She gleefully brought the chair down on the back of his neck with a sickening crack.
His knees buckled and he collapsed onto the ground in a heap.
"It's looking like he's down for the count," called the announcer, drowning out the voice of newly-christened referee Mike, who was slamming his hand into his palm and calling out each number from one to ten in a cadence more befitting of a news report. "That's victory, folks! Yet another victory for- ahem- Sarah "The Incinerator" G. Lato! As stipulated, she will receive twenty dollars in the currency of the Before-Times! Thank you for watching Mall Brawl. The bloodbath will return after a word from our sponsors."
Sarah dropped her chair and left the stage to make way for the 'sponsors'- a revolutionary group that, despite being formed only the previous day, already had plans to dominate Elmore- and was greeted warmly by the waiting throng that surrounded the ring, a veritable sea of punk headgear and alternative fashion. The cultural zeitgeist had changed so quickly! Sarah had taken to wearing an eye patch for the grittiness factor, along with one of those bracelets with the spikes and a flame-patterned leather jacket. That was where the inspiration for he nickname had come from. Maybe she would have to actually incinerate somebody one of these days to really seal the deal. Now, though, she left the mall and claimed her prize from one of the burly guards near the commentators' nest.
Why, even with the new anything-goes currency system, had Sarah not changed her preferred prize to something cooler? That was simple: one of the only businesses in town that accepted paper money at reasonable rates (provided she haggled) was also her new one-stop shop for food, entertainment, and amenities. It was very apocalypse-esque to do your shopping out of the back of a van! The sketchier, the better! She had been taking on tougher opponents over the past few days and had discovered the untold moneymaking potential of her internal rage. Stress relief, catharsis, and income, all in one easy pastime. The only problem was that fighting made her hungry, and now she planned to put the earnings from the fight into a vault at home and use the previous day's earnings to go all-out on something to eat.
Ten minutes later, she approached the window of the van in question.
"Goood morning! Or afternoon! Or night. Time's messed up now, am I right?" she chortled and the shopkeeper let out a tiny sigh.
"What may my mystical shop of wonders sell you today?"
"You have any new food in stock?"
"As a matter of fact, we do. We restocked only two days ago... no, three. No- I'm not entirely sure. Either way, we have a good amount of food left."
"Can I get, uh... a burger, some fries, and a drink?"
"How specific. You're in luck, however, we actually do have all of those in stock."
"Cool! How much?"
"85 bucks."
"85 bucks?" She raised an eyebrow. "Okay, okay. What do you say I give you 25 bucks and this infinite-dollar bill I handcrafted?"
The bill in question looked surprisingly authentic, except that the president on it had anime eyes.
"Deal," said the shopkeeper, accepting both the real money and the fake money. He fumbled around in the back of the van for a short moment and produced a burger, fries, and a can of Pitt Cola. Sarah dug into the food almost immediately, but opened her mouth mid-bite and stared with an odd near-reverence at the beverage can.
"Where'd you get this?" she asked.
"Erm, I stole it from a restaurant."
"A restaurant here?"
"Well, I-" the shopkeeper's eyes darted nervously from side to side. Suddenly, Sarah reached up and seized him by his shadowy collar.
"C'mon," she said in a sharp whisper, "How much would I have to pay you to take me to the place where you got this cola?"
"T-twenty dollars," he said. When his behind met the seat again, he sighed in relief.
Sarah only smiled disarmingly and reached for the money she had just won.