Status Quo rule no. 67 - The syndicats’ leaders can decide on the UA fighters place of residence.

Skye stepped out of the elevator at the police station and out to the freezing wind. Falling onto the now-empty bench, she leaned her head backwards, and closed her eyes. Then slowly returned her head forward. 

When the first fighters died, it did little to bother her. Dead UA fighter meant less of a competition on her way to freedom. The way the police and UA handled the murders was more worrisome than the fact that the fighters were dying. But now, she didn’t know what she felt or what she was supposed to feel.

Mike was one of her stronger opponents. They belong to the same syndicate, trained together for years, and spent a lot of time with each other’s company. But if she had to fight him in a match for her freedom, she would do everything she could in order to win. 

So why did that ache in her chest threaten to burn her chest? She should be glad someone was taking care of the competition, but the confusion in her head was something she forgot existed. 

Death wasn’t new to her, after all, she lived in lower Bayport for most of her life. But this time, it was different, and she didn’t know how to react. 

Should she visit Sierra? 

Would Mike’s family hold a funeral? 

Did she need to come? 

Would they even want to see her there? 

Could she help if she was there with him?

The UA fighters were a money-making machine for the syndicates and for the UA. Killing them was a risky thing considering the people involved. 

Mike was with her for eleven years, ever since they were children, and even though she was cold to him most of the time, he never failed to care for her. She tried not to get close to any other UA fighter. They were an obstacle to her goal. 

How greatly it failed.  

Beating Mike in the UA League was one thing, him dying was something she has never wished for. 

 “Everyone and everything will die,” she said out loud and lit up another cigarette. 

A black car parked in front of her. The window of the car rolled down, and Bradley’s brown eyes stared from it. Although his expression remained inscrutable, it was easy to tell that he wasn’t pleased. 

“Get inside.” He ordered with a stern tone.

“My bike is parked here.” 

“It can’t go anywhere without you, can it? Get your ass inside the fucking car, Skye.”

She rolled her eyes, threw her cigarette, and got in. 

The last man she wished to see today was him. Meeting Bradley was unavoidable, but it came sooner than expected. She buckled up, the smell of the leather seats wasn’t to her liking. Suffocated in the enclosed car even though her legs were too far away from the seat in front of her, Skye wanted to open a window but decided against it. 

Bradley wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he glared at the road outside, frowning from time to time. The car drove past the streets of lower Bayport, which looked even grayer than they used to. The people on the streets were more tired and dirty, and the closed clubs seemed like a bomb of light waiting to explode with neon at nighttime. 

At daylight, the city was half abandoned, half-broken, only a shell of what it became at night. Without the pinks, and purples, and blues of the neon, and red and whites of the cars, the street showed their real nature. The reality of the poor, the drunk, and the lost. 

The car drove for long moments until it stopped in front of one of Bradley’s more fancier looking buildings, the ones that were reserved for high ranking Chrono members. Skye looked at him with a raised brow. He stepped out of the car, gesturing to her to follow him. She did as she was told. Getting stabbed again wasn’t on her agenda today, her current injuries were more than enough. 

They went up then walked the length of the hallway to the last door. Bradley opened it and again gestured to her to enter. She rolled her eyes and stepped inside. 

The big studio apartment was clean. So clean and shiny with white and moldless walls. The light wood-themed kitchen resembled something out of a fairy tale, while the white couches and oversized TV tempted her to doze off right there. She couldn’t spot a bed, but it didn't concern her; the vast couch seemed more than comfortable enough. Her attention was drawn to the balcony door, enticing her to venture outside and see if, perhaps, Bayport appeared different from this vantage point.

Bradley passed Skye’s frozen and baffled figure, then sat on one of the bar stools in the open kitchen. 

“From now on, you’ll live here.” He ordered.

“Why?”

“Because I own you and I can decide where you’ll live.” Good point. “And I care about you as if I were your real father. You need to be safe. I’ve already arranged to bring your bike and other stuff here instead of forcing you to bring it yourself. This is how much you are dear to me. So, you’ll be under my surveillance until I catch that killer with a death wish. I need the port this year and I can’t let my best fighters die. So be a good girl and don’t make me worried again.”

Skye barely stopped herself from bursting into laughter. Bradley cared only about his earnings and status. She recollected herself and sighed. “What about Mike’s family?” 

“They’ll be taken care of.”

“And Alexa?”

For the last three years, the Cross syndicate controlled the port. They couldn’t compete this year, these were the rules of the Status Quo. Each syndicate was granted three consecutive years of port control. With one syndicate missing this year, Bradley was determined to regain his grip on the port. He planned for Alexa to win this year. She was the top fighter in Chrono. For Mike to be the next and then for her. Mike’s death didn’t go well with his plans.

“She’s your neighbor. So a few rules. One,” he lifted up his finger, “you pay the same rent. Two, the curfew stays, practice, and home only. If you need anything else, someone will fetch it for you. Three, no more of the side work you’ve been doing.”

“I need the extra cash, your rent is high.”

Bradley scoffed. “Fine, you’ll pay five percent less since I’m feeling generous.” 

“Ten.” She replied with the little confidence she could muster.

A purple blade flew her way and grazed her cheek, making the hair of her ponytail fly as if the room was windy. So much for not getting stabbed today. You need to control your mouth better, Skye. 

“Seven, and don’t try your luck again. You are dear to me, Skye, so don’t force me to hurt you,” he said, his voice venomous. 

Skye remained quiet and only nodded slowly in response. 

“Good.” He gave her a smile, placed the keys to the apartment on the kitchen bar, and left.

A suffocating breath escaped her lips, as if she was underwater. With a small shake of her body, she stepped out to the balcony. Her breaths were rapid as she leaned on the balustrade. 

She could breathe again, the open space and the freezing air brought her back from the shock she was at. 

It was a shock, nothing more. 

She stretched her less injured arm in front of her body. With another deep breath, she shot. 

The electric wave hit the big casino sign in front of her, knocking down the letter ‘A’ with a loud slam. Some surprised screams from the people on the streets and from within the building on which the sign stood, echoed in the distance, sounding like nothing more than a background noise. 

Skye turned her hand to face the huge burn on it that reached to her wrist, and smiled, refusing to let the tears escape from her eyes.