Victor of Tucson

Victor didn’t sleep well the night Vullu left. He lay in his cage, feeling like he had way too much room to himself, and listened to the sounds of all the other prisoners. They came drifting over the wooden slats, between the bars of his cage, snoring, mumbling, farting, and rustling around in the scratchy hay. Victor used the piss bucket twice, always looking back and forth in the dim room, trying to see if any of the cages had wakeful occupants. There was one thing he could praise Yund’s prisoners for; they minded their own business when someone was using the bucket.

Victor, bored in the middle of the night, decided to count the other prisoners, so he quietly moved around his cage, counting the slumbering, dark shadows in the other enclosures, and came up with only nineteen. Hadn’t there been more than forty when he first arrived? More than fifty percent dead in a week or so? Even someone who wasn’t a math wiz could see those odds weren’t great. The stark reality of that fact added to the thoughts keeping him awake, and he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling until the door crashed open, and Ponda came in, screaming at everyone to wake up.

“Big night at the Nail, vagabonds! Boss needs you to perform - make up for the dead and wounded from the last one. He’s offering rewards; time to find your guts!” He stomped on the wooden planks and howled with his big furry fists pumping in the air.

“Hey, Ponda,” Victor said when the furry, rotund man approached his cage. “Can you tell me what your people are called? I keep calling you an otter-man in my head cause we don’t have people like you in my world.”

“Hah, kid, you always surprise me with what comes outta your mouth. My people are the Vodkin, and we’re the toughest damned people on Fanwath; remember that!” He unlocked Victor’s cage and said, “Now go eat some breakfast, then go to Boss’s office; he wants a word with you. You know the way, right? You’re not a lost little huldii without your friends, are you?”

“If that’s a joke, I don’t get it; I don’t know what the fuck a huldii is. I know the way,” Victor replied, slipping out of the cage, under Ponda’s big arm.

“Hurry up, runt!” He growled after him, and Victor picked up his pace, despite trying to walk out coolly. He picked up his usual plate of slop and flatbread and sat down by himself, ignoring the glares he felt from the other prisoners in the mess hall. Ponda might have been teasing, but Victor did feel the absence of his friends. He’d been missing Yrella, but even when they hadn’t been talking much, he’d taken some comfort in having Vullu to hang around. He wolfed down his food, then left the mess and tapped on Yund’s wooden office door.

“Come in!” the boss’s voice bellowed, vibrating the flimsy door in its frame. Victor opened it and stepped into the cramped, messy space. Noting the distinct scent of grease and spices, he looked at Yund’s desk and saw a big wooden platter covered in congealed, moldy food scraps.

“Boss, you wanted to see me?”

“That’s right, kid. You’ve got two fights under your belt now, and I didn’t forget my promise to you. Win today, and you’ll be closer to a contract with me. We’re short fighters, and I don’t have new ‘recruits’ coming for another week, so I’m scheduling more than one match for most of you. Because you’re tier zero, I think I can get you into three or four. You up for it? It’s your chance for glory and to win a contract from me.”

“Do I have a choice?” Victor, truth be told, wanted to kick some ass. He knew that he was thinking of these Pit Nights like wrestling matches, at least subconsciously, and if he slowed down and really analyzed what was coming, he’d be less enthused: death and bloodshed and maiming weren’t as appetizing as pinning an opposing school’s wrestler.

“No. I wanted to gauge your enthusiasm, though - might have some bearing on what kinda fights I get you into.”

“I just want to earn a contract; I don’t give a fuck anymore. Put me in with the asshole that killed Yrella.”

“Hah, you’d be dead before you picked up a weapon. You’re not ready for that kind of speed; he was tier two. So was Yrella, by the way.”

“Tier two?”

“Yeah, kid, higher than level twenty. You sure don’t know shit, do you? Don’t worry; if you live, you’ll have some new cagemates soon, and you can ask them all the dumb questions you want. Now get outta here, so I can figure out this lineup.” He picked up his clipboard and waved it around. Victor turned and walked out, going over to the corner of the gym where he and Vullu had been practicing the last few days. The big Ardeni guy, Zan, was already there, punching the wooden beam that Vullu used to like to use. Victor ignored him and started doing a little circuit of pushups, crunches, and pullups on the nearby bar.

