We had a few days before we'd make our grand debut at the fight club, time in which I was able to at least partially recover from my injuries. I also made a point of rebuilding my arsenal. More army men and more gas marbles. And, after the rocky test run, I refined the raygun to improve output and lesson the risk of any sudden malfunctions or failures.

  And, just in case, I added a little trick to my left glove. Dad said it was always wise to have one last trick, something to keep for when you're cornered.

  I wasn't fully recovered when the time came but my bruises had faded, the pains dull and distant, and the armour itself hadn't been damaged. Still, with the nanolathe and my tools I'd ideally be able to mend minor damage without needing to get Binder involved.

  We strode into the quiet and yawning maw of the subway station, Rover's footsteps wet and noisy as they slapped behind us. I'd be lying if I said I didn't find it a little creepy.

  What had once been a clean and orderly tunnel soon became marked by decay, the floor littered with rubble. Yet Impact's crew had set up generator-powered lights deep inside, glowing halos piercing through the gloom. Past what had once been a track, much of it now marked with chunks of fallen rock, sat a small group of burly men,

  They were your standard rental thugs, guys who hung around dive bars and shady alleys, eager to do work for villains for a nominal fee. And if Warmonger was bankrolling the place, then they were probably paid well. They stood up, one by one, looking all tough until Rover stalked from the shadows behind us.

  "Christ," one of them muttered. "What the FUCK is that thing?"

  "Him?" I smiled behind my mask, jerking a thumb his way. "He's the new champion of the fights down here."

  "Fights? No fights here," said one man, a balding slab of muscle with a distinctly Slavic accent. "Only homeless and prostitutes."

  "Okay, well, one of those things is still illegal in Argent," Dynamo said in a flat voice.

  "We know there are Apex fights being run down here. All we wanna do is put our boy here in and make some money off of it." Cheshire leaned forward. "Do we look like we mean trouble?"

  "Absolutely," a lean black man said, tucking his hands into his leather jacket. He sighed, aggrieved. "But... Impact said she wanted new people in the ring. And that big freaky thing might draw a crowd. Let 'em in."

  The Slav grunted. "Okay, fine. But if mini cosplayers cause trouble, they are dead." He parted his long coat, giving a glimpse at a silver beast of a pistol. "Is this understood?"

  "Yeah yeah," Cheshire said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Come on, let's go."

  The Slav took the lead, the other members of his posse bringing up the rear of our group. Though they gave Rover a wide berth, each one aware that their handguns would be little more than peashooters against such a beast.

  The tunnels deeper inside were smooth, earth carved and shaped by some manner of Apex power, broad enough that five people could walk together shoulder to shoulder. Sounds drifted our way, gradually growing louder. Cheers and shouts, occasionally punctuated by the thuds of flesh striking flesh. It wasn't long until we came upon a vast chamber with a ring of benches overlooking a deep pit.

  We drew nearer to it, close enough that I could peer down into the pit itself. A hulking brute of a woman with cherry red skin, steam rippling off of her with every movement, was clashing against a smaller man who darted from point to point in flashes of electricity.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The woman was huge, looked like she could punt a semi truck like a dodgeball, but the little man in the grubby tank top and pants was faster. And whenever he dodged he lashed her with an explosive bolt of energy that scorched deep into her thick hide.

  "KILL THE BITCH!"

  "I'VE GOT MONEY RIDING ON YOU, YOU BIG RED ASSHOLE! TEAR THAT FUCKER IN TWO!"

  The crowd were... about what one would expect. The dregs of society who wanted to froth and scream as people beat each other to a bloody pulp, in the comfort of some hole in the ground. I did see a few rich looking people, Wall Street finance bros eager to watch literal bloodsport after doubtless spending the daytime bleeding people dry.

  Well, I sold weapons to street gangs. It wasn't like I could judge too harshly.

  My eyes scanned to the head of the room. There, on a dais expertly carved wood, sat Impact. She watched he fight unfold while a weaselly man in an ill-fitting suit tallied the money and jawed on at her ear. At once I could see two other masks flanking Impact's sides. Her actual muscle.

  The one on the left was a man of modest height and slimbuild, covered from head to toe in a pale grey costume that had black lines running down the outside of his arms and legs. A diamond-like shape was emblazoned on his chest, and the lenses of his mask were jet black.

  "Never seen that guy before," I murmured.

  "Must be a mask from Lux. Another of Warmonger's guys," Foresight mumbled. I didn't want to agree with him, but that was probably the case.

  I knew who the other man was, at least, he was a moderately famous Argent thug. Knuckle, wearing a leather jacket over an armoured black and orange costume, had been a recurring thug in Argent since my dad's time. He got his namesake from the ornate brass knuckles he wore, glowing orange lights shimmering on the metal.

  Not a big name, that was for damn sure. But he'd caused a lot of mischief over the years, and had been adept at wriggling out of captivity.

  "Shit, Knuckle got hired by her?" Cheshire whispered. "Burning a pretty big bridge, in that case."

  I gave her a look. "He's a mercenary for hire, surely? Why would the big guy care?"

  "There's rules, Toys. Helping someone muscle into his city? He'll be beyond pissed."

  Impact's gaze fell upon us, her expression hidden by her mask, but I could see her briefly drawing her brows together. She sat upright as the Slav led us to the dais. "Pavel," she said, "don't recall asking for any entertainment." Her voice was low, dusky, clearly audible even among the din of the underground arena.

  "They want to put their monster in the arena," Pavel said, motioning to Rover.

  By now the big guy was tense, his breath coming as faint rasps. I set a hand on one of his forearms and that seemed to calm him a bit.

  Impact cocked her head at us. "Clearly you kids aren't just randos. What am I looking at here? Rookie supervillains?" she asked.

  "Something like that," I said.

  "Rookie villains in need of dough," Stretch said, enlarging one hand and rubbing her thumb against her fingertips in the universal gesture of 'money.'

  Impact snorted. "Yeah, well, I'm no fucking charity. Still... Your pet monster might get the crowd jazzed up." She paused. "How'd you hear about us? We don't exactly advertise."

  "We keep an ear close to the ground," Cheshire said plainly.

  "Oh? Is that so?" I doubted Impact believed us, but before she could probe further there came an uproarious shout from the crowd. We all turned and gazed into the pit.

  The skinny man vanished in another flash of lightning, but this time the woman seemed to have grown wise to his movement. Her arm snapped out as he reappeared at her side, wrapping her massive hand around his mouth. Her grip held fast like a bear trap and I swear I could hear the man's muffled screams.

  Lightning exploded around his body, his whole form ablaze with power. It was a spectacle that only lasted a few seconds, the flesh of the woman's arm peeling away to reveal boiling and bubbling muscle tissue. He managed to hurt her a fair bit before a hard squeeze crushed the bottom half of his head, the top popping off like a champagne cork.

  And the crowd went wild... those who put money on the big bitch, at least. The others were frothing and cursing at the giant woman, who was huffing as she whipped the headless corpse to the other side of the pit.

  "Think I'm gonna hurl..." Dynamo mumbled.

  Stretch nodded, staring wide eyed. "For real."

  "You wanna put your pet in the pit?" Impact asked, watching us with a sharp gaze. "Fine. But he might not survive the experience. Zirconium, show them to the waiting room."