Date: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Intergalactic Bastard

Dave Walsh

Contents

Before We Fight…

Foreword

1. One-Eyed Skidz

2. Guy for an Eye

3. Kriger

4. Old Birmingham Blues

5. Fight City

6. A Snake, Coiled

7. The Battle of Fates

8. Broken

9. If Home is Where the Heart is…

10. Luna Losers

11. One-Eyed Skidz Redux

12. Broken Again

13. The Station of the Lost

14. Ruthless Ramirez

15. The Legend

16. The Eternal Lost

17. Wild Thing

18. Double Deathmatch

19. Reunion/Departure

20. The Long Road Home

21. Low

22. Limping to the Finish

23. Who the Hell is Robert Burns?

24. The Real Battle

25. Breaking Point

26. Sam and Max

27. We’re Not Alone

28. The Draw

29. A Boy and His Blob

30. Regen and the Chain

31. Ruthless Redux

32. The Finals

33. Falling Unknown

34. The Real Lunar Loser

35. Humility

36. The Blurred Line

37. Change is the Only Constant

38. Media Day

39. And the Walls Came Crumbling Down

40. I Know the End

Also by Dave Walsh

Before We Fight…

Content warning: Contains strong language, scenes of consensual violence and suicidal ideation.

Foreword

After releasing nine books in just under fourteen months, dealing with the COVID pandemic with a wife working in the ER and twin boys who went from preschool to kindergarten, I needed a break. Or, at least, I needed something different. I needed a break, I suppose, but instead of that, I wrote a serialized story.

INTERGALACTIC BASTARD (originally INTERGALACTIC DEATHMATCH, but a comic with the same name launched around the same time) was born of my lifelong love of pro wrestling blended with science fiction. Using a lot of cyberpunk and space opera elements, I jammed them all together with gladiatorial combat based heavily on Japanese deathmatch wrestling.

If that sounds like an odd mix, it is!

Yet, this story happened and I feel like it came out exactly as I wanted it to. Take that for what it is.

Considering this story was originally conceived as a serial, it’s written as such. I took feedback as I wrote, made changes where I needed to and forged ahead, writing exciting, digestible episodes you could read in one sitting that left you wanting more. This is my disclaimer if this book, which I’ve taken and modified where I needed to, has a different flow than my other novels.

If this is a series or not depends on you, my dear reader. Your feedback is always welcome. If readers want more, I’ve got plenty of ideas. If not? Then I can still be satisfied knowing I tried something new and had a blast writing it.

Enjoy.

Dave Walsh

12.28.21

One

One-Eyed Skidz

His wooden bat hung heavily from his taped fist, wrapped in a length of barbed wire and the small electrical box Coop had rigged to his weapon. The bat, lovingly named Guy, had been through a lot. A last-minute addition before his first fight against a stodgy little Zondian named Zeke, it became his signature after that fight. Zondian flesh was a tough beige color, clumped into patches that made them look like they were made of stone. It wasn’t stone, though, it was flesh like every other creature in the ’verse, and the barbs tore him up, spraying his neon pink blood all over Coop’s face.

That was the beginning of something beautiful, or at least something fruitful for a nobody like Coop. The promoter thought he’d be another pretty boy who’d go out there, full of bluster and guts, only to get torn to shreds by his prized Zondian. Even though that fight was a distant memory after dozens of trips into the arena, it still played through Coop’s mind before each fight. Tonight was no different. Humans were still an oddity on the deathmatch circuit, considered the infants of the galaxy in terms of technological advances and discoveries, only making first contact with the diplomatic explorers the Traliks thirty years prior. A few humans had tried their hands at the deathmatches and a small stable of fighters had been training up on Luna as a sort of home league, but those who fared out through the gates didn’t make it far.

That is until Coop and his exploding baseball bat hit the arena.

“Ladies and gentlemen, INTERGALACTIC DEATHMATCH is proud to present the bad boy himself,” the announcer’s voice boomed in galactic basic, “the toughest human being to walk the galaxy, along with his bat, Cooper Sabre!”

The thunderous eruption of the crowd and the parting of the great metal gates into the arena were his cue, lights pouring into his sad little staging area. Only once had Coop worn sunglasses to cope with those lights, which in retrospect was the biggest mistake he’d ever made in the arena. An Arakan cracked them with a blow, the shards of glass flying into his eyes and detaching his retina in the process. A detached retina may sound like a minor injury for a gladiator battling aliens on the galactic stage, but flesh and bones healed up just fine in their regen tanks. Eyes were more sensitive. Stupid sunglasses. Coop emerged from the tunnel, pumping Guy into the air while the crowd roared. Coop flicked the switch on the base of the bat, sparks shooting out from the electrified barbs, driving the crowd into a frenzy.

Across the packed dirt-and-rock arena from him stood Skidz, a Brandian berserker that stood eight feet high, with toxic-to-the-touch green flesh and six arms, a long spear gripped in his right middle hand. A large scar ran along the side of his oblong face, the eye socket on the right side scarred over. To say Skidz and Coop had history was an understatement, seeing as though the last time they met Coop had taken Skidz’s eye clean out with a jab from Guy. These fights weren’t always to the death, that was just the marketing. Most of the time they survived and fighters found themselves plopped into regen tanks to heal up, because history between two fighters meant bad blood. Bad blood meant grudge matches, and grudge matches meant money for the promoters.

Skidz screeched at the top of his lungs, a war cry letting Coop know he’d be coming for him. Coop smiled in return, letting sparks fly from Guy’s barbs and watching Skidz grimace at the sight. “Got ya, ya bastard,” he said under his breath.

The klaxon blared overhead, signaling the start of the bout. Skidz was on him in no time at all, bounding forward with his powerful legs and closing the distance between the two in a matter of seconds, Coop avoiding a thrust from the spear. To say Skidz was angry was an understatement, eschewing an artificial eye for a battle scar, both to put on a better show for this rematch and to remind himself why he was angry at Coop. A massive hand gripped onto Coop’s wrist while the spear swung in an arc around him, slapping him across the shoulder. Coop tried to wrestle himself free, but Skidz had an unrelenting grip on him, multiple hands gripped around the spear and using it to trap him, trying to squeeze Coop up against his flesh, which secreted a toxic pheromone that was akin to a hallucinogenic.

“I thought you’d make it good, human,” he seethed.

“Who says I’m not?” Coop asked, driving his knee up into the stomach of the Brandian, who doubled over and ever so slightly loosened his grip.

Without pause, Coop swung into action, ducking under the spear’s shaft to create some distance while his wrist remained stuck in the alien’s grip. Still, it was enough space for him to rear back and land a shot with the bat. Guy’s barbs sunk into the side of Skidz’s face, sparks flying and flesh sizzling like his old bug zapper on the patio back home did in the summer. The alien was screaming at the top of his lungs, his grip relenting from Coop’s wrist while he attempted to peel the bat from his skin.

That was just the opening Coop needed, planting the heel of his shoe into the giant’s stomach and peeling the bat away, tearing at Skidz’s flesh and lining the luminous arena with his cries. Dark brown goop dripped from the wounds on his face, him rushing in with wild blows from his six arms. An errant fist clipped Coop behind the ear, sending him crashing down to the ground in a heap from the strength of the blow. It felt like someone had smashed him over the head with a cinderblock, everything spinning around him. The massive boot came down hard across his back, planting him flat against the ground, Guy just outside his reach. A warm trickle of Skidz’s leaking fluid splattered down onto his silver jacket, and Coop tried to pick himself up to no avail.

“What do you say?” Skidz boasted, spear held high. “Eye for an eye?”

Two

Guy for an Eye

“You motherfucker,” Coop spat, unable to peel himself up off the ground with the giant’s foot planted on his back. All he could do was look up in horror with his left eye while the alien played to the crowd, his mangled face a bad omen for what he’d do to Coop with that spear. The tip of his middle finger just barely brushed up against the handle of Guy. If he only could get another inch and get some leverage. “Six arms and no balls is what you’ve got.”

“You know nothing of my people!” Skidz shouted, hefting the spear up for a blow.

“Balls, you know what they are? I bet I understand your people better than you do, you fucking lout.” Skidz had a notorious temper. All he had to do was find the right insult. The alien’s weight shifted just a hair, Coop digging his fingers into the ground and pulling himself forward before being mashed down against the ground again.

“Are you calling me stupid, you pathetic excuse for a life form?”

“Stupid doesn’t begin to explain you, Skidz.” Just about there, just a few more pulls and Guy would be in reach.

“I’ll tear you apart limb from limb!”

“What, and ruin a possible rubber match?”

“I’ll ground you into dust, you asshole!” Skidz shifted his weight again, concentrating his strength into driving the spear down into Coop’s eye, Coop taking advantage of the slight opening to push with his feet. The smooth wooden handle of the bat felt at home in his clutches; he popped his hips and rotated away from the giant boot just in time to deflect the incoming shot. Sparks flew at the collision of the spear’s metal tip and the barbs on the bat. Coop smacked the blow away from him and guided the spear into the dirt.

An opening created itself, Skidz off balance, Coop smashing away with reckless abandon at his midsection, explosion after explosion at each blow. The syrupy brown blood splattered all over, making it difficult to focus. Two of Skidz’s enormous hands grasped at the bat, the smell of burning flesh flaring up Coop’s nostrils while he hung onto the bat for dear life. The alien cried out while he tugged Coop up to his feet, using two of his free hands to pluck the spear from the ground, leaving the other two to batter away at Coop’s midsection. Holding onto the bat for dear life, he absorbed blow after blow, trying to focus on the spear and the stab Skidz was lining up.

Without fail, the blow came, the alien’s limb independence beyond admirable. Coop used his grip on the bat to tug himself up, the spear missing and going between his legs. He clenched his thighs around the shaft, twisting it away from Skidz’s hand. The Brandian lost his focus, scrambling for his weapon, leaving the gruesome, torn up side of his face open. Coop released his grip on the bat, smashing his taped up fist against the open wounds on Skidz’s face, following up with another, unleashing an unrelenting combination of punches that stained the white wraps on his fists brown. The alien retreated, dropping the bat on the ground and tugging at the spear while he recoiled. Coop brought his heel down against the shaft of the spear to halt him in his tracks, rotating on the ball of his foot to pick up the bat, and summoning up every ounce of his strength, he swung it around in one fell swoop. The bat shot up in a flash, cracking against the alien’s skull in a brilliant display.

A hush fell over the crowd, Skidz on the ground in a bloody heap while Coop collapsed to one knee, unable to keep himself upright after the battle. Every breath burned, meaning he had at least one broken rib, if not more. The smell of burned flesh and the sour Brandian blood was oppressive, and it felt like he’d suffocate right then and there. Leaning on the bat for leverage, he pushed himself up to his feet, the crowd letting out a roar while the klaxon signaled the end of the fight.

“Yoooour winner tonight: COOOOOOOPER SAAAABRE!” the announcer exclaimed, Coop clutching at his side while raising Guy into the air, soaking in the adulation from the crowd. Skidz’s crew rushed out to attend to him. The bearded, bloated walking corpse that was Coop’s uncle stood in the shadows, watching while he shambled back into his waiting area. His bulbous red nose served as Coop’s guide, the older man chuckling under his breath.

“What’s so damned funny?” Letting his uncle be his manager had always been a bad idea. The man was a sadist and a drunkard and, knowing him, already had his next fight booked. “I think I broke a few ribs back there.”

“And your face is busted up plenty as well,” he said. “Best get you into the regen tank, boy-o.”

“Can’t I just take a minute to catch my breath?” Coop leaned back against the wall, still trying to escape the stench of Skidz and his insides. His uncle’s broad smile was an ill omen, though. “All I can smell is that bastard’s stench. Don’t tell me you’ve already got me booked up before I can think it over?”

“Can’t be letting you go soft, can we?”

“Uncle Regis, c’mon.” He remembered to flick Guy’s power off, hobbling over to the small repair station and plugging it in to charge, leaning against the table to keep himself upright. “Hows about I get a break now and then?”

“It’s not now. In a few days, that’s why I say you hit the regen tank, you daft bastard.”

“I better be getting a fat raise for whatever asshole I have to beat in next.”

“Biggest payday yet, actually.” The smile only broadened, showing his discolored and chipped teeth. “Intergalactic champ, Kriger.”

“What?” Jaw dropped, he almost stumbled to the ground, catching himself against the lip of the repair table. “I’m getting a shot at the champ?”

“Like I said, get your ass into the tank already. We’ve got a fight to prepare for.”

Three

Kriger

Those precious days after a cycle inside the regen tank were accompanied by a saccharine high that made everything feel airy and distant. Everyone at the arena on Donical-4 recognized Coop instantly, no matter how he attempted to hide his face, making the ordeal a surrealist nightmare of light, noises, shrieks, and a rainbow of tie-dyed blood splatters throughout the arena bleeding through his consciousness. Coop’s uncle insisted they make an appearance to hype their fight and turn up for Kriger’s warm-up fight to sell their big bout, but it was too soon after Coop’s last battle.

For the average alien, the regen tanks didn’t leave them in a few-day long bender of euphoria, but humans were extra sensitive to the tanks. Humanity spent most of their existence imagining what aliens would be like, how advanced their technology would be and what kinds of advancements in culture and society they’d developed, the irony Coop found that one of the few things most of the races agreed upon was brutal fights for entertainment. That was shit humans had left behind—sort of—before first contact happened. Now Coop, an otherwise unremarkable asshole of a man, was an exceptional human in a galaxy that laughed at the fragile, primitive humans, as shown by his own private booth atop the arena hovering above the crowd with his own wait staff. Regis, as always, was enjoying his time at the top.

“Are you ready for Kriger?” the announcer boomed through the arena on Donical-4, his voice echoing off the dome above them that kept the atmosphere in. Donical-4 was a spent moon that had been strip-mined by the Zondians decades prior and required a lot of tech to whip into shape to house fights, but was far enough away from galactic regulations to allow the promoter to cut corners. “I can’t hear you! Are. You. Ready. For. Kriiiiiiiigerrrrrr?”