“Your daddy’s not here anymore, huh?” Zan said after a while, watching Victor finish a set of pullups.

“Fuck you, man.” Victor dropped and went into his next circuit, sweat already pouring out of him, soaking the filthy, stinking shirt he’d worn now for over a week. Zan snorted and turned to punch his post, apparently not wanting to push the matter further. Victor hadn’t been bullied in a long time - not since middle school when he’d hit a growth spurt and joined the eighth-grade wrestling team. He knew there were people in the Wagon Wheel that could beat his ass without any struggle. Vullu had made that clear to him, trying to help him learn to keep his mouth shut, so he didn’t offend any of the “monsters” in the place. He figured the best way to deal with guys like Zan was to act like he wasn’t scared but not to do anything to piss them off. Zan seemed content to ignore him after the jab about Vullu, so he kept working out, moving to weapon practice, starting with knives.

It wasn’t nearly as much fun stabbing and thrusting into the air without Vullu or Yrella to encourage him or even mockingly correct his form. He’d decided to go turn in the knife and get a spear when Ponda screamed at everyone to get all the gear put away and line up. Victor was one of the first in line, and he watched the others filter in from the cage room or the mess hall; he’d never seen the fighters looking more bedraggled, tired, and low energy. “Time to chain up!” Ponda yelled, “Fights are starting earlier today.” He and Urt moved among them, handing out belts and connecting the chain, then they were off, just a single column of eighteen fighters. Yund wasn’t to be seen, but Victor supposed he’d probably gone ahead to finalize the matchups.

It was bright out while they took their circuitous route through the city and down to the docks. Victor kept his head up, meeting the glares of the people that scurried out of their way or openly judged; the average citizens took pride in looking down on the prisoner-fighters. At least that’s the way it seemed to Victor. He saw a lot of beautiful women, the Ardeni had especially bright eyes with exotic colors, and he was caught staring a few times. Looks of disgust chased his eyes away, and he almost blushed, but a cold sliver of anger kept the blood out of his cheeks. Who the fuck were these pretty people to judge him? He wasn’t a criminal and hadn’t done anything to deserve his treatment. Or had he? His friend Tracy liked to talk a lot about “karma” - had he done something to deserve getting summoned to this place?

He tried to pay more attention to the kinds of buildings they went by this time. He saw a lot of houses, some places that looked like restaurants, lots of shops, a few big government buildings, and, of course, all the warehouses down by the docks. The Rusty Nail wasn’t as crowded as last time when they arrived. The sun was still quite a ways above the eastern horizon, so Victor figured more people would be coming as the night progressed. Ponda led around the walkways bordering the various pits and then put them into their roped-off area near the back wall. Victor leaned back against the wall, trying to avoid looking at or talking to any other prisoners. He wasn’t in a mood to mess with those guys on a good day, and he was feeling particularly moody.

He leaned there with his eyes closed, arms folded on his chest, until the buzz in the air grew in volume and a different kind of energy permeated the atmosphere. When he opened his eyes, he saw that the crowd had filled out, and people were starting to lead fighters to pits. Victor looked around the periphery of their holding area, trying to spot Yund, and finally saw him striding toward the Wagon Wheel fighters.

“Listen for your names, lads!” He hollered, ignoring the fact that a third of his fighters were women. Ponda and Urt started calling names, but Yund pointed at Victor and beckoned him forward. “You’ve got four fights. If you win, kid, I’ll set you up a sweet contract when we get back. I know you might be worried about the terms, and I want you to feel motivated, so you can count on a gold level reward in addition to your contract. Sound good?”

“Uh,” Victor started. No, it didn’t fucking sound good. Four pinche fights in one day? Was he trying to get rid of him? Still, Victor knew he couldn’t argue or change the man’s mind, and he’d always been game for a challenge. He couldn’t help feeling the parallels between Yund’s little speech and what his coach often did before a big meet. Did he ever act like he couldn’t win when his coach spoke to him? Hell no. “Yeah, it sounds fucking good.”

“That’s the spirit! Follow me.” Yund turned and started wending his way toward one of the bigger pits near the center of the warehouse. When they came up to the edge of ring number two, Victor stopped in his tracks.

“What the fuck are those?” Pacing around and hissing up at the spectators in the center of the sandy pit were five gray-skinned little men with long black nails and stringy, patchy white hair. They were wearing rags and waving clubs and knives around, trying to intimidate the crowd. Their thin lips pulled back when they hissed, revealing mouths filled with pointy, jagged rows of teeth.

“Those are Yeksa, kid. Your first match.”

“Uh, who else is going in there with me?” Victor looked around, guessing some other low-level fighters would be going in against the Yeksa with him.

“Hah, you’re on your own! Just go crazy - they’re weak. Don’t let them swarm ya! Now get up to the pit's edge and wait for the word.”

“You signed me up for four fights, and the first one is against five fucking dudes?” Victor scowled at Yund, but he stepped up to the edge, staring down at the gray little savages. They didn’t seem to speak, just hissing and growling, brandishing their weapons.

“Choose a weapon,” said a smooth-shaven Ardeni. In each of his blue hands, he held a different weapon - a club and an axe. Victor reached for the axe out of reflex; he’d spent a lot more time with it than other weapons because Vullu favored it over other weapons. The Ardeni looked at Yund. “Ready?” Yund nodded, and the man shouted, “Begin!” Victor stepped forward and thought about his Berserk ability, using the knowledge the System had put in his head to activate it, sending a surge of rage-attuned Energy flooding out of his Core and into his body. His vision turned a deep crimson, fury filled his mind, and, as he fell to the sand, his back arched, his muscles visibly convulsed, and he roared like a caveman.

He landed in the sand on all fours, his mouth hanging open in a maniacal grin, a crazed look in his eyes. The axe was still nestled in his grip, and he lifted it in front of his face, where he studied the blade for a moment, his brow furrowing in fury. The Yeksa, for their part, hissed and, as one, started charging over the sand toward Victor. He was still transfixed by something, staring at the axe, when the Yeksa fell upon him, clubs and knives pummelling and perforating his flesh.

The image of Yrella falling and twitching when the axe hit her head faded, and Victor confronted his reality as little wooden clubs smacked down onto his skull, shoulders, and back. At least two knives bit into his back. Boiling heat had filled his flesh, and Victor roared with the terrible fury that suffused his being, lashing out with the axe and surging to his feet. The steel blade of the axe caught one Yeksa on the shoulder and severed its arm. Victor roared and began to lay about himself with the axe, ignoring the clubs and knives coming toward him. As the little knives sank into him, and the Yeksa pulled them back for another strike, his flesh pulled together, and almost no blood seeped out. The clubs' contusions healed even as the Yeksa lifted them for another strike. Victor screamed and willed more rage Energy out of his Core and into his muscles, and he smashed his axe back and forth, wading through the little savage men like a reaper at harvest.

As quickly as the fight began, it was over, and only pieces of the Yeksa remained. When Victor saw no more immediate enemies, he looked around outside the pit, and when a particular face triggered his rage, he hurled his axe at him. Luckily for Victor, far more powerful people watched the fights than he, and his axe was easily intercepted. He paced and growled, visible steam rising from his blood-soaked clothing, and then it was over, and he fell to his knees, limply staring at the sand. He remembered the fight, but it was hazy like snatches of a dream. He looked around the pit, saw the broken, dismembered bodies, and almost vomited, but then thin streams of yellow Energy motes began to flow into him from the five different corpses, and his nausea retreated, his exhaustion faded. As he climbed from the pit, he waved away his notification:

***Congratulations! You’ve achieved level 6 base human. You have 5 attribute points to allocate.***

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