“You guys want to go back?” Colby asks, dumbfounded. “All for a chance at saving someone you think is your friend?”
“It was Bronwen,” Leon says. He runs his fingers over the cuts along his knuckles. “She sounded afraid. She mentioned something about ‘the work he’s done on her’. What does that mean?”
“Quenlin. He’s the ringmaster. She’s probably his pet project,” Amiran says. He doesn’t think to apologize for what he said to Leon during their tournament fight, and Leon doesn’t think to ask for an apology. Considering both of them were just kidnapped and almost thrown into another brawl, there are bigger worries than remarks made in the thrill of a fight.
Amiran explains his experience with Quenlin’s men. Kidnapped in his own car, he was taken to the facility that Zion, Leon and Nate just snuck out of. On the surface, it’s a quiet office building filled with empty cubicles and placid businesspeople too caught up in their work to be curious. The deeper you go, the more doors you’ll find that can only be opened by “maintenance personnel”. Amiran describes the feeling of navigating the winding hallways that lead to Quenlin’s operation. It’s far beneath the office building, in order to avoid making any noise. After being kept in a holding cell for a few hours, Amiran was removed due to a “change in plans”. “That was when I was brought to you guys,” he says.
As he pieces together the puzzle, seeing Bronwen constantly acquire new cybernetics starts to make sense to Leon. He never anticipated it would be a form of punishment.
“He probably planted her at that apartment complex we went out to the other day, trying to throw us off his scent,” Zion says. “If we go back, Nate will have to get in the ring with her. Quenlin promised that much,”
“I’m not going to run the risk of losing you guys again,” Reese says. “But I don’t know how we can bring the enemy to us.”
“I was the new champion,” Amiran continues. “They thought a fight with me could bring in a lot of money. If we can’t draw them out, maybe we can make them draw us in.”
Nate sits up in his chair. “What do you mean?”
“What if we gave their spectators a fight they couldn’t resist? They’d take every precaution to ensure we wouldn’t double cross them, so we’d be going in blind.” Amiran’s gaze meets Leon’s. He has a feeling he already knows what is about to be proposed. “But a rematch between the underdog and the reigning tournament champion-- that’s a hard offer to turn down.”
Everyone turns to Nate. He raises his eyebrows, smiling at his brother. “Looks like you’re calling your first shots,” he says. “We’ll move out in the morning.”
As soon as dusk seems to fall, dawn comes. The entire team suffers from nervous sleep deprivation, which certainly won’t help the boys when they’re thrown into the ring, but they manage. They certainly don’t make their presence subtle; Leon shoots three bullets through the back entrance of the office complex and states their piece to the guard. As expected, Bronwen’s promise must be fulfilled and Nate isn’t out of the woods just yet. Amiran, Leon and Nate shed their weapons, letting themselves be blindfolded and led through the weaving corridors once more.
Nate winces at fluorescent lights of the holding room. The air feels heavy from a combination of nervous breathing, lack of air circulation, and the multiple bodies that occupy the space. He notices nobody in this room is handcuffed, unlike he and his brother’s previous experience in this facility. These combatants are here by choice. He’s not sure if that makes the situation any easier. The guard turns around and every gaze in the room falls on him.
“Anastasio,” he says. Both Leon and Nate rise. “Agent Anastasio.” Nate inhales deeply and walks towards the open doorway. The guard turns to Leon and says, “You’re next. Quenlin will want a word with you before your fight.”
While his gaze is fixed on his brother, Nate pins the guard against the adjacent wall. Amiran and Leon slink out and slam the door shut, much to the outcry of the other combatants. Nate nabs the key card from his hand before knocking him out and locking him in the holding room. Amiran and Leon watch with a mixture of awe and intimidation. The Nate that Leon knew growing up was the world’s biggest pushover; he now sees why the rest of the agents look to him for guidance.
“You guys find a way to let Colby, Adya and Reese in,” Leon orders. “Meet back here when you’re done.”
“What’re you gonna do?” Amiran asks.
“The guy in charge wants a word with me? He’ll get one.”
The boys go their separate ways. Amiran and Nate do their best to avoid all eyes, but that’s not to say that they have to put an unconscious guard or two in a supply closet.