The crowd erupted, two poor lost souls shuffling uncomfortably in the arena. Humans, because of course. Kriger and his people were trying to make a point to Coop. Everyone knew the two gladiators in the arena bore no resemblance to Coop and were just two poor saps plucked up from the training center on Luna to be Kriger’s sacrificial lambs, although those two perhaps didn’t realize it until that moment. There was a time where Coop was like them: foolish and rushing into fights before thinking and getting in way over his head. One man held a comically gigantic sword, while the other had a length of pipe, neither one knowing what they were getting into. Kriger was from Gurgia, the Gurgians powerfully built and standing at least ten feet tall. There was a slight resemblance to Brandians in stature and fearsomeness, but without the six arms. Instead Gurgians appeared hunched over, with long, powerful limbs, a whip-like tail, and a set of razor-sharp pincers protruding from their shoulders. Kriger had lost the left one in battle and chose not to regen it, instead boasting he didn’t need advantages against the other races.

Kriger burst out of his door, almost tearing the panels off the hinges, fireworks erupting overhead while smoke billowed out from his ready room and lasers streaked the sky. Nothing but the best for the champion. The poor saps across the arena from him had the crushing weight of their decisions rain down on them in that instant, that they weren’t just there to make him look good, they were fodder. Pipe guy rushed back toward his door, pounding his fists against it to no avail. You sign the contract, you gotta fight the fight, that was the deal in the arena. If he had more experience he’d know there was a hidden panel for the switch, too. Before either of the men could steel themselves, the alarm blared out and Kriger stalked forward, as always, empty handed. His lone pincer on his back, his tail, and his other limbs were enough for him.

A cry rang out when pipe guy rushed forward, swinging for the fences at Kriger’s midsection, the alien parrying the blow with his pincer and wrapping his tail around the man’s foot, dragging him to the ground while his partner attempted a stab with his weapon. The blade clashed against the pincer, but the sword guy showed that there was some skill to his actions, riposting and swinging the sword in an arc toward the tail to free the other man. A flick of the tail flung the grounded man at the sword’s blade, both men calling out, but it was too late. Blood splattered out from the gaping wound across his chest, the pipe clattering to the ground, and the man laid in a heap on top of the blossoming pool of red.

“Shit,” Regis muttered. “These poor assholes weren’t ready for this.”

“What?” Watching the man with the sword fighting for his life while the other man bled out was sobering, the euphoria fading with each passing moment. “This is a slaughter. He’s trying to fuck with me.”

“Yeah, well, that’s how the game works, pal.”

“I need to stop this, it’s me he wants.” Coop reached for the pod’s controls, his uncle slapping his hand away.

“Are you crazy? You know the rules if you interfere with a fight, you’ll get suspended for a month and lose your place. We worked hard to get here, don’t blow it like you always do.”

“But those poor—”

“Kriger doesn’t play with his food, this’ll be over in a minute and those poor saps will be in a regen tank for a week, then back to Luna.”

“Fucking hell.” Coop knew his uncle was right, instead watching the horror while Kriger parried the blows from the fighter, his fist smacking against the blade to unbalance him and the pincer thrusting into the man’s stomach, impaling him without ceremony. The fight was over. “Absolutely pathetic.”

“That’s the game,” his uncle said.

Kriger celebrated his victory while a crew rushed out and carted the two men back beneath the stands, disappearing into the shadows while Kriger soaked in the adulation from the crowd. Coop knew this was all a part of the show and what he had signed up for, but there were moments when doubts crept through his mind that humans weren’t meant to fight creatures like these without guns or chainsaws or something to even the odds. Guy would have to do, but that didn’t settle his stomach one bit.

“Don’t worry, you got this.”

Those words sank into his gut like a brick.

Four

Old Birmingham Blues

There weren’t a lot of words spoken between Coop and his uncle during the days following Kriger’s display. In fact, it was weeks before Coop was comfortable enough to train and wrap his head around the challenge before him. During his downtime he disappeared into the stimnet, indulging in whatever vice he could through the virtual setting, knowing he could do so anonymously without the weight of being Coop Sabre. The ’trodes jacked into the small ports on his forehead allowed him to disappear from everything, ignoring those messages from ole’ Jack up on Luna asking if Coop would do them the honor of training there.

After watching those boys get torn to shreds back on Donical-4, facing Jack or any of those boys was difficult, not that they’d blame him for what had happened. Still, Coop felt responsible and just wanted to be at home. Through his subconscious a message dinged from his uncle, asking when Coop would re-enter the actual world. Virtual Coop stood atop a grand tower, overlooking an approximation of old Birmingham in England, from well before things got this complicated and advanced. Birmingham now was a part of the greater London sprawl, a combined hub that became most of England, just like the Eastern seaboard of the US combined into New York and the other large hub cities. Everything inside the stimnet felt just as real as meatspace, and dying in here would feel pretty real, if that’s what he really was gonna try.

“Kid, I need to override this shit, you aren’t answering my messages,” his uncle’s voice broke his immersion. The scenery shimmered and his senses dulled into a cold numbness before being pulled back out into the real world.

“What the fucking hell?” It felt like he’d been sucked out of a tube and shot by a firehose, his uncle hovering over him and with a stern look on his face. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Bullshit I didn’t. You trying to off yourself in there again to see how it feels?”

“What do you even know?”

“Remember that training stim we invested in a while back?”

“Thought we uninstalled that piece of trash.” That had been a strange experiment to train him for fights using AI constructs built around approximations of real fighters. Some Zondian was selling them and it had been a giant waste of money, paling compared to actual training.

“No, well, sort of. Remember I could track what you were doing from it to give you pointers?”

“So you’re spying on me?” Coop picked himself up and stomped into the bathroom, taking a piss with the door open, not caring about his uncle being in his flat. Wasn’t like there was any privacy left in his life, anyway. “I’d prefer you didn’t.”

“Kid, I don’t know if this is some way to psych yourself up or you’re going through some shit here, but it ain’t right.”

“How about you step into the arena against Kriger next month, then? Tell me how you feel, you asshole.”

“All right. All right, I get it. But whatever this is, it needs to end now. We’ve gotta get you ready for Kriger or whatever you think you were gonna feel in there…you’re gonna feel it for real and that’s not good for either of us.”

“Fine, just let me get my bearings before we get back to the gym.” Coop didn’t smell great after a few days in the stimnet, but knew he’d be training soon and didn’t want to bother with two showers in as many hours.

“Sure, right? May as well go call that girl of yours as well and relax even further after weeks fucking off in here and looking for a cheap thrill.”

“Leave Sam outta this.”

“You even call her?”

“She’s fine, she knows where I’m at, how I am.” It had been a while since he’d seen her. Things were complicated, they always were with him and he wasn’t sure if it was his fault or not. “Let’s just get to the gym, so I can hit something.”

Pulling on a fresh shirt, Coop walked through the door and made sure his uncle stopped poking around, and the two rode the elevator down. Inside there were multiple screens filled with ads, a soft neon glow that permeated the entire London sprawl, but felt worse in Birmingham than in the parts of Old London that had been kept intact for preservation purposes. Both his uncle and his father grew up in Birmingham, back before it had integrated into the London sprawl and looked closer to what he’d seen in the stimnet.

“This place is a fucking dump, you know that?” His uncle chided. “You’ve got more money than any of us ever had, we can get outta here, get a nice place in Old London.”

“Or this eye gets fucked up even worse, I can’t see anymore, and I’m like old Skidz trying to fight with one eye.” Images flashed in his mind of Skidz and his gnarled up face, oozing brown blood. Relief overcame him when the elevator dinged and he was out of the confined space with his uncle and out onto the congested street, filled with people, cars, and bullshit beyond Regis. They pushed their way through the bustling marketplace area on the bottom floor filled with street vendors and out onto the street, Coop taking in some fresh air, or at least fresh for him after being stuck in his flat for weeks. “Plus, you don’t get this in Old London, do you?”

“Smells like shit, Coop.”

“Didn’t ask you, did I? I should be more pissed at you for the snooping, you know that, right?”

“Save it for the gym, kid.”

He didn’t bother answering him, just trotted forward down the street, stopping by a stand to grab a bite, sucking down the stale-tasting burrito while his uncle shook his head at his elite athlete eating street food, a topic they didn’t broach anymore after the last blow-up. The projected sky beamed artificial cheer and sunshine, unlike whatever the skyline looked like outside the sprawl and its projectors, making their brief walk a few blocks over insufferable after weeks of artificial light.

Although they called it a gym, it was more like an empty warehouse, filled with instruments of death. It was far beyond what was available to him when he was coming up and training up on Luna with Jack. The lights cascaded on, one by one illuminating the giant room to uncover the powered down battle bot sitting ominously in the center of the room. Coop whistled at the augments his uncle had on it, including the lone pincer on the back, the narrow limbs and the tail.

“Just like the real thing, huh?” he beamed.

“Sure is, you get Brent and the boys on this?” His childhood pal went into the mech business and Coop forgot no one he came up with, or at least he tried.

“Yeah, thieving bastards. Kaijutech is a helluva lot cheaper,” his uncle said.

“No shit, but I don’t know Kaijutech, do I?”

“Their rep is always breathing down my neck. Look, kid, they want to send us free shit, get us all set up. Wouldn’t need to wait on your boy here and his flunkies to—”

“Look at the damned thing, why don’t you?” Coop motioned toward the mech, a spitting image of Kriger. “Plus, nobody programs an AI like him.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Yes, it is whatever I say.” Controlling his temper was getting more difficult now. First the spying and the condescension, now this. “You work for me, Regis. Sometimes I think you need to be reminded of that. You’re a stubby little prick who didn’t make it up on Luna, and whatever you think your role is here is going to your head.”

“I…look, kid, I just—”

“Turn on the bloody mech already, let’s get on with this. One week until Kriger. You got that?”

“Yeah, I got it all right.”

“Good. Let’s do this.” A calm overcame him while his uncle powered up the bot, its eyes glowing red and Coop unable to fight his smile. “Oh yes, I’m ready for this!”

Five

Fight City

It had been months since Coop had set foot on Belzhur, the home base of Intergalactic Deathmatch. The dwarf planet sat on the fringes of Zondian space and was wholly owned and operated by the ID Syndicate, which was a fancy name for Tuup’s shell company that operated outside of the Galactic Council’s jurisdiction on virtually everything, other than on Belzhur. The fight being there meant it was within the council’s reach and the fight would be mostly aboveboard, unlike the last one with the stunt involving the two sacrificial humans fed to Kriger. ID Syndicate always put on a big show about safety protocols and working with the council, the exception being the events on remote moons outside of anyone’s reach.

Belzhur was a shithole, though. There was no way around that.

The sprawling city of Balzta served as ID Syndicate’s home base, the largest settlement encased in fogged domes to protect from the vicious sandstorms and the bitter cold of being so far from the Zondian sun. His uncle licked his lips upon their descent toward the heart of Balzta. While other parts of the planet remained remote, either home to farming or mining settlements, Balzta was filled to the brim with every known vice that was legal within council space. Regis loved that damned city, considering it a place they could settle down in and lap up the fame that came with Coop’s hard work. They piled into a tube that traveled from the docking area at the crest of the dome down into the city; the company ferried their bags for them, although Coop kept a firm grip on the titanium case he kept Guy in, knowing better than to let anyone else handle his beloved bat.

“Can’t believe this place, still. It’s been how many visits?”

“Twelve, Regis.” Even with Coop expecting the awe, it was still obnoxious and unwelcome. “Every time you do the same thing.”

“What’re you riding me about now?”

“This. Every time we come to Belzhur, you gush over this place and try to convince me to move here.”

“Look, kid, it’s got everything we need. The company is right here, too. It’s better than holing up in that dump back home.”

“Home is the key word, uncle.” After breaching the docking levels, they got a breathtaking view of the city. There it was, laid out before them in all of its overbearing neon splendor, every last billboard and sign screaming out at them while they descended into madness. “Home ain’t great, but it’s sure better than this.”

“What are you talking about? We can get anything we need here! Anything, Cooper! This is the place, I’m telling you. Where else you gonna be treated like a king, huh?”

“If I lose tomorrow, it won’t matter.” Most fights didn’t get to him like this, but that display from Kriger had gotten to him more than he was willing to admit. Kriger was desperate to hold on to his status as champion and everything that came with it. His people were proud but never saw much luck as conquerors or traders, leaving their glory in the hands of Kriger, a brute in the ring. The other races saw humanity as lessors, even compared to the Gurgians, and they didn’t want to lose their place in the galaxy to puny, four-limbed people like them.

“Then don’t lose, right?” His uncle smacked him across the back.

“Right.”

After what felt like an eternity, they came to a stop on the ground level, the blocky promoter, Tuup, pacing around the dingy lobby, lined with a garish red-and-gold carpet and the walls plastered with screens that provided a soft artificial glow that was already giving Coop a headache. Never mind his clothes, the promoter was wearing a green tunic with neon purple embellishments that made him look like a minor noble who couldn’t buy taste. Still, this was Tuup, the Zondian behind the scenes who made Intergalactic Deathmatch tick, and he was an insufferable scumbag on the best of days.

“You’re late,” he grumbled.

“Nice to see you, too, Tuup,” Regis said. “I’m happy to be back here. In fact, we were just talking about moving here, you know? Getting closer to the action and everything?”

“Oh?” Tuup perked up. “That would be a great story, and if you were to win, it would make things a lot more interesting.”

“Why not let me stay at one of your palatial estates, then?” This was all bullshit, a part of the dance. Tuup owned half of that city and everyone knew it, considering he proudly wore it on his sleeve that it was his town. The fight town.

“Well, there’re matters of professionalism and—”

“How about we head to our suite then and get ready?” Regis butted in before things got uncomfortable.

“How about I don’t ask you about your estates anymore and you pay me better?” Coop interrupted. This was always a sore spot between them. His uncle grew finicky and interceded before either man could start up the same old argument they’d had dozens of times before.

“He’s just tired, we should go get ready now.” Regis placed his hand on Coop’s back and pushed him forward, grinning his big, dumb smile back at Tuup while the promoter huffed to himself. “Kid, you’re gonna get us killed, you know that?”

“I’m his main event, he ain’t touching me as long as I can make him money.” That was at least what he wanted to believe. The stunt with the humans and Kriger was meant to send an obvious message at how expendable all their fighters were.

“You better hope that’s true. Don’t blow this, kid. Not when we’re this close to glory.”

