabbed the glowing orange end and tried wrestling it out of Sarge's hands, to no avail. In the struggle, they twisted the glowing end so that it changed from orange to purple. Sarge thrust the baton into her belly. Her cry suddenly slowed to a low groan. She hunched over, falling in impossibly slow motion as B-15 dragged her to safety. The other employees circled close, yelling at Sarge to drop it, but none dared go too close and get accidentally hit with a weapon whose holder had no idea how to use it.
Sarge backed Lucky up to the wire.
"What's wrong with you?" Lucky screamed. "You could prune someone with that thing!"
"You think you're so smart," Sarge snarled, whipping his stolen baton dangerously close to Hal. "You think you're so cool. Well, you're not!" He suddenly lunged at Lucky, taking a swing for his head, which Lucky and the crowd behind him missed by a hair. "You're just a loser! You're an asshole!"
"You're the asshole!"
Sarge lunged again, thrusting the baton straight at him, before Lucky ducked out of the way. The glowing purple end hit the edge of the pole and broke, sending glass flying everywhere, purple and orange sparks buzzing out of it in great arcs. The crowd panicked, screaming, nearly trampling each other to get away. Even Sarge looked frightened. He'd unwittingly turned an already dangerous time baton into some kind of assault weapon.
"Put it down, now! You're going to kill somebody!" yelled Mobius.
Sarge seemed like he was considering following orders and giving up, glancing around him at all the terrified employees. Then, his eyes came back to Lucky. He swung the broken time baton around, testing it, while the employees scattered, cornering Lucky against a pole. A purple and an orange arc hit the wires of the ring at the same time, causing them to glow brightly, then ever so slowly disintegrate into flashes of blinding light. People were stampeding, clamoring to the exit, everyone trying to climb up the ladder at once.
Both Sarge and Lucky, amazed and terrified by this new power that Sarge had unleashed, didn't see Six rush past before it was too late. She let out a primal, drunken scream, then threw herself at Sarge, breaking through the wires just as they ceased to exist. Sarge didn't have time to swing his baton again. She tore it from his hand and flung it as hard as she could against the wall, causing it to break for good. The different colored sparks fizzled and died, like fireworks doused in water.
With no weapon to protect him, Sarge's resolve turned into cowardice, but he didn't run far. The employees behind him grabbed hold of him. Six wasn't done, though. She let out another scream, not caring that he was pinned and harmless, and took several wild sucker punches at his chest. He responded with a knee to her stomach. Six promptly vomited up all of the Everclear she'd been drinking, depositing it straight to the floor.
"That's it! That's enough!" Mobius yelled, actually picking Six up by her midsection while she grunted and growled like a feral thing, ending the abrupt and terrifying chaos. He lightly tossed her aside, and she stayed put, bent double, coughing, shaking with rage.
"What the hell is wrong with this batch of hatchlings? Did you all come out bad or something?" Mobius glanced between Lucky, Six, and Sarge, who finally looked ashamed of himself, for once. Lucky's heart sank to his feet.
"Mobius… I…"
"No," he growled. "I don't want to hear another word unless I ask for it. I wish I'd never caught sight of any of you."
That hurt worse than any of the punches he'd taken that night. He kept his lips pressed together, looking to Six for sympathy, but received nothing but an accusing, glazed over stare.
"What I want to know is, who told you about this?" Mobius pointed to Sarge, who, predictably, pointed at Lucky.
"I didn't say a word to him, Mobius, he's lying! I swear I kept it secret!"
"He told me everything!" shouted Sarge, straining against the employees holding him in place.
"Liar!"
"Jackass!"
Mobius stepped in between the two men, his expression ice cold. "Lucky," he said, voice low and angry, "Part of this was my fault for giving in and telling you about fight night, but when I said to tell no one, I meant it."
"Mobius-"
"All it takes for every single one of us to get in trouble is just one blabbermouth going to the wrong person."
"But-"
"I'm not done!" he barked, making both Lucky and Six startle. "I swear, everything you touch turns into chaos! There's no way I could possibly let you come back here. How can I trust you with anything after this?"
As Lucky opened his mouth to try to defend himself, Sarge wriggled free of his captors, flinging himself forward, his red shock of hair visible over Mobius' shoulder. He had no idea what Sarge intended: to hurt Lucky, to run, maybe even to harm Mobius. All he had time to do was react.
The next horrible moment went by so fast, Lucky couldn't even process what he'd done until it was too late.
Aiming for Sarge, Lucky swung, but misjudged his depth perception entirely. His fist hit something, though, and hard.
Mobius stumbled backward, stunned. Lucky thought for a fleeting moment that he was barely hurt, but that moment ended when Mobius blinked, wobbled, then fell straight to the steel floor with a bang. Six let out a screech that reverberated around the room. The medic, who'd been trying to care for an injured, but now conscious Casey throughout the chaos, rushed over to Mobius.
"He's out cold."
All eyes were on Lucky, their expressions ranging from terror to rage. Their faces bore into him like lasers, like knives at his throat threatening him for answers. Six's face was especially furious, bright red, sweating pure grain alcohol.
"I… I didn't mean…"
Lucky's weak words were useless, his intentions meaningless. He felt frozen to the spot as B-15 and C-20 hurried over to Mobius and the medic.
"I've got him," said B-15, then, despite her own injuries, she hauled his limp body over one powerful shoulder and climbed the ladder, as if he weighed no more than a pillow.
As the medic and the other employees left, only Sarge, Six, and Lucky remained, staring at each other in varying degrees of shock. Suddenly, Sarge took off for the ladder, leaving Six and Lucky alone in the aftermath.
"Six…" he whispered.
She simply shook her head, stunned, then refused to look at him any more. She left as well.
Lucky was alone, standing in a sea of broken bottles, scattered treasures, and a half destroyed ring, the hideous silence even more deafening than the screams of the crowd.