Leon navigates every empty hall, opens every unlocked door, but can’t find anything of use-- until a scream, quickly silenced thereafter, echoes from around the corner. None follow, but as he presses his ear up against the wall, he hears noises of struggle and frustration. With his bionic arm facing forward, Leon throws his weight against the door, busting it open. Taking bold action outside of the arena has never been his forte, but he feels more than confident about this time.
Bronwen sits in a reclined chair, head hanging down, as a mechanical arm digs into the back of her neck. Its delicate, precise fingers are careful not to put one piece of cybernetics out of place, but that comes with a painful cost. She’s able to raise her head long enough to look at Leon, ridden with worry. Despite all that Quenlin has punished her for, all that he has forced her to apologize for, Bronwen has never felt more sorry in her life.
Quenlin halts the mechanical arm from probing Bronwen’s neck. She leans back in relief and wipes the sweat from her brow. He walks around to the front of his desk, leaning against it casually. “I guess I should’ve expected you to show up, considering you’re willing combatants now,” Quenlin says. “Always a catch.”
“Your guard said you wanted a word with me,” Leon says, “so let’s have it.”
“Is that what he said? I think what I want is a lot more than a word.”
Leon takes his statement as an invitation and lunges forward. Quenlin pulls a sleek, silver pistol from beneath the desk and aims it at Bronwen. “You try something, I’ll do it. This isn’t a stun gun,” he says. There is not a hint of wavering in his voice. Leon knows that he means it. Engaging with Quenlin in combat will get him and Bronwen killed, whether it be in this room or in the ring. But just letting him do as he pleases doesn’t sit well with him. Leon tries to get as much information out of the man as he can.
“What did you want with Amiran?” he asks.
“Exactly what you wanted with him,” Quenlin explains. “A fair fight. Underground fighting is an alternative, not a crime, Leon. Less rules, less restrictions, less paperwork-- I’d say it’s the better option.”
“Has Bronwen been working for you this whole time? Studying us, spying on us at tournaments?”
“And competing,” Quenlin says with a chuckle. “I’ve made her into quite the fighter, huh? Can’t wait to see how your brother fares in the ring against her-- but it’s not like that matters much to you. I know you and him have historically had a bone to pick with one another.”
As Quenlin begins running his fingers over Leon’s arm, he’s bewildered at how he knows about his brother, much less their personal relationship. Clothed in black gloves, he has the delicate hands of a doctor, but the grip of a man who wants everyone to know who’s in charge. “I’d love to study that arm of yours. Tournament fighters sure don’t spare a dime on fashion or function,” he says.
“I’d like to see you try. There are two people in the world who know how to detach my arm, and one of them is me.”
Quenlin shrugs. “You might want to recalculate your math.” He opens a panel on Leon’s bionic arm. Sliding the lock to its opposite position and twisting the arm causes it to detach with ease-- that is, unless you’re the one it’s attached to. Leon is too terrified to fight back. He winces through the pain, looking at Quenlin with a combination of confusion and terror.
“Getting bionic replacements you don’t necessarily need is a bit of a challenge,” Quenlin says. “You broke your arm in taekwondo, got the cybernetics you needed to heal it, and you were on your way. But it seems you wanted more. You wanted to make a statement. And doctor after doctor rejected your request, but your father was persistent. Charles Anastasio is a man of his word. I wonder if you and your brother are, too?”
“H...how do you know that?” Leon asks between breaths. Quenlin chuckles, brushing up his sleeve and removing the glove on his left hand. A sleek, bionic arm lies beneath.
“Oh, Leon. Who do you think built you that arm?”
Before Leon can even let the pain settle, Quenlin attaches a different arm to his shoulder. A smaller one with less features-- but the attachment of an unfamiliar bionic limb causes him to cry out in pain. Quenlin grabs his chin and forces Leon to make eye contact. “I could care less what happens to you,” he says, gritting his teeth, “but you promised me a fight. And you’re going to give it to me. We’re more alike than you think, Leon; we’re both people pleasers, always looking to give people a show. Don’t forget— a performer isn’t much without a crowd, but he is nothing without a director.”
“How can you be sure I won’t tip off the agents at Goddard?” Leon manages to spit out.
Quenlin glances at Bronwen, a sly smile creeping across his face. “I have ways of keeping people from talking.”
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