Chapter 43
Every Villain Needs a HobbyAnnie spat blood onto the arena floor and grinned.
The crowd roared around her. Tiered seating packed shoulder to shoulder, shadows cut by spotlights, fans pressed against reinforced glass. The cage rose to the ceiling.
No escape. No mercy.
Just how I like it.
Her opponent sagged against the far wall, wheezing through broken ribs. A slab of mutant muscle with dino-hide skin and claws like machetes. He had ripped chunks of metal out of her before she caught onto his rhythm, and he’d scored a long cut in their last exchange. Blood ran freely from the fresh wound in her recently healed stomach.
Doesn’t matter. Free healing as long as I win, baby.
She flexed her metal arm slick with his blood and rolled her shoulders. Flesh and steel moved in harmony.
“Come on,” she taunted, pacing toward him, slow and steady. “You gonna try again? Or are we done here?”
The shifter groaned and slid down the wall.
A heavy buzzer sounded. Red lights flared overhead.
Match over.
The far door opened, medical bots rolling in to cart off the loser while a superhuman healer tended to the winner. They worked fast, as if they’d done it hundreds of times before.
They probably have.
The crowd erupted.
Annie raised her arm in victory and let the noise wash over her. “I want another one!” she bellowed, voice raw with adrenaline. “Right now! Who’s next?!”
The announcer’s voice crackled through the speakers, muffled by the roar.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and others! Can you believe it? The bloody ginger herself, still standing after going toe-to-toe with Mesothrasher! What do you say, folks? Do we give her what she wants?”
The crowd surged, chanting the name she’d given them.
“Scrap-py! Scrap-py! Scrap-py!”
She spun in place with arms wide, blood dripping from her elbows. MetaMetal rippled with her excitement. Her skin stitched together beneath the healer’s touch.
“Don’t make me beg,” she shouted at the announcer’s box. “Line up the next one!”
Another buzzer. Another door grinding open.
Her grin widened. She didn’t care who it was. She just wanted another taste of victory.
Augustus stirred his drink with a thin metal straw, listening more than he spoke. A quiet jazz loop played overhead, soft enough not to compete with conversation. The bar was low-lit, clean, and mostly empty. It was a gem tucked away at the edge of one of the residential spokes. Not a lounge, nor a dive, but something in between.
Just what he liked.
Across from him sat the owners, a married couple in their late forties, though advanced medical treatments blurred the years. She handled the drinks; he handled the books. They’d introduced themselves as Lira and Juno, and Augustus had taken an immediate liking to both.
“So how do you manage supply runs?” Augustus asked, voice warm. “Seems like a nightmare with orbital customs.”
Juno laughed behind his glass. “It is. We bribe the right people, keep three months of dry stock, and never order anything fragile. Liquor’s easier than produce.”
“We used to keep fresh citrus for cocktails,” Lira said with a shake of her head. “That lasted… what, two months?”
“Two and a half,” Juno corrected with a grin. “Then the shipment came in spoiled and we lost twelve grand on rotten oranges.”
Augustus winced in sympathy. “The hidden cost of class.”
“You learn to adapt,” Lira said, slipping a coaster under his glass with practiced ease. “Out here, everything’s more expensive. Rent. Licenses. Staff. Even ice.”
“But people tip better,” Juno added. “A lot of them think they’re on vacation, even when they’re not.”
Augustus chuckled softly and leaned back. “I’ve been thinking of opening one myself. A small place, somewhere quiet. Decent lighting and music. Proper furniture. And a game room out back.”
“It's hard to do it without help,” Lira warned. “The Queen insists that things measure up to her standards.”
“Fortunately,” Augustus said, “I’m not without resources. Or friends. But I appreciate the candor.”
“You’re the magician, right?” Juno asked. “With Grimnir?”
Augustus smiled, but didn’t answer.
“Hell of a thing,” Juno went on. “You’ve made a lot of enemies. But also fans, especially up here. People know who really took out that crew in Argentum.”
Lira raised an eyebrow. “If you’re looking for staff when you open that bar, call us. We know the right people.”
Augustus tipped his glass to her. “You’ll be my first call.”
He glanced out at the passing crowd. It wasn’t just about being charming or curious. He was mapping it out in his head. Every contact and every skill set.
Favors.
Grimnir would need allies. But the team had also given him an opportunity to see his dream reborn from the destruction wrought by Flashpoint.
He had no intention of letting it slip through his fingers.
Talia sat still on the stool.
The room was dark by design. Smooth walls and soft flooring. No furniture but her seat and the dividing wall in front of her with a diamond-pattern mesh cutout that distorted faces but carried sound clearly. There were no visible cameras, no microphones. The only way in or out was a single reinforced door behind her.
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She admired the setup. It was straightforward and discreet. Professional.