It pained Coop to admit it, but his uncle was right, even if his use of “we” bristled him. This was the closest any human had ever gotten to greatness on the intergalactic stage. Humans were the fragile, infantile race in the galaxy; their inclusion in the fights was a formality and none had ever climbed the ranks like Coop had. The city of Balzta breathed them in more the deeper they got, Coop’s grip on his case tightening and his nerves fraying. His uncle shot him a knowing smile while they passed by a brothel, featuring twenty-five races on call, including humans. Shadows of alluring nude figures danced over flashing lights, Coop having to urge Regis on.

“Not now, Uncle.”

“Yeah, yeah, maybe for the big victory party, eh?”

“You presume too much,” Coop said.

“And you don’t dream big enough, kid.”

Just before their hotel, a giant moving billboard for the fight stood before them. A projected Coop with Guy in his hand, beckoning the hulking Kriger to attack before the figures converged in an explosion. He couldn’t help but stare up at it, pausing in the middle of the bustling sidewalk with his jaw agape. Kriger was massive. This was starting to feel like a bad idea.

Six

A Snake, Coiled

Regardless of who the fight was against, that mixture of a knot in his stomach and adrenaline surging through Coop’s veins remained the same. This wasn’t just the biggest fight of his life, this was humanity’s first real crack at greatness on this stage. Decades of being the laughing stocks on the galactic stage after first contact, treated like the petulant children of the galaxy, and hand slapped every time they reached out beyond their pen. This was something new and exciting. Coop was doing the impossible. Not only was he going to prove he belonged there, in that arena with Kriger, he was going to take that gauche title home to Earth. Fuck that, he was gonna take it home to the UK.

The Birmingham boy was gonna be something.

His uncle paced around the locker room as he was in the habit of, rubbing his hands together like he was imagining the credits piling up in his hands. An unexpected buzzing broke him from his churn of thoughts, Coop tapping his temple to see Sam’s face, an uneasy smile breaking through the mass of purple hair. Coop couldn’t help but smile back, even with his mind in chaos. She had every right to be pissed at him for focusing on his training so much his last time back down well, not even making it to her place once in his fugue state, so focused on the fight and his legacy.

“So this is it, then?” she asked.

“Seems that way, huh?”

“Any other girl would be pretty pissed, you know.” Although there was a smile, Coop knew she was pissed, and rightfully so.

“Yeah, well, you are, and I know I fucked up. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Kriger’s not one of those aliens you get to show off against. This is for real.”

“You think I don’t know this? Christ,” he said. “This is why I didn’t wanna deal with you. Don’t need the stress.”

“You need someone in your life who’s in it for more than the money, Cooper. That uncle of yours—”

“Regis is an asshole, I know it, but he’s shrewd. I wouldn’t be here without him.”

“You may not be anywhere thanks to him, either. He’s gonna get you killed.”

“You know…” He paused for a moment, trying to find the right way to refute her, but was at a loss.

“If it’s that bitch of yours, just hang up. We need you focused,” Regis shouted.

“I can hear him, you know that, right?”

“I don’t need this right now,” Coop said. “Shut up, Uncle. I’m talking right now.”

“Hey look, you can stand up to him,” she chided.

“Look, babe. I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

“I’m here for you, Coop. You know that, right?”

“I know that, trust me. Look, it’s almost fight time and I gotta be ready. We can talk after this.” As much as this conversation was uncomfortable, it needed to happen and set himself at ease. Things were alright between them, which was what he wanted.

“Just…be careful out there. I love you.”

“I love you, too, doll.” The words sent a shiver down his spine, warming him up and steeling him toward the battle ahead. “Don’t worry, I got this. Everything’ll change for us after this.”

“Just take care of yourself. Please.”

“You got it.”

Coop tapped his forehead, ending the call, exhaling in frustration. Like he needed more pressure right now, but that was life. A small Zondian scuttled into the room, flicking at his projected screen before him, almost walking into Coop. Regis’ hand jutted out, catching him where he stood. The Zondian almost toppled over, grunting and cowering at realizing his error.

“Oh no, I’m sorry,” he said.

“We’re preparing for a fight here!” Regis intimidated the poor Zondian, who nearly fell on his ass at the shock. “Watch where you’re going.”

“S-s-sorry,” he said.

“Out with it. What do you need?” Coop asked.

“F-five minutes until your fight, sir.”

“Right, thanks.”

He stared at the Zondian, who continued to tap away at his screen, glancing up to catch Coop’s death stare, shriveling inward and shuffling through the door. A laugh bubbled up from down below, Regis glaring at him before the laugh caught on, both laughing at the diminutive Zondian scared of a human. The time drew near, Coop popping the black case open to reveal Guy with a fresh charge pack. With ceremony, Coop picked Guy up, giving a few solid swings before picking up the charge pack and slipping it into place with a click. His thumb flicked the power on, power surging through the metal wires and barbs, a few sparks flying out that brought a smile to his face. They’d come a long way, him and that bat. This was the big one.

“You ready?” Regis was checking his feed.

“As ready as I’m gonna be. How much time I got?” he asked. Coop took another swing at the air, an attempt to assuage the pre-fight jitters.

“Any second now the light’ll come, then it’s go time. I should get to my box to watch the fight. I’ll be down here after…you’ll be fine, kid.”

“I know,” he said, rolling his eyes. Still, it felt good to hear the reassurance. When he got out in front of that crowd, with those bright lights and the fervor that was the arena, he’d appear cool and confident and ready for action. It was, after all, just one big show for the crowd. A bloody, brutal show of strength, valor and finesse. Championship fights were worse than usual, and he knew it. Someone would have to give up or die, the officials allowing those fights to go farther. Death in the arena was a certain one if the medics didn’t get there in time, too.

The green light over the door blinked to life, his stomach dropping and his grip on the bat tightening. This was it. No turning back now. Everyone was counting on him, but fuck that. This was more than that. This was for him. Finally, that kid from the worst parts of the London sprawl was gonna prove he was more than anyone thought he could be.

“It’s time,” he muttered to himself while the door parted and the roar of the crowd filled the air.

Seven

The Battle of Fates

The packed dirt crunched underfoot, and the arena felt larger than normal while he approached the center, staring down the hulking mass that was Kriger. The bastard of a Gurgian stood, his lone pincer protruding from his back and looping over his shoulder while his massive arms heaved with every breath. There was a calm about Kriger that made Coop’s blood boil, especially after that display with those poor boys from Luna he had torn apart. He didn’t owe any of those bastards from the Luna training center a damned thing, but he’d make sure their suffering wasn’t for nothing. The weight of humanity’s galactic aspirations on his shoulders in what was a foolish bloodsport whose weight in galactic politics was far beyond what it should be on his shoulders, he shrugged in a symbolic gesture, causing the Earth flag draped over his shoulders fell to the ground behind him, the crowd gasping. He dug his heel into the dirt behind him and swung the bat a few times, flicking on the power while it sparked in a fearsome display that only got a chortle from Kriger.

Whatever sounds that came from overhead came across as distorted by the roar of the crowd, the announcer’s shouts, and the throbbing in his head. This was it. The buzzer blared over all of it, cutting through and alerting the fighters that it was time. The mighty Gurgian stood ready, shaking his massive head and baring his fangs while Coop inhaled, poised himself, and let out a mighty roar, rushing forward.

Kriger’s claim to fame was not needing weapons and Coop’s plan was to make him pay for that The Gurgian was expecting the overhead slash from the bat and leaned back, the pincer ready to catch the blow, only for Coop to plant the toe of his boot into the soft underbelly, catching him off guard. The alien buckled as Coop brought the bat up in an arc that caught him flush on the chin, an explosion following with a spray of the deep black blood from his lips. The crowd gasped, never thinking Coop would get such a powerful first blow in against Kriger. He couldn’t relent now, hefting the bat up high over his head and slamming it down hard against the ridge of his forehead with such force that Kriger fell face-first into the dirt. Remaining calm was crucial here, not getting overzealous. This wasn’t some scrub on the outer rim circuit that he could finish off in a minute flat, this was Kriger. Boot planted against the nape of his neck, Cooper stabbed Guy down toward the back of Kriger’s head, the pincer catching him unaware and stabbing him in the shoulder with a piercing pain that made him see red for a moment and caused him to stagger backward before the blow could land. The tail came next, sweeping out Coop’s feet from under him, sending him crashing to his back and losing his grip on Guy. Scrambling for his bat, he rolled to his stomach and avoided a stomp from Kriger, leaping to catch the bat and rolling onto his back just in time to deflect the blow from Kriger’s fist, smacking it away with a powerful explosive shot from the bat that made Kriger howl in pain.

Coop’s shoulder throbbed in agony, a blossoming red flower of blood stretching out from where the pincer had punctured him. With each passing moment the pain grew and grew, Cooper knowing there was a narrowing window for his ability to land blows to end this. Another blow came from Kriger’s other fist, Cooper swinging the bat up and around the arm, catching the tip to trap the Gurgian’s wrist in the bat, using his momentum to pull himself back up to his feet. Considering that Kriger’s arm was thicker than the necks of most beings, he pulled like he was choking the life out of him, knowing if he could damage both arms enough it would leave the pincer and legs as the principal threats. The pincer thrust downward, Cooper dodging it, turning inward under Kriger’s arm, the pincer burying itself in the dirt. While he struggled to free it, Cooper took the open window as a chance to stomp against it. The Gurgian pincers were powerful thrusting tools, but weak when attacked from the sides. The bloodcurdling scream that erupted from Kriger at the blow told him all he needed to know. Still holding the bat in place for dear life, he kicked at the pincer again. Another scream and Cooper’s adrenaline was pumping now. There was a clear path to victory emerging through this. In one clean motion he pulled the bat free, a black mist spraying out from the wounds on Kriger’s arm and the bat smashing down in all its explosive glory against the gnarled pincer buried in the dirt. When the backfist came Cooper was expecting it, ducking under and planting a kick into Kriger’s midsection, only for the other arm to smash down against the back of his neck and shoulder, shooting ribbons of pain through his body and causing him to stagger forward.

Only Guy kept him upright, burying the bat into the ground like a cane, still dazed enough to not see the whip-like tail coming straight for him, smashing against his cheek and sending him crashing to the ground. Cooper didn’t relent his grip on Guy this time, though, bringing the bat up in time to deflect the next blow from the tail, although it still knocked him off balance enough to not see the vice-like hand jut out and grasp him around the neck, pulling him up high off the ground, up over Kriger’s head even, the bat still in his hand.

All Cooper could manage was a series of half-hearted flicks with the bat, not even enough to trigger the explosives, but he was aiming for his eyes, scraping it along Kriger’s face while the arena blurred.

“I told you this was foolish, human,” Kriger groaned. The twisted pincer dangled above him, too damaged to use, which was Coop’s only saving grace. The neck vice’s usual accompaniment meant being peppered with blows from the pincer until the victim collapsed in his hand. That wouldn’t be Cooper, though. Not this time. Never.

“F-fuck…you,” he cried, bringing the bat up and driving it down across the brow of the warrior, sparks shooting out. The bat was lodged deep into his head, blood squirting out all over Cooper and obscuring his already-blurring vision. Kriger screeched out and Cooper’s stomach dropped, unable to pull Guy free from Kriger’s skull and downward momentum faster than he could prepare for, his shoulders and skull smashing against the ground in a huff, almost blacking out at the impact. Before he knew what was happening, the grip still around his neck, Kriger hefted him up again and slammed him down, the arena melting through the bursts of pain around him, until it all disappeared.

Eight

Broken

Cooper’s eyes shot open, his body floating inside a regen tank, but his mind unable to process what was happening. His shoulder screamed in pain while his neck hurt when he jerked his head to the side, finding himself face to face with the blurred image of Sam through the glass tube and the thick fluid. Battling the sludge, he balled up his fists, pounding them against the glass as hard as he could, them needing to cut through the sludge before making contact. His hands moved up to the mask covering his nose and mouth, tugging at them and looking for a way out.

Sam’s ethereal expression was one of concern, her turning away and motioning toward the tube. After what felt like an eternity of him writhing inside the tube, a fair-skinned man in a powder blue set of scrubs came into view, tapping at something only for the fluid to recede into the grating in the ground, Coop feeling the tug of gravity pull him down along with it, collapsing into a heap. The tank hissed, and the seal cracked open, parting in two while Cooper tugged at the mask, yanking it off and struggling to breathe. Everything was still blurred, heavy and foggy, and sounded like he was underwater.

“Coop, it’s okay,” Sam said, approaching him with her hands out.

“It’s going to take a few moments before you’re able to—“ the medic began.

“F-fuck off!” Cooper shouted, standing up with his hands pressed against the glass, slipping against the side and face-planting on the ground. His body, still slick with the fluid, slipped along the tile, Sam throwing a towel over him and embracing him.

“Hey, calm down there, tough guy,” she whispered. “You’re okay. I promise you.”

“W-what happened?” he asked. “Did I get him?”

“Not exactly,” she said.

“You should avoid anything like this until he’s fully recovered, he’s gonna feel sick for at least—“

“Shut up!” Cooper shouted. “Fuck outta here.”

The medic shrank back, slinking out of the room; surely that was a breach of protocol that Cooper wasn’t worried about in his foggy mental state. Sharp visions pierced his subconscious of the fight with Kriger, snippets of violence and searing pain. The last image he remembered was staring down at a bloody, seething Kriger, Guy planted in his skull and blood trickling down his face, with that massive hand around his neck. Slumping back onto the cold floor, Cooper tugged the towel tight around his shoulders and curled up into a ball. He’d lost, and this was the end result.

“Was I...?” he let the question hang in the air.

“Dead? No. You were still alive—barely—but the medics were able to get you into suspension quickly enough and into the tank,” she said. “That isn’t to say that I wasn’t worried…things weren’t looking great, Coop.”

“My fucking neck burns.” He clutched at it.

“Um, yeah, broken in four places. If they hadn’t rushed to your side and stabilized you, that would’ve been the end of you. You were struggling to breathe and if you tried to move your head, you could…I don’t want to talk about it.” Tears welled up in her eyes, Coop understanding how close he had come to a certain death.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he muttered. It taking a near-death encounter to hammer it into his thick skull that there were people who cared about him was typical for Coop. “I didn’t know how bad it was.”

“I should’ve been there, Cooper,” she muttered. “I should’ve been there with you. Instead I had to rush out, and that cheapskate uncle of yours wouldn’t help me book my flight, then he said I couldn’t see you when I arrived and—“

“Where is Regis?” The few times he’d been beaten up before, or at least taken enough damage to go into the tank, his uncle wasn’t far from view, ready to discuss strategy.

“I don’t know. Frankly, I don’t fucking care, either.” Her tone made it clear what she thought of him. “Said he had some important meetings a few days ago and I haven’t seen or heard from him since.”

“Fucking hell.” Coop straightened himself out, knees still weak after being in the tank for a while. “Wait, how long was I in there?”

“Two months,” she said.

“For fuck’s sake.” The weight of the statement almost dragged him back down to the floor again. “This was some serious shit, then.”

“It was touch-and-go for a while there. The doctors weren’t sure if you’d get patched up like new again. They want to talk to you about your future, I’m guessing. There’s been a lot of talk about that.”

“What future? I’m gonna get back out there and wallop Kriger. Where’s fucking Guy? Tell me uncle at least took care of Guy.”

“Erm, no. Kriger smashed your bat after the win. You know how he is.”

“Ffffuuck.” Cooper leaned against the glass case, the world spinning, Sam tucking herself under his arm and guiding him to a chair in the corner. “Can’t even have my fucking bat? What’s this galaxy coming to?”

“I know, Cooper. I know. You need to calm down.”

A pain in his chest flourished, blossoming out and tightening, making it difficult to breathe. Two months in the tank. Kriger smashed his bat, and Regis was nowhere to be found. Hell, even the docs wanted to talk about his ‘future,’ whatever that meant. For someone who was a hair’s breath away from defeating the toughest bastard in the galaxy, this wasn’t what Cooper expected. No parades or news features about his bravery or the next fight, no uncle there to pat him on the back and tell him the next fights they had lined up. Just Sam standing there, arms crossed, looking down at him like he was a child who had hit his head and wouldn’t believe that he was fine.

“So…what’s next?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“How about we get you out of here and go home?” Her tone was soft and saccharine. Cooper would have usually considered it pandering, but he welcomed it, smiling up at her.

“That’s a start.”

Nine

If Home is Where the Heart is…

Something about his flat felt cold and empty, knowing he hadn’t been there in so long. Sam flicked his lights on. Cooper was wearing some training clothes she’d fetched for him, considering all they had for him were his bloody, torn-up clothes from the battle. To peel his signature silver jacket off his back, the medics had to slice it open, doing a real number on it, but Sam had already gotten to work on mending it, knowing how important it was to him. Fuck, he was a fool for letting Regis dictate his life for him, especially considering that he hadn’t answered his calls since waking up. Knowing Regis, he was trying to hustle someone for a comeback fight, getting a fat upfront payment. There was always money to be made off of Cooper, at least for Regis.

“Bet the press has been hounding for word on me, huh?” he asked, sinking into his couch and looking for anything to talk about to cut through the awkward silence.

“It’s died down a lot, actually,” she said.

“That’s weird.”

“Coop, look…things aren’t exactly great, I’m not sure how to break this to you, but many people took your loss pretty hard.”

“Of course they did, but they’ll be ready for the comeback.”

“You heard the doctor when he discharged you, didn’t you? We were in the same room, right?” She sat next to him and placed her hand on his knee. “You remember what he said, right?”

“I, yeah, but what does he know?” The words rang hollow to him at the time, that he would need to rehab for months before even considering fighting again, if he ever did again. “That’s just doctor nonsense.”

“They fused your neck in four places. Regen tanks can do a lot, but without you taking the rehab seriously, it could be the end of your career, Cooper. We need to talk about the future.”

“I’m done worrying about the future, alright?” The words hung heavy in the air, Cooper realizing he’d shouted them when it was too late.

“Yeah, well, I’m here for you right now. I’m just trying to take care of you. I’m trying to take care of our future.”

“What future is there for someone like me, huh? I’m a fighter. I fight. That’s what I do.” He tapped his temple and tried to ring his uncle again, impatient to see what the next play was.

“Are you calling Regis again?” she asked.

“What does it matter?”

“Because he’s an asshole, Cooper.”

“He’s the only family I have left!” He jumped up to his feet, the euphoria from the tank leaving him unsteady and almost toppling over onto the couch before he caught himself.

“Then what am I to you?” she asked.

“We really gonna do this right now?” With each ring, he grew more and more irritated. “Where the fuck is Regis?”

“I want you to realize who was there when you woke up, Coop, Who was there and who wasn’t.”

“He’s probably getting my next fight set up is all.”

“He’s moved on, Cooper. You know what he told me?”

“No, of course I fucking don’t,” he said, pacing around the room.

“He told me they all said you were washed. Maybe you were good for a rematch with Skidz to cash in one last time, but the demand wasn’t there.”

“The demand?” He paused. “What are you talking about? I’m the only human to ever make a dent in that league. I’m the goddamned pride of the Solar System!”

“You were!” Her voice echoed off the walls. “You were, Cooper. Then you lost. You knew this wasn’t a gentle sport.”

“I don’t need gentle!” he protested.

“Apparently you do. You lost, Coop. What happens to a hero when he gets rag dolled in front of the galaxy? What happens when his best shot wasn’t good enough?”

“That’s rubbish. Absolute fucking rubbish. I damaged his pincer, fucked up his arms, and cracked him across the bloody skull!” Images flashed from the fight, anxiety flooding through his veins when he pictured the frothing, angry, and bloody face of Kriger hefting him up high and slamming him down. Cooper tried to catch himself before he fell, but there was nothing to catch himself on, the ground coming at him faster than he could react.

Her hands were cradling his head in her lap, the room coming back into focus. Tears welled up in his eyes and after months of life in the regen tank, the dawning that even in such a short amount of time, life had passed him by and when you weren’t winning, you were nothing. Sam shushed him, attempting to soothe him, letting the tears fall.

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice smooth and familiar. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“I…I can’t do this,” he admitted.

“Just…I’m here, Coop. We’ll deal with this together.”

“What about Regis?” he asked.

“Fuck Regis. I’m here, Cooper. Where’s your uncle? Huh?”

“I know,” he muttered. “I know.”

Almost on command, his communicator chimed, a call from his uncle coming through. He had half a mind to ignore it, but answered it anyway.

“Uncle?” he asked. Sam glared up at him and grimaced, motioning for him to end the call.

“Boyo, glad you’re finally among the living,” the familiar voice boasted. “Not gonna lie, things aren’t looking great, but I got us a fight.”

“No shit?” Something inside him stirred, a mixture of excitement and fear of the unknown. “I’m supposed to be rehabbing for a while.”

“That’s doctor shit,” he said. “You be ready in two weeks, champ?”

“I, uhh…” Cooper looked up at Sam, still head in her lap, unable to hide his anxiety. Her face was that of concern, Cooper sitting up to not be locking eyes with her, unable to explain it. “I’m in.”

“In for what?” she asked.

“Regis got me a fight. Rematch with Skidz.”

“Oh.” The disappointment was palpable. “Do you at least have time to rehab?”

“A month. We’re gonna do this,” he said.

“You asshole,” she said.

Ten

Luna Losers

After an upset like that, Regis set up a training camp on Luna. Right back to the start and all that. The key difference besides the change of scenery was Regis had to bend and allow Coop to bring Sam along, not that he had much of a choice in the matter. They flew public, and Coop expected the usual deluge of fans and interactions, but it was nothing. Just a commuter trip where he caught a few sidelong glances, that was it.

“I can’t believe I’m back at this shithole,” Cooper remarked, staring at the training center’s doors. The massive dome protruded up toward the surface, independent from the rest of the colony to allow them to mess with the atmospheric makeup of the training center more readily. What hurt the most was these were the pretenders, in Coop’s eyes. The wannabes.

A bulky, red-faced man in a pair of white shorts and an embroidered “Camp LUNA” polo sauntered out and extended his hand. Regis greeted him with an uncharacteristically warm smile, the two men sharing an embrace and a few words in private, Coop and Sam trailing behind. They exchanged glances, Sam knowing how much he hated the Luna facility and all the trainers and students associated with it. She’d made it clear that she thought this entire endeavor was rash, that it would be more damaging than good for him. Retreading on the Skidz fight made very little sense at this point in his career, that much he agreed with, but there was money to be made and it had been months since their last encounter.

“Coop, my boy, you remember Coach Lumiere.” Regis reached his arm out between the two men, a figurative olive branch after their last encounter, and Coop mangled his star pupil’s arm to teach him a lesson.

“Oh, I remember,” Cooper nodded at the man.

“Bygones and all that,” the coach said. “We’re happy to have you here and we’re very impressed with your uncle’s prudent business decision.”

“What business decision?” Sam asked from behind Coop.

“Yeah, what is he talking about, Regis?” Coop turned to his diminutive, scheming uncle.

“Look, kid, no offense or anything, but if the money train’s about to stop, I’ve gotta invest in the future to make sure I’m still in on the action.”

“Exactly,” the coach said. “Your uncle has made a generous donation to the facility and the team, and we are happy to welcome him on as a partner.”

“Partner?” Cooper scoffed. “Of these assholes?”

“Like I said, kid. I’m in this for the long haul. Not everyone can be a Coop Sabre, but they can’t all be duds.”

His stomach churned. It shouldn’t feel like a betrayal, but it did. Without Coop, his uncle would still be dealing in junk at his stall in the slums. Yeah, the bastard could sell a power converter to a cyclist or a beaten-up old jet rider to old folks with a walker, but there was no end game in that. No way out. Using his uncle’s complete lack of ethics to get better fights and more money had worked well for him, until now, it seemed, and his focus had shifted elsewhere. All the signs were pointing toward failure, just after one loss at the highest stage.

“Figures,” Sam snarked.

“You know what?” Regis turned to her. “You’re lucky to even be here. This is Sabre business, none of yours.”

“Fuck you, slimeball. Who was with Coop every damned day he was in that tank while you were off securing your legacy?” Sam stood in front of Coop, getting right in his uncle’s face. “Some of us actually give a shit about him.”

“Ladies, please,” Cooper said, wanting to diffuse the situation. “I’ve got Skidz in four weeks and my docs say I need at least eight. This ain’t where I want to be, but I gotta take what I can get.”

“Fine,” Sam gripped his hand, Coop returning the squeeze.

They’d gotten closer since all of this went down and the world seemingly either forgot about him, or turned their back on him. What had been a good relationship had grown stronger, something Coop learned was his own fault for letting Regis keep her at arm’s length. He was never making that mistake again.

“Well then,” the coach clapped his hands together. “We actually have a present for you, Coop.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, come on inside.” The coach led them into the pressurization chamber, where they all stood for an awkward moment before the cycle ran and the hatch hissed, before leading them further into the training center. “That last fight was a doozy. We were all rooting for you here, I’ll tell you that much. They all might be disappointed with you, calling you washed up or a bum—“

“What?” Coop interjected.

“—but here? You’re a damned legend. Them allowing Kriger to smash your bat like that was a damned travesty. So I had a new one built specially for you.”

“A new what?” he asked, apprehensive of this whole horse and pony show.

“This.” The coach motioned with an awkward dramatic wave of his hands toward a display case on a table, an aluminum bat resting on it like a trophy.

“A metal bat?” he asked.

“I know it’s not the same, but—“

“It’s better!” Regis interjected. “Buddy, I gave them the go-ahead on this. This one won’t get stuck in any asshole’s skull this time, and it packs a bigger charge. You gotta see it.”

“Your uncle’s right,” the coach said, beaming with pride. “The metal conducts electricity much better than the wood ever could with those barbs on it. This will really be something, especially in your capable hands. Here, take it for a whirl.”

It felt light in his hands, the rubber grip still fresh and alien-feeling to him. On it were a series of buttons, Cooper giving the bat a few test swings and noting how off the balance was compared to Guy. The buttons gave him pause, right by where his thumb rested, and he worried about accidentally pressing them and not having the same level of control.

“Go ahead, turn ’er on and give it a whirl.” Coach licked his chops, turning a deeper shade of red, almost purple. “Just stand back everyone.”

After everyone gave Coop a wide berth, he pressed the button, power surging through the bat, enough to make it quiver in his hand. The vibration took a few moments for him to adjust to. A cursory swing made lightning crackle from the bat, creating an arc that trailed behind it. Pressing the second button made the lightning travel along the metal shaft like a force field, ready to latch onto anything in the vicinity.

“Does it explode?” he asked, still unsure what to think about it.

“You won’t need it,” the coach said. “That’ll zap anything it comes into contact with.

“Yeah, but…is that approved?” Sam asked, as apprehensive as Cooper.

“We worked with the league on what voltages they allowed,” Regis beamed. “Ain’t she a beaut, Coop?”

“I guess.”

“Well then, let’s stop wasting time and get this training started.” Regis clapped his hands together, shooting an apprehensive smile to the coach.

Coop powered down the bat, still unsure how his uncle had decided this was a good idea or a suitable replacement for Guy. The balance was off, the style was different, the knot in his stomach grew, and everything inside him was screaming at him to stop, walk out the fucking door, and never look back. Get Sam and get the fuck out of there. Never had he felt so unsure about fighting. Still, taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, toward the training hall with his hunk of metal they called a bat in hand, into the unknown.

Eleven

One-Eyed Skidz Redux

To say things felt off leading into the Skidz rematch would be an understatement. The training happened and Coop’s timing never felt quite right, be it the bat or his impulses. All throughout the self-doubt simmered in the back of his mind, intensifying with every near-miss or wrong step. They were all too star-struck to notice his frustrations, at least. Hell, there were even a few who weren’t too bad and could make a go at the arena with more training.

Now, Coop paced on the dirt floor in his ready room, his uncle off to the side on a business call trying to book some of those Luna losers into fights. Using Coop as leverage, of course, because that was always a part of being Coop Sabre to him. Their relationship wasn’t quite in a good place, although things with Sam had never been better. She ran her fingers along the mended seam of his jacket to check for any frayed edges, Coop shrugging her off out of annoyance only to check himself and realize she was just trying to help.

“Don’t worry, it’ll hold up just fine, love,” he said.

“I know, I’m nervous is all.”

From the look in her eyes, he knew that wasn’t a lie, not that it made him feel any better. Sam had been there for him when his uncle, like the parasite he always knew he was, looked for a new host to suck dry. Family was family, though, even the leeches like Regis looking to make a quick buck.

“It’s just Skidz,” he reminded her, which in turn reminded himself. Speaking it aloud didn’t make it seem any easier. Coop was lucky in the fight against Kriger, in that Kriger didn’t give a shit about his damaged eye. He was just looking for the quick kill. Skidz? That was a different story and refusing to regenerate his eye out of pride and still hungry for revenge against Coop made him dangerous. It didn’t matter if their last fight went Coop’s direction and he’d dismantled him limb-from-limb, either. “I can handle him.”

“Yeah…”

He appreciated the unspoken part, the words he knew she was holding back because they were right there in his mind as well: what if he couldn’t? The new bat felt clumsy, and the weight was all wrong on it. While he’d love to smile and pretend good intentions mattered, what mattered most was that in combat and in training, this bat had served him no favors, which made him uneasy about fighting with it. Coop took a few tentative swings, cursing at how wrong it felt in his hands, the whoosh it made cutting through the air and how easy it was to flick the switches on accident.

“Hey kid?” his uncle called over his shoulder.

“What?”

“They started the countdown already,” Regis said, pointing overhead at the counter above the door.

“No fuckin’ warning or nothing?” This was worse than Coop thought.

“Tuup’s a shrewd businessman,” his uncle said. “I’ll talk to him, sort this out.”

“The fight is right now!” Sam shouted. “It’s too late for that.”

“Says who? Who gave you any right to get involved in this family or any—”

“Enough!” Coop shouted. “Uncle, you make your calls. Sam, I got this.”

The timer above clicked down, leaving sixty seconds and counting. Coop gripped the bat and leaned in toward Sam, planting a kiss on her cheek. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him in close with a tight grip. She was scared shitless, and she had every right to be after the last fight and how off Coop was.

“It’ll be okay,” he whispered while the clock ticked down. “I’ve got this.”

Behind them, the door groaned to life, light pouring in, illuminating them standing there alone amidst the chaos. Coop squinted at the growing light and the sounds of the fans and announcers, the countdown timer resting in a green glow in Zondian that he only knew through repetition meant it was fight time. Without another word, he nodded to Sam, her letting him go and watching while he walked out onto the packed dirt of the arena.

His boots crunched underfoot and the undulating sounds of the crowd flowed through his body, from his ears down through his veins. It was a power he’d missed while stuffed inside the Lunar training center with those wannabes. This was where the action was and where Coop belonged: among the elite of the deathmatches. Skidz wouldn’t get in his way, not this time, not ever.

Speaking of the bastard, his menacing self stood straight and tall, barbed spear in hand and multiple arms outstretched, while Coop swung his new weapon. That tall Brandian berserker wouldn’t intimidate him, not after all he’d been through already. This was a detour for Coop Sabre, not the destination. The klaxon blew and Coop rushed forward, not wasting any time. Skidz didn’t deserve all that Coop Sabre had to offer. Another few wins and Skidz would be in the rearview again and he could focus on Kriger.

Coop let out a bloodcurdling war cry, rushing the Brandian with his arms outstretched, dodging the predictable stab from the spear, rotating inward and swinging the bat in a mighty arc, smacking hard against Skidz’s shoulder to no big reaction. In the rush, his thumb had hit the switch and turned the damned bat off. He could feel the warmth emanating from Skidz’s flesh, the toxic coating dripping in anticipation. While Coop fiddled with the bat’s controls, Skidz swept the spear in a long arc, smashing against the back of his knees and sending him to his back.

“Motherfucker!” Coop shouted, still gripping the bat and trying to turn the charge on.

“This feel familiar, you bastard?” Skidz seethed over him, dangling the spear over his face again.

Not bothering to respond or wait for the blow, Coop slashed upward with the bat, the power vibrating through the metal bat while it clashed against the spear. The sparks weren’t there, although it was on, metal hitting wood giving very little in the way of the tactile feedback he’d grown accustomed to. Still, it was enough to deflect the blow, Skidz stabbing into the dirt again, just like the lummox was prone to doing.

He rolled back up to his feet, hoisting the bat high overhead and bringing it crashing down against the shoulder of the mighty Brandian, the poisoned, chitinous layer covering him crackling under the blow but it not breaking through. Not like Guy always did. Coop cursed under his breath, unprepared for the barrage of blows that rained in from Skidz’s fists, the spear still buried in the ground. There was no pattern, just raw rage while Skidz screamed and unleashed fury on Cooper’s face, causing him to drop the subpar bat to the ground with a thud while he covered up and weathered the storm.

A kick to the gut bought him some space, and Coop reached for Skidz’s massive spear instead of the bat, tugging it free from the ground and pointing it at the Brandian, who bellowed a mighty laugh at the scene. Coop jabbed at him a few times, backing the massive alien up only to laughter and hisses from him. He was still trying to get a feel for the weight of the shaft, how much exertion he’d need to stab through those tough plated layers into the flesh. Guy never had a problem cracking through any of it, the barbs small and sharp enough to break through, the weight of the bat giving him the right momentum and the charges blowing this bastard to bits.

“Clever human,” he hissed.

“Fuck off, Skidz.”

Summoning the power from his chest, he threw another kick, following up immediately with a thrust from the spear that made a dull thudding noise and got stuck. Pay dirt. Cooper looked down only to see Skidz’s two hands wrapped around the shaft, leaving his other hands free, pulling the spear in closer while Cooper attempted to break free. Skidz brought a forearm down on Cooper’s shoulder with a mighty thud, his silver jacket hissing from the touch of his flesh and the power of the blow dropping him to his knees. A scream followed and Skidz leaped into the air, crashing down with his head onto the ridge of Coop’s forehead.

Things flashed and faded, the scene blurring around him while he grasped at anything he could find. Skidz hovered over him, an apparition in the mist, his laugh echoing and bouncing off the walls of his mind while he hefted the spear up overhead. Shouting and noise filled the air, Coop fighting to remain conscious, his hand reaching up and touching the tip of the spear, grasping onto it with whatever might that remained before he felt the weight of Skidz’s body no longer on him and the cold darkness embraced him.

Twelve

Broken Again

If there was any rage left inside him, Coop would’ve been overflowing with it. Instead he sat a broken, shattered husk of himself staring at his wall wondering where he’d gone wrong. Sam felt awful, even though the chances were that she’d saved his eye from Skidz. Still, forcing a corner stoppage in a fight like that remained an unwritten misnomer in the league, a shameful way to lose. Not something he’d get over soon. Then there was the whole losing to Skidz thing, that was a bigger blow than a loss to Kriger.

Ugh.

She sat across from him on the couch, her hand on his knee while he stared off, still raw from the regen tank. It wasn’t her fault, every part of him knew that, but speaking the words out loud was almost impossible, considering how he felt. Everything was still too raw; what losing that fight meant for his career, his uncle moving on to other fighters and those assholes on the Moon looking to take his place. All of it was too fucking much to take in.

“Coop, I…”

“You know, he wanted my eye,” he said. “I know you knew that. You saved this for me, I want you to know that.”

“I know, I just…I know stopping the fight was the right thing and—”

“Please, I know,” he said. “I appreciate what you did for me.”

“But your career?”

“I’ll find a way, I guess. No, we’ll find a way.” Truth be told, he wasn’t sure what that way was, but there had to be something. “Maybe Regis has something for me.”

“Coop, you and I both know that lying sack of shit is out for himself.”

“I know.” It still stung. After all they’d been through, his uncle still saw him as an investment, but it was the reality. “That just means he’ll try to bleed this stone dry until I’m worth nothing for him. None of those boys on Luna are worth much of anything yet.”

“And you’re just gonna let him use you?” she asked.

“If there’s money to be made, Uncle Regis will be there.”

“So we do what, now? Wait for that creeper of an uncle to come knocking again? The last time he did it was this Skidz fight and look, babe, you weren’t ready for it. In fact, you’re lucky you didn’t walk away hurt from it.”

“Yeah…”

Not that her words were wrong, it was that he let his uncle push him into a fight before he was ready for it and he had paid the price. Whatever his career was now, it was his own damned fault for letting Regis push him around like he did. Now there he was, sitting around waiting for a call from his uncle with another fight, knowing there were diminishing returns in his fighting career in the eyes of someone like Tuup or his uncle.

“Oh, I got you a sort of present,” she said.

“What do you mean?” There wasn’t a bone in his body that was in the mood to celebrate anything, although he was trying to be mindful of snapping at her.

“A present. Here, hold on.” She disappeared into the bedroom and Coop settled back onto the couch, eyeing the console across the room, wishing he could jack in and tune out a favorite pastime of his post-fight. Instead, Sam was keeping him awake, alert and in the “now,” even if that now was one that didn’t give two shits about him or the pain he was going through.

When she returned, she was carrying a long and narrow box with her, wearing a difficult to decipher facial expression. It was a blend of apprehension and excitement, far beyond the usual range of passive, dismissive, or frustrated expressions she displayed. Whatever it was, he knew showing gratitude was a better look, even if it wasn’t something useful. As much as he disliked those assholes on Luna, in retrospect, the bat was a friendly gesture, even if the bat itself was terrible and nowhere near what he’d want.

“So, I’m not really sure what you’ll think of this.” Sam held the box out toward him. “I did a lot of digging trying to get this right, I even reached out to Kriger’s people and—”

“Kriger?” Coop froze at the sound of his name. What would she contact Kriger about? “What the fuck?”

“Just…open the damned thing, okay?”

Coop placed the box in his lap, wiggling the blank cardboard lid free to reveal a wooden bat with some wear and tear showing on it, laying in a bed of tissue paper. Both remained silent, Sam gnawing on her thumbnail while Coop stared down at it, unsure of how to react. It wasn’t Guy, that much was clear. Nothing would ever be Guy. After a few breaths, he gripped the handle in his right hand, tossing the box aside. On his feet, he choked up on it, taking a few test swings and whistling.

“So?” she asked.

“So,” he said, taking another big swing and smirking. “It feels fucking good.”

“You like it?” Her face lit up.

“It needs some modifications before I can use it, but yeah, it’s good.” Some of the tension in his chest released, a swell of emotions overcoming him.

“Oh babe, I know it’s not Guy. I tried, Kriger’s people were just rude, but I figured you could make this one your own and…it’s a new start, this one can be yours.”

Words didn’t seem to come to him. Instead Coop embraced Sam, who was unprepared for the rare outpouring of emotion from him. This wasn’t some haphazard attempt at replacing Guy. Oh no, this was something different. Sam gave him a chance to rebuild himself in more ways than one. It was a blank canvas for his gruesome art, ready for him to fill in the blanks and use this new brush to make a new Coop Sabre.

“I can’t believe it,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“This is the best gift I’ve ever received.”

“Oh, wow,” she said. “So, does that mean you’re out of your funk?”

“Sam, babe, I’ve got an idea. The phone stopped ringing, and the fights stopped coming, so I’m gonna go find myself fights. Just like the old days.”

“What exactly were those old days like?” she asked.

“Well, it’s gonna be different this time. I’m not taking Regis with me. You’ll come with me, right?” He didn’t need to ask, but wanted to, another sign of him thinking things through.

“Of course I will, but…where?”

“Ushinatta Station.” He had clear memories of his time on that station, filled with vagrants, vagabonds, and ex-cons, all itching for a fight.

“I’ve never heard of…what was it? Ushi-not?”

“Ushinatta,” he said. “None of those fancy gyms like up on Luna. This is the real deal. These are real fighters. Trust me.”

Thirteen

The Station of the Lost

Ushinatta wasn’t the most hospitable of locations. Conceived originally as a prison colony in the belt, a revolt left it lawless for a few years until a settlement blossomed from the seeds of chaos. Of course, Earth was displeased, but their hands were tied when the Intergalactic League of Planets got involved and declared it under their protection, making them the first independent Earth colony because of ILoP intervention. So, it existed far enough away from Earth and the inside colonies to be forgotten most of the time, serving as a destination for the wayward.

Like Coop.

Although he’d pressured Sam to stay behind and wait for him, she insisted on tagging along on his trip into the heart of darkness. He’d done his best to dissuade her from joining him on the trip, but didn’t blame her for the insistence after how wrong everything had been since the Kriger fight. It was her stopping the fight against Skidz that had saved his eye, even if it had earned him the ire and disdain of anyone still attuned to Coop Sabre, a fallen hero. Fuck ’em.

“Is that really it?” she asked upon their approach.

“That’s Ushinatta.” His uncle usually drove the ship, but Coop didn’t even bother telling him where he was headed. Regis despised Ushinatta, calling it a den of heathens and depravity. Perhaps it was, but it was also home to some of the most extreme fighters humanity had to offer; the ones that didn’t care about fame or glory certainly didn’t care about the Intergalactic Championship. Instead, they fought for themselves, what they considered their art and their brutality. Etched across the side of the station above the docking bay was a giant skull and crossbones, Coop letting a smile crack through while Sam clutched onto his shoulder. “Don’t worry, it’s all for show.”

“It better be,” she said. “What was wrong with the training facilities you had back home? You had everything there.”

“I had everything, but I still lost to Kriger.” When he said it out loud, it tasted more bitter than he intended it to be, but it sealed off the conversation for another time, at least.

Clearance came through on the board, Coop letting the station take over the landing process. Training at some sterile gym would not help him out, not when he was like this. Ushinatta was going to be different, it would be raw and painful. Sam didn’t know what to expect and there were very few words Coop had to soothe those fears. In part because those fears were founded in reality. This was punishment for getting too soft and forgetting who he was. The recycled air onboard Ushinatta was stale and metallic, just like he remembered, and he was getting excited.

“Is anyone going to meet us?” Sam asked.

“Here? Nah,” he said. “Nobody knows we’re coming. We’ll get ourselves a room for a few weeks and just take it all in.”

“So where’s this training, then?” He could hear the apprehension in her voice. “I thought you had some sort of plan.”

“Ushinatta doesn’t work like that. You just show up to the pit, toss your name into the lot, and fight. After a few fights, you can ask for someone,” he said.

“Don’t tell me, you already have someone in mind?” she asked.

“How’d you know?” There was that smile again. Just the thought of fighting the legendary TAKASHI got his blood pumping.

“If you think this’ll work, then I’m all for it,” she said. “Just…be careful, you know?”

“I can’t promise that,” he said. “All I can promise is I’m gonna be ready for whatever happens.”

Like all things, the station was not resistant to change. The halls were overflowing with ads and bright lights assaulting the senses without mercy. Street vendors cawed and clawed for business, Coop with his bag of clothes slung over his shoulder and the case carrying his newfound, still-unnamed bat with him. The idea of testing out his blank canvas excited him more than anything else. Ushinatta’s fighting pits were a place of legend, notorious for brutality and showmanship. Those rafters were filled with fans who loved blood and violence, but wanted a spectacle on top of the brutality. Going out there and one-shotting someone was a show of strength, sure, but those fans would prefer a knock-down, drag-out brawl between two competitors. Sam secured them a room nearby, but Coop was too amped up to not hit the pit first, descending into the underbelly of the already seedy station while she trailed behind him. They headed down a flight of metal stairs, into a room lit by a lone red light bulb, stickers and posters lining the walls. Ahead was a small booth, with a large disheveled woman behind a set of metal bars.

“Name?” she asked, pushing a clipboard between the bars to him.

“Coop Sabre.” He snatched the board and jotted down his name.

“Um, Coop?” Sam elbowed him from behind. “Shouldn’t we use an alias here?”

“Nah,” he said, returning the clipboard.

“Uh huh,” the woman said. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

“At least a few years, yeah,” he replied.

“Whatever. Down the hall here to the locker room. You remember how this works? Your name will be called and you fight.”

“Aye, I got it.” Her droll description immediately pumped him up. “I’m ready.”

“Good, and you, sweetheart?” she asked Sam. “Are you fighting?”

“Um, no, I’m his manager,” Sam replied.

“Managers, girlfriends, spouses, and everyone else has to wait in the stands. Come back here after his fight and I’ll let you back there if anything happens.”

“If anything happens?” Sam turned to him.

“Don’t worry, babe, I got this.” Coop leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Just wait for me, okay?”

“Coop…”

“What?” he asked.

“Be careful, okay? They’re all gonna be gunning for you when they figure out who you are.”

“This is Ushinatta,” he said. “Nobody gives a shit who I am here. I’m just another fighter.”

“I’m not sure it works that way anymore,” Sam said. “When was the last time you were here? Years ago? Before you became, well…you?”

“Okay, right? Yeah.” She had a point. Things weren’t static. Even Ushinatta Station had changed since he was last there. Coop Sabre may be persona non grata to the media, but they’d be gunning for him for sure. “Don’t worry. I got this.”

He could tell by the look on her face that she wasn’t comfortable with it, but this was why he wanted her to stay behind. This wasn’t for the weak of heart, nor was it something most fighters would do. But this was what Coop needed. Coop saw her off to the stands, then went down the dark hallway into the crowded locker room, straddling the worn wooden bench and sitting himself down before an open locker with his bag and case laid out before him. A hush came over the locker room, while the group of rough and battle-tested combatants glared at him.

“Is that really him?” a younger man asked another.

“That can’t be,” another voice chimed in.

“Get a good look,” Coop said, eyes scanning the room. “Because I’m gonna kick one of your asses out there tonight.”

“Where’s your cameras, pretty boy?” A rough-looking man, older, although hard to discern how much older from the scars and pock-marks on his face, placed his boot on the bench in front of Coop. “An enormous star like you would only slum it for a reason, huh? You here to make some big comeback, tell some story and take off?”

“Fuck outta here,” Coop said.

“Big stars like you don’t come here unless they got a reason. Want to feel better about yourself by smashing some poor sop’s face in or something?” He kicked Coop’s bag aside and straddled the bench, getting in his face. “I eat pretty boys like you for a snack. I don’t give a shit what happens under those bright lights in that fancy arena. Down here? This is real deathmatches.”

A chorus of voices agreed.

“So get your fancy ass outta here. We don’t want your kind,” he said.

“Sorry, pal, no can do.” Coop unfastened the case and pulled the new bat out. “I’m here to fight.”

“Oh, you hear that? He’s here to fight.” He turned to the crowd of fighters. “This asshole thinks he’s gonna have a fun little time with one of us.”

“Suppose I will.” Coop took a swing with the bat. “Break this bad boy in. Maybe it’ll be your skull it cracks against?”

“The fuck you say? Fuck this. Hey, Marta!” He bellowed toward the rotund woman from the booth, clipboard in one hand and marker in the other, standing by a large whiteboard.

“What now, Ramirez?” she asked.

“Put me down against good old boy Coop Sabre here. I want to give him a warm Ushinatta welcome.”

“That ain’t how this place works,” Coop said.

“Maybe before, but that was before Ruthless Ramirez showed up. You hear me, Marta?” he called.

“I heard you, Ramirez. Sabre vs. Ramirez is up next.”

“See? Simple.” Ramirez picked himself up, his long stringy hair cascading over his brown leather vest. “See you out there, Sabre.”

“Whatever,” Coop said.

Ramirez stood to encouragement and a few slaps on the back from the other fighters, pulling a giant cluster of old fluorescent light tubes taped together from the ground and slinging it over his shoulder, someone passing him a coil of chains that he strung up over his other shoulder, turning back and nodding at Coop.

“See you out there, pretty boy.”

Fourteen

Ruthless Ramirez

Coop gave up trying to find Sam in the crowd, instead focusing on the fight ahead. A chorus of boos and confusion filled the arena when they announced his name, emerging from the dressing room with his new bat slung over his shoulder, those boos remaining but a few scattered cheers erupting as well. Compared to the hostile, mostly alien crowds he was used to, any sort of warm response was a welcome change. This was night and day, though. The fighting pit was small, perhaps two hundred people scattered in the seats, a chain-link fence keeping the crowd away from the ringside area.

Everything about this place oozed drama, which meant a filthy old boxing ring sat in the middle of the fighting pit, along with drooping strands of barbed wire in place of ropes. There was something so visceral and raw about the setting, causing him to reminisce about when he started out. Coop rolled in underneath the barbed wire, an errant barb snagging onto his jacket, forcing him to tug free from it. Inside the ring, he unzipped the jacket and tossed it outside. Just an old, sweaty white tank top served as armor between him and further scars. The scars that lined his body were, in part, old ones, from back when he fought here. There weren’t fancy regen tanks then, just blood, gore, and the roar of this crowd.

Speaking of, the crowd roared at the sound of distorted synthrock over the speakers, lights flashing and Ramirez emerging from behind the curtain, the chain slung over one shoulder and the taped together tubes hoisted up over his head. Coop didn’t even have to guess if Ramirez was a favorite or not. The crowd told him everything he needed to know.

The scarred up combatant rolled the collection of tubes into the ring, reaching under and pulling out whatever tools were under there, littering the ringside area with them. Coop had faced down the toughest aliens in the galaxy. He wasn’t afraid of a step ladder or some stray lighting rigs. Ramirez stomped up onto the apron, holding his palm up and then running it along one barb, bright red blood running along his hand while the crowd erupted even louder. He wiped it against his forehead like a ritualistic war paint, staring down Coop.

“You ain’t ready for this, pretty boy,” he barked.

“Bring it.” Coop spun the bat in his hand, preparing himself for the bell.

In a flash, the bell rang, Ramirez spinning the chain in his hand like a lasso, with a flick of his wrist, shooting it toward Coop and flicking it back, just coming short of his face. The crowd gasped while Coop laughed at the display. This guy was good. He had them eating out of the palm of his hand. Ramirez followed up with another, Coop moving his head out of the way, then another, this one kissing his left shoulder with a sharp sting. The warmth of blood oozing from the fresh wound woke him up; this may be a show, but this guy meant business.

“Looks like pretty boys bleed red, just like the rest of us,” Ramirez goaded, rushing in before Coop could retort.

This time Coop was ready for it, knowing this wasn’t just a show. His bat rose up to meet the chain, it wrapping around the barrel. Seeing an opportunity, Coop tugged the bat with all his might, staggering the long-haired man forward, rotating his hips and driving the heel of his shoe into Ramirez’s gut.

Ramirez doubled over, hair flying out and obscuring his face. Coop kept the momentum up, bringing the bat back around and smacking him across the skull with a sickening crack that echoed through the arena. A hush fell over the crowd while Ramirez crawled toward the corner, still gripping onto the chain. A buzzer sounded overhead, Coop looking around confused, an energy swarming around the ring and him knowing immediately what happened: they’d electrified the barbed wire with explosives. He knew because this was where he got the idea for the exploding barbed wire for Guy in the first place.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

Turning back around, Ramirez was hurt and in trouble, but his instincts hadn’t failed him. In his hands he gripped the bundle of tubes, catching Coop unprepared square in the forehead. They shattered across his skull, shards of glass and powder erupting and clouding his vision. He clenched his eyes tight, attempting to minimize the damage, but the pain was just the same, staggering him backward.

A jolt of pain ran through his back, another explosion ringing out, this time louder and more intense. The heat from behind, mixed with the sting from the barbs, was overwhelming. He sunk back into the wire, knowing it would take a few more minutes before it recharged. His head hurt. Now his back and shoulders were throbbing, and the explosion had scorched him. The explosion made his ears buzz and reduced the pit sounds to just a disharmonious gargle. Coop’s grip on the bat didn’t relent. The chain untangled and Ramirez reeled it back in while he fought back to his feet.

Swinging the chain and staggering toward Coop, Ramirez was a bloody mess of a man. He shouted something at Coop, although it blended into the rest of the discord. With the flick of his wrist, the chain flew at him, Coop dropping down and narrowly missing the blow. Ramirez dropped his knee down across Coop’s neck, screaming out. The blow flattened him to the mat, his neck already burning, now throbbing. What followed were a torrent of blows from the balled up chain across Ramirez’s fist, Coop screaming out while blood dripped from his skull and obscured his vision.

“That’s what you get, you prick.” Ramirez’s voice punctured through the chaos.

He rolled out of the ring, under the barbed wire, Coop, still writhing in pain, unable to follow where his opponent had gone to. He staggered forward on his elbows, dragging himself forward toward the bat just in time for Ramirez to roll back in, another set of tube bundles in each hand. Forever the showman, Ramirez played to the bloodthirsty crowd who were crying for more, while Coop watched his own blood pool on the mat beneath him. Out of sheer instinct alone, Coop drove his heel into the man’s knee, kicking his leg out from under him. Ramirez fell to one knee, regaining his composure and looking to bring the bundle down across Coop’s face. Coop acted fast, bringing the bat up and clashing against the bundle, shattering them in the brute’s face.

“Agh! My fucking eyes,” Ramirez cried out.

“Fuck you.” Coop used the bat to push himself back up to his feet, spitting at the bloody Ramirez.

The bloody and battered combatant in a rage whipped the chain around the ring, almost catching Coop in the knee. It created distance, Coop in the corner while Ramirez fought to his feet, closing in. With a wild flick he shot the chain at Coop’s head, Coop ducking out of the way and the chain slapping the top electrified wire, wrapping around it and the charge traveling down the length of the chain to his body. Ramirez screamed out in agony, dropping the chain while he gripped at his singed hands.

“You bastard!” he cried out, still struggling.

Coop glanced back and saw his opening, looking out toward the ring post where the electrified charge box sat. Jackpot. Choking up on the bat, he hacked away at it, freeing it from the flimsy tape they affixed it to the ring with, leaving him with the charge box, some tape, and a strand of barbed wire attached to it. Ramirez struggled on the ground still, Coop holding his bat up high and letting out a war cry. It confused the crowd until they saw what he was doing; Coop was wrapping the bat in the barbed wire, having flicked the switch off on the charge box, walking from one side of the ring to the next, jerking the other end free. With some of the tape, he fastened the box onto the taper where the grip met the barrel. Holding it up high, he flicked the switch into on, power surging through the bat, the familiar warmth temporarily blocking out the pain.

Ramirez rushed forward with the bundle of tubes, Coop shuffling to the side. Ramirez turned around and found himself on the receiving end of the butt end of the bat, bloodying his nose and adding to the blood-soaked bout. Coop took a mighty swing with his new bat, smashing Ramirez across the chest with a smack and a boom, sparks showering both men and driving Ramirez back into the ropes and triggering another explosion.

Arms tangled up in the barbed wire, Ramirez was a bloody mess with his arms outstretched like something from a passion play, dropping the bundle of tubes to the mat. Coop brought the bat up high into the air while the crowd was abuzz, ready for the finishing blow. Coop snatched the bundle up and leaned it against Ramirez’s chest, the barely conscious man shaking his head and pleading.

“No,” he cried. “You fucker!”

Smash.

Cooper smashed the bat across the tubes, clenching his eyes tight to avoid the sparks and glass flying out, feeling their sting on his flesh. When he opened his eyes, the crowd was silent, as was Ramirez, who was drooped down, freed from the wire and slumped over in a heap, the fight over. Coop thrust his fist into the air, the whole pit erupting into cheers, glass bottles ricocheting off the fencing in between the stands and the ringside area.

Coop dropped to his knees, blood seeping from his arms, shoulders and forehead, staining his white shirt a deep shade of maroon in multiple places. He leaned in to check on Ramirez, who was still breathing.

“You okay?” he asked. “Ramirez?”

“You got me, pretty boy,” he muttered. “You fucking got me.”

Fifteen

The Legend

The crowd was intoxicating, difficult for Coop to leave behind with his new weapon of choice. Recreating Guy was something kicking around in his subconscious, a kernel of an idea that only came together when the time was right. Medics attended to Ramirez while Coop staggered through the curtain, bat in one hand and his jacket in the other. Before his eyes could adjust to the dimmer lighting, the rush of Sam’s body pressed against his hit him like a jolt of energy. She squeezed tight around his shoulder, stinging at his fresh wounds and making him recoil.

“Ah, fuck,” he cried.

“Coop, you asshole,” she backed off, noticing her hands covered in his blood. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been covered in your blood, but I just…”

“Hey, it’s good.” He shot her a grin. “You saw that, right?”

“It never gets easier to watch, you know that?”

“That guy could fight, huh?” he asked.

“I’ve never seen you fight like that before. It’s difficult to watch, Cooper.”

“This place is different,” he said. “C’mon, you mind helping patch me up?”

“Fine.”

His poor shirt had to be cut off of him, sticky with sweat and blood, clinging like a second skin. Sam tended to his wounds without saying much, cleaning him off and squeezing the sealing gel onto them. It wasn’t the same as having a regen tank around, but it’d do in a pinch. The adrenaline was still pumping from the fight, with the bat sitting on top of the case, the barbed wire he had haphazardly affixed to it sticking out, and would need some time with a set of pliers to secure it properly. Still, it made him smile to see such a magnificent thing, especially knowing where it came from.

“Hey, Sam…”

“What?” she asked, wiping sealing gel on his shoulder.

“I couldn’t do this without you, you know that?” It was the truth, perhaps something he hadn’t said aloud enough.

“No shit, dummy,” she said.

Across from him in the locker room was Ramirez being patched up, laid out on the narrow wooden bench while a few of the other combatants applied the same gel and dealt with his groaning. Fighting in the Intergalactic Deathmatch was prestigious and visible, but scenes like this didn’t exist there. After a fight like that, his uncle would pace around, calling other managers to secure sponsorships and new fights. Tuup would make an appearance, mumble something cryptic that got Regis upset and both would wander off, then it would be into the regen tank. It was a lonely existence. There was at least a sense of camaraderie here on Ushinatta.

Ignoring the aches and pains, Coop stood up while his body creaked and fought him. Sam shook her head at his stubbornness, Coop leaning down and planting a kiss on her cheek and lumbered over toward Ramirez. The battered combatant saw Coop approaching, pushing two guys attending to him away and sat up in what looked like a laborious decision. Slumped over, still a bloody mess with his tattered leather vest and hair hanging down, he glanced up at Coop.

“That was a fight,” Ramirez said.

“Good fight, brother,” Coop held his hand out.

“Yeah, good fucking fight.”

They clenched hands, Coop slapping him on the shoulder and giving a nod, letting him lay back down. Even though it had been years, the spirit of Ushinatta remained the same. This wasn’t about money or power, it was about something more. Ramirez was too rough around the edges to make it on the arena circuit. As much as those tubes—his signature weapon—hurt, they only stung, and the impact didn’t last long. They looked brutal and spectacular, but against a Kriger, or even a Skidz, the blow would get swatted away like a fly. That chain was no joke, though.

“C’mon,” he motioned to Sam. “Let’s go back and get some rest.”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

She hefted up his bag onto her shoulders, handing him the case with his latest bat creation jammed inside. On the way out, Marta was shuffling around in her office, Coop stopping to thank her for the chance to fight again. The older lady paused, glancing up at him and shaking her head.

“Reckless, you know that?” she asked.

“Thanks, though. I needed this.”

“Leaving so soon?” a voice came from the periphery.

“Huh?”

Coop turned to see a man leaning against the wall back in the hallway, shorter than he was and wearing a t-shirt with the sleeves torn off to show his heavily scarred-up arms. The figure stepped forward into the light to show off his pock-marked forehead and messy jet-black hair. Coop didn’t need an introduction, knowing full well he was in the presence of Ushinatta’s true legend.

“TAKASHI himself,” Coop said.

“So you remember,” he said.

“Who’s the guy with the scars?” Sam asked.

“Sam, this is TAKASHI, or, well…that’s what name he goes by in the ring. But—”

“TAKASHI will do,” he interrupted. “I’m surprised to see you back here. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Years, actually. Can’t believe you’re still going, either,” Coop said.

“Looks like you crafted yourself a new tool here tonight.”

“Yeah, just when I wasn’t expecting it, everything just fell into place.” If TAKASHI was there to antagonize him or catch up on old times wasn’t clear, leaving Coop guarded. “We were just gonna head in for the night.”

“Like I asked: leaving so soon?”

“The station? No, I’m not ready to leave yet.”

“Good,” TAKASHI said. “That was a good fight, the pit loved it, but…”

“But?” Coop asked.

“You and I both know that wasn’t a Coop Sabre fight.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. I’ve been in a funk, came here to clear my head, try out some new things,” Coop said.

“Some of us don’t have that luxury, Coop Sabre. To some of us, this is all there is. There are no bright lights, big money fights, fans, or groupies. Just Ushinatta and the pit.”

“Hey, I’m not a fucking groupie,” Sam said.

“Of course you aren’t,” TAKASHI said. “Groupies don’t come to Ushinatta, do they?”

“Man, I’m fucking tired. I got off my ship and stepped into a fight. Whatever this is, I’m not in the—”

“Be back here tomorrow night,” TAKASHI said. “Can you be ready by then? I’m not gonna let you off easy, you know that?”

“I wouldn’t expect it.” Of course he wanted to fight. If Coop was honest with himself, this was why he came all the way to Ushinatta: to be pushed to his limit by the only man he’d ever respected. “What about you? Can you still keep up?”

“Haven’t lost since you left, Sabre.” TAKASHI laughed, strolling back down the dark hallway toward the locker room, calling out behind him. “Don’t expect to lose any time soon, either. See you tomorrow, Sabre.”

Sixteen

The Eternal Lost

A healthy fear flowed through Coop’s veins, waking up the next morning, knowing TAKASHI would be waiting for him in the pit that night. TAKASHI was one of his toughest fights before he left Ushinatta. Although it pained him to admit it, he thought he’d be stuck there for the rest of his life until Regis came along. Regis hated Ushinatta, seeing it for what it was: a dead end for most of those fighters. Without regen tanks, it meant the worst injuries were treated with augmentations, most of which were illegal in the Intergalactic Deathmatch, leaving those fighters to languish.

“You never told me why this TAKASHI is so legendary,” Sam said while Coop stretched in their room, preparing for the fight. “I’ve never heard of him and I’ve been following the league for a while now.”

“Because most of these fighters never get off Ushinatta.”

“Because they’re no good?” she asked.

“Nah, are you kidding me?” Of course she wouldn’t know. She didn’t even know about Ushinatta in the first place. “TAKASHI in his prime could’ve destroyed Kriger.”

“Yet this is the first I’m hearing about him.”

“You didn’t get a good look at him, did you?” Coop asked.

“It was dark, and I was more focused on getting your stubborn ass back here to rest, so no, I didn’t look him over.”

“Figured as much,” he said. “So you didn’t see the leg.”

“What about his leg?”

“He suffered a severe injury and without regen tanks, they had to amputate part of his leg.”

“Shit.”

“I know,” Coop said. “TAKASHI has a cybernetic leg, fucker kicks harder than a mule. The league doesn’t allow augments to compete, so he couldn’t compete for them no matter what.”

“That guy you fought last night have an augment?” she asked.

“Not that I could tell. No.” Coop rubbed his shoulder, still sore from the battle. “Fucker hit hard, but it was mostly the chains. Lotta heart but no augments.”

“If that’s true, then why would he be here and not fight in the league?”

“You saw that crowd, didn’t you?” he asked. “Felt the energy emanating from them? That’s something you don’t get everywhere.”

“C’mon, Coop, you’ve fought for some massive crowds before,” she said.

“In the league it’s different. They want blood and brutality, yeah, but it’s more about teams. Alien races pulling for their favorite. It’s not about the fight or the passion, it’s politics and bullshit. This is different here.”

“You’re really a believer, aren’t you?” she asked. Her tone was half-joking, but Coop could feel the apprehension dripping from her.

“It’s hard to understand, I know…”

“Okay, then, I’m not getting it, but this place is something special to you. You got your new bat and won a fight, can’t we get out of here already? Without regen tanks and knowing the stakes at play here, I don’t like it, Coop. We’re here to get you back into the league, aren’t we?”

“I don’t know!” he shouted, balling his fist up and regretting it immediately. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Sam. You gotta believe me, but I don’t know why I’m here. Last time I was here, Regis had to drag me outta here. He booked some fight in the league and I thought it was all bullshit. I was ready to stay here.”

“You never told me that,” she said. “I thought this place was just some curiosity to you.”

“There’ve only been two places I thought I’d stay forever and die in: Birmingham and Ushinatta. Now I don’t know where I belong. Please, I promise after tonight’s fight we’ll get out of here, I just gotta do this.”

Coop sat down next to her on the lip of the bed, hands crossed over his legs, with his stomach turning in knots. Hearing it all out loud, he sounded like a fool, trying to recapture some past glory and looking to the past like this. He thought coming here to Ushinatta, without Regis, would help him get closure on that chapter of his life and control his own destiny. Instead, he just sounded like a broken down, washed up fighter on the station of the lost looking for any fleeting glory.

“Do you miss him?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“Who? TAKASHI? I’m fighting him tonight,” he said.

“No. I mean Regis.”

“Oh.”

Sam leaned in, nestling herself against Coop, who welcomed the embrace. He’d like to pretend Regis turning his back on him was expected or just business, but it was deeper than that and it stung. They were family. That had to count for something.

“I’m sorry, Coop,” she said. “I know he hurt you. He means a lot to you, but he’s just…he’s not here right now and I am.”

“I know, babe. I know.” He pulled her in tight, catching a whiff of her hair and the floral shampoo she’d used that morning. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate it. You don’t even know how much I do. Can you believe Regis gave me a fucking metal bat?”

“He’s an asshole. Of course he would.”

“Yeah, well, he’d be mighty pissed knowing I’m back here,” Coop said. “He fucking hated this place and was happy to get me away from here. As much as I hate to admit it…he was probably right.”

“You know what they say about broken clocks, right?” she asked.

“Broken clock? Not really.”

“Old clocks were mechanical, all wound up and stuff,” she said, pantomiming clock hands spinning with her fingers. “If the battery ran out or they weren’t wound often, they’d stop, and it’d be right twice a day. Even a broken clock is right twice a day was the old saying.”

“No shit?” he laughed. “That’s a new one by me.”

“So?” she asked. “Are you ready to go fight this legend or what?”

“Then we’re out of here,” he said. “I promise.”

“I’m gonna hold you to this. No big injuries tonight, okay?” Sam picked herself up and headed toward the door. “This is the start of something new, Coop. You just gotta give it time.”

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Gonna go look around while you get ready, make a few calls. You know? Manager stuff.”

Her lips tasted sweet when she came in for a quick kiss, Coop pulling her down toward the bed while she laughed and pushed him off her. Coop sat back, raising his eyebrows at her.

“I’m serious. Give me some time, you asshole,” she laughed.

“Fine, go already. Manager stuff.”

Seventeen

Wild Thing

Inside the locker room on the second night, the mood had shifted. No longer were there sidelong views and whispers. Coop Sabre was back and not just a tourist or for publicity. Oh no, he was there to fight. Even after the beating he took, Ramirez showed his banged up and bandaged face, shaking Coop’s hand while the board filled with names. Coop didn’t have to look at the board. He knew what was coming, who it was, and what to expect. That meant pacing around the room.

Fighters came and went, each injury more gruesome than the last filtering through after each fight. It became abundantly clear to Coop how important Ramirez was; he helped direct traffic, encourage and hype fighters up, then cool them down when they got back after a fight. That was the role TAKASHI used to occupy back when Coop breezed through before, meaning TAKASHI had become more elusive with Ramirez taking his spot.

“So, where’s TAKASHI?” Coop asked Ramirez.

“What do you mean?”

“Last time I was here, he was the one back here taking care of everyone. I know he’s kicking around,” Coop said. “I just expected to see him doing this still.”

“Nothing lasts forever, right?” Ramirez asked. “After I took him to a draw last year, he did that thing he does…you know what I’m talking about?”

“Where he frowns, crosses his arms and speaks in a low gravelly voice?” Coop couldn’t help but remember the last time they’d had that talk, the night before he left.

“Yeah, you know what I’m talking about,” Ramirez laughed. “We had that talk after our fight, only it was about him stepping back.”

“You mean retire,” Coop said.

“In TAKASHI terms, yeah. Not that he’s sticking to it. Tonight’s the first time he’s stepped back in the ring. That’s a big deal, I hope you know that.”

“You weren’t around when I was here, I don’t think.” Coop took a deep breath, trying not to let the moment overwhelm him. He knew TAKASHI was getting older and fighting less, but not that he’d stopped completely.

“Nah. I was here, but not fighting yet.”

“So you saw it, then?” he asked. There was no need to quantify further. If he was around, he’d know.

“You mean your last fight here? Yeah, I saw it. That’s why I wanted the first crack at you. Pride in Ushinatta. Showing you what happened to the guy in the crowd who saw you unseat the king and then just…leave.”

“That wasn’t great of me, I know that now.”

“There’s a lot more to this place and these people than most think.” Ramirez paused for a moment, glaring back at the board and the old lady with her marker. “I think they’re ready for you now. Right?”

“The ring’s all set up,” she barked back.

“Thanks.” Coop offered a hand to Ramirez, him pausing for a moment before taking it and nodding.

“Good luck out there,” Ramirez said. “You’re gonna need it, wild thing.”

Hearing that name again sent a shiver down his spine. From down the hall, he heard the swell of a guitar, knowing he wasn’t just a distant memory to Ushinatta, but something much more important. The song was ancient at this point, but had become his calling card at Ushinatta, fitting to his fight style and attitude. Drums pounded and the female vocalist shouted out the first few notes, the crowd joining in while Coop gripped his new bat and adjusted his jacket. The cries sent chills down his spine.

“WILD THING!”

That was his calling card. Coop burst through the tattered old black curtain to the roar of the crowd while the song pulsated through the fighting pit. In the sterilized world of the fight league, he was the lone human who stood defiant to races of bigger, badder aliens, and had fallen. Here he was a legend, a god among the rabble who battled among the legends and lit Ushinatta ablaze before his uncle scooped him out of the relative obscurity of the Ushinatta fighting pits to better utilize—or monetize—his talents. He’d forgotten the power of that song, the sound of the crowd while he sauntered into the ring. Some pelted drinks at the chain-link fence, the fence catching the cups and bottles but still splashing on him.

Coop soaked it up, taunting them and eyeballing the ring. Much like the previous night, the ropes had been replaced with barbed wire, but now boards lined the outside with charge boxes, much bigger than just the ones electrifying the wires. He swallowed hard, knowing what was in store for them and how TAKASHI was the real wild man, assembling the deadliest of deathmatches for an old rival. Rolling under the barbed wire, Coop raised the bat high in the center of the ring, soaking it all in before his music faded and the familiar drum beat and wailing guitar hit from TAKASHI’s music.

The crowd needed no further prompting. This was his home, and these were his people. According to Ramirez, it’d been years since TAKASHI stepped into the ring. While it was a homecoming for Coop, there was no way he was the favorite of this crowd. His old rival emerged from behind the curtain, carrying the largest bundle of tubes Coop could imagine, taped together to form a crucifix. TAKASHI was never one for subtlety, carrying it over his shoulder while the crowd erupted. He pumped his fists while the chanted along with his music, waiting for the belted out chorus to chant, “THIS IS WAR!”

This was his moment, Coop thought to himself. TAKASHI chose when he wanted to fight again and who, and he chose Coop. Both men stood across the ring from each other; Coop with his new bat in hand, TAKASHI with his crucifix slung over his shoulder while a hush came over the crowd. History was about to be made in Ushinatta, with this being the final meeting between the man once known as the “Wild Thing,” Coop Sabre, and the eternal champion of the fighting pits, TAKASHI. Coop slid his jacket off, tossing it out of the ring, TAKASHI following suit with his elaborate red vest, exposing his scarred chest. The man had at one time been solid muscle, but now had a paunch that hung over his red, flame-emblazoned pants. A haggard looking older man in full protective gear stepped in between the combatants, raising his gloved hand up, instructing them to wait for his mark.

“Ready?” He turned to Cooper, who nodded, then over to TAKASHI. “Ready?”

TAKASHI nodded.

“FIGHT!” The referee brought his hand down, the bell ringing and the adrenaline pumped in Coop’s veins before he charged in, TAKASHI charging back.

Eighteen

Double Deathmatch

Sparks flew from Coop’s bat, an arcing shot going wide and coming down hard against the top rope of barbed wire. Over the sound of the chaos, Coop could hear TAKASHI chuckling. The cross of tubes was coming down at him fast, Coop planting his boot into the gut of his elder, who dropped the crucifix. Everything was so loud, making focusing difficult considering the circumstances. Coop grabbed onto the nape of TAKASHI’s neck, trying to gather up the momentum and crash him into the ropes, TAKASHI dropping to his knees to save himself.

Not that Coop was underestimating TAKASHI, it was that he’d spent enough time away from the station fighting aliens and fighters trained for the fight league’s style that he didn’t see the kick coming at the back of his knee. Before he could react, Coop was flat on his back, the bat bumping off the mat just out of reach.

TAKASHI cried out and out of the corner of his eye, Coop saw someone toss something to him. A smaller bundle of tubes rested on his chest and his opponent leaped into the air, bringing his knees down hard onto his chest, exploding the tubes on impact, the sharp, burning pain making Coop cry out.

The fans were heating up, and another bundle of tubes were passed into the ring. The crafty veteran hoisted it up high, Coop fighting back up to his knees to avoid the blow only for TAKASHI to catch him, driving his elbow down across Coop’s nose and staggering him. Holding the light tubes out against Coop’s chest, he only had enough time to tense up and clench his eyes before the kick came, TAKASHI’s shin smashing the tubes right into Coop’s chest and neck before exploding, sending him crashing back into the electrified barbed wire that zapped and exploded around him.

“Fuuuuuck,” Coop shouted, tangled up in the ropes.

“Didn’t think you’d underestimate me like this,” TAKASHI stalked around the ring.

Coop glanced back at him while the smoke cleared and the smell of burning flesh and fabric seared his nostrils. The bastard had his bat and was winding up a shot. Letting out a primal scream, Coop tore himself off the barbs that tore at his flesh, ducking under the shot, the bat smashing against the ropes and sending a shockwave through the air and left TAKASHI tied up in the ropes.

Having to grit his teeth through the pain, Coop rolled up to his feet and lunged at his old friend with a giant right hook that staggered the man. This was his opening, Coop following up with a looping left hand that connected on the jaw, loosening his grip on the bat and leaving the weapon tied up in the barbs. With TAKASHI bent over, Coop brought his right hand up with an uppercut, knuckles cracking against his jaw. His hand jutted out, catching the steel ring post and keeping himself from careening into the exploding ropes, a few minor cuts already open across his shoulders, forehead, and chest, leaving Coop wondering how awful he looked after his trips into the barbs. Gathering up his strength, he planted on the ball of his left foot, swinging his hips and bringing his leg around in a beautiful arc with a hook kick, feeling his heel make contact and his adversary flying into the ropes, setting off an explosion that toppled Coop into a heap.

The referee came over and checked on Cooper, his voice reverberating like he was calling from deep inside a tunnel, Coop waving him away to check on TAKASHI, who laid arms extended in the ropes, crucified and a bloody mess surrounded by smoke. Coop knew better than to expect anyone to stop a fight in that pit with TAKASHI unless he called it himself. One trip into the ropes wouldn’t finish a living legend, even if he was physically done.

In fights like these, there was too much at stake and finishing fast was the key. Those explosives he saw outside? They were usually set on a timer that stopped for no one. Although unspoken, both men knew stepping into that ring that night that if they set the explosive boxes up, there would be a big finish, like it or not. Coop had no plans to remain in that ring to see it, though.

“Just give up already,” Coop said. He knew it wouldn’t be that easy, but hoped they could call it a night. Blood dripped down his back and stained his shirt. Sam was gonna be pissed at another blood-soaked shirt and sets of cuts to mend, but she didn’t understand being in that moment. He’d have to make it up to her, though. She deserved better than a constant bloody mess on her hands.

There in the ropes hung his newfound tool of destruction, Coop tugging it free while the crowd watched with bated breath for his next move. TAKASHI was untangling himself, a younger man from the locker room helping to free him from the barbs while Coop waited and lined up his next shot. None of this would fly in the fight league. There were no pauses in action or agreements between competitors to not just try to murder each other. The bloody mess of TAKASHI staggered forward, nodding at the bat and smacking his bloody chest with his now crimson-speckled taped hands.

“C’mon!” he cried out, the fans erupting. “Hit me!”

“Tak,” Coop said. “Don’t make me…”

“Hit me!” he shouted, smacking his chest again. “Right here, have some balls!”

“Fine!” Coop channeled his energy, smacking the bat across his mentor’s chest with a pop and a thud, the explosion crackling. TAKASHI staggered backward, turning back to Cooper with his chest dotted with long scrapes seeping blood. He smacked his chest again. “Tak, no…”

“What are you afraid of?” he called out. “Fucking hit me!”

Sucking the air in between his teeth, Coop lined up another shot, putting more strength into it.

Crack. Bang.

The smell was worsening. The welts on TAKASHI’s chest were a bright shade of red, deep scrapes running along where the bat had hit him, openly bleeding. Cooper didn’t hesitate this time, smacking him in the chest again with the bat. A siren went off in the arena, a countdown timer starting at 30.

“Fuuuck!” Cooper screamed out, bringing the bat across TAKASHI’s chest again and again. Four times now, his mentor still standing. TAKASHI pointed at his chin, begging him to take the big shot. Coop threw the bat aside, cracking TAKASHI with a right hand while the audience ooh’d.

“20 seconds!” the announcer crowed.

Cooper reared back and pushed TAKASHI into the ropes—far easier than before—like the life force was fading from him. The explosion went off, TAKASHI tearing himself away and coming back with a headbutt right across the nose, blood exploding out while Cooper’s vision flashed at the blow. Protective glass shields emerged between the crowd and the ringside area, pock-marked with battle damage from previous double deathmatches. TAKASHI smashed his elbow into Coop’s jaw, Coop fighting to remain upright. Calling out, the guy at the ringside slid the giant mass of tubes taped into a cross before TAKASHI, Coop watching it slide in between the two of them.

His mentor’s hands gripped his head, tucking it under his arm, then tossing his arm over his shoulder, grabbing his waist and scooping him up off the ground, legs up in the air. It all came crashing down in an instant, Coop’s weight driving down across his neck and shoulders while the clock ticked down, head-first onto the tube cross, them bursting from the impact.

Fighting on sheer instinct alone, Cooper staggered to his feet, TAKASHI there to greet him, throwing another elbow that Cooper absorbed, causing him to let out a cry. Gathering up all his strength, he smashed his fist against the cheek of his old friend, following with a big left hook.

“TEN! NINE! EIGHT!”

Cooper grabbed TAKASHI’s head and tucked it between his legs, reaching down and grasping around his waist, hoisting him up onto his shoulders and crashing him down onto the mat with a thud, the back of his head and shoulders bouncing before he came to rest on the ground. The referee was already in a defensive posture, readying himself for the explosion. Cooper realized there was no stopping it now.

“FIVE! FOUR…THREE…”

In panic, realizing neither man would escape the blast, Coop dove onto his old comrade-in-arms, covering his face with his arm, cradling him close to protect his face and eyes. Defeating him was one thing, but he couldn’t bear to see him hurt further.

“TWO…ONE!”

The explosion roared, deafening and all around him, the heat unbearable while he bore down on top of his old friend. Coop roared out in pain at the explosion, holding on while the smoke filled his lungs and everything melted into confusion. Everything smoldering around him, Coop sank back to his knees, able to see parts of the crowd through the smoke while they watched in awe. His opponent grumbled and stirred on the mat beneath him, sitting up to bring the two men face to face. TAKASHI mumbled something but Coop’s ears were still ringing, pointing at them and shrugging, which made TAKASHI laugh. A bloody hand reached out and grasped him across the nape of his neck, Coop returning it and bringing their foreheads in close.

“You didn’t have to do that,” TAKASHI said.

“What?” Coop yelled, hearing it but not believing it. “I did what you would’ve done.”

“Then you’re a fool like me.”

His rival pulled him in closer for an embrace, the smoke clearing enough for the crowd to see both men okay and embracing, cheering them on. Together, they stood up, TAKASHI raising Coop’s hand up high with his left hand, the right clutching at his chest while blood seeped out from his old scars and the new scrapes and cuts. The ring crew clipped at the barbed wire to create an opening, both men staggering to the back while the crowd urged them on. TAKASHI stopped and took a bow, urging Coop to do the same, the crowd eating it up before they left the raucous pit and stepped through the curtain where the entire crew and fighters were waiting. Rapturous applause rumbled through the locker room.

Within an instant, Sam rushed to catch an unsteady Coop, his arm bracing himself against the cold concrete wall. She did so without hesitation, not worrying about the blood and sweat, grabbing his arm and wrapping it around her shoulder to allow him to shift his weight onto her. Together, they stumbled forward through the throngs of supportive fighters and onlookers until they reached a bench and she let him down, giving him a visual inspection and laughing.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re a fucking mess, you know that?” she said.

“Thanks, Sam,” was all he could muster. They locked eyes for a moment and she shook her head.

“Oh Cooper, always going too hard.”

“Something like that.” The pain was hitting him now, his body covered in cuts, bruises and burns. “I’m in pretty rough shape, I can tell.”

“Um, yeah.” She was tending to him with a can of the sealing spray, each squirt from the bottle a new world of pain that he flinched through. “So, you remember how I went off before to do manager things?”

“Um, yeah, I guess so.” What was she up to? He’d let her say whatever she had to, but his guard was up after all of Regis’ little “surprises” over the years they had worked together. Not that Sam would be like that.

“If it doesn’t hurt too much, turn around right about…” there was a dramatic pause. “Now.”

“Fine, but—” Coop craned his neck and shoulders to the side, aching jaw dropping when he saw that old bastard himself, hunched over with a dour expression on his face. “Uncle Regis?”

“Hey, kid,” he grumbled. “I, uhh…Yeah, I kinda lost my head for a moment there.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Sam here called me, told me you were back here and hey, wait.” He raised his hands up. “Before you get mad at her, she told me you were fighting, and it was your choice. You know how much I hate this stinking place, but she told me it was your choice and what you needed.”

“It was,” he said. “I had unfinished business here.”

“I know, I know, and look, that was mostly my fault, I guess.”

“You guess?” Coop laughed at his uncle’s audacity.

“Okay, it was my fault. I’m sorry. Look, I’m trying to apologize here. She called me up, told me where you were, what you were doing and—”

“You tried to get him to stop me?” he turned to her, lost.

“Listen to me, kid,” Regis said. “She did nothing like that. On the contrary, so set me straight. Told me how it was and how I was being. I came here to support you. That was one helluva fight out there.”

For the first time in a long time, Cooper’s emotions got the better of him. Maybe it was the fight, or his uncle, or having someone like Sam there to support him for once in his life, but he couldn’t control himself. Tears streamed down his cheek. Coop let himself get lost in the moment, Sam cradling his head in her hands and kissing the top of his head.

“It’s okay,” she said. “It’ll be okay.”

“I love you.” The words had been spoken before, he’d just never felt them. Letting the weight of those words wash over him felt like someone had lifted a weight from him.

“I know,” she said. “I know.”

Nineteen

Reunion/Departure

It pained Coop to admit it, but Regis being back in the mix was comforting. Not that Sam wasn’t up to the task of helping him with his career, but Regis had been there from the beginning and his lapse hurt more than he was willing to admit. Coop was sitting backward on the toilet in the cramped bathroom in their rented room in Ushinatta while Sam worked away at the wounds on his back, alternating between applying numbing gel, stitching him shut, and following it up with a sealant. Definitely a far cry from the life of relative glamour that came with fighting for the fight league and their expensive regen tanks.

“This is madness. You both know that,” Regis said, pacing around outside the room. “I can have a regen tank here in twenty minutes.”

“There’s no regen tanks on Ushinatta,” Coop said.

“Of course not,” Regis scoffed. “A bunch of backwards assholes, the whole lot of them here. Psychopaths who think scars make them tougher. You want to end up like TAKASHI with a mechanical leg?”

“He kicked me with that leg a few times, Uncle. It hurt like hell.”

“And it’s illegal in the league!” Regis shouted. “Get this through your thick skull! You fuck that eye up again and they’ll need to do a synthetic one. You think that goes over well? What about that neck of yours? You remember what the docs told you. Break that again and that’s it. Show’s over. That’s the end of your run, kid.”

“Regis!” Sam shouted. “Enough of this. I didn’t call you here to argue. Let me at least finish stitching him up.”

“You do that, I’m calling in a favor, I’ll have a tank here in no time.”

Those good feelings about his uncle were difficult to hold on to in times like this. He appreciated his uncle’s concern and that Sam could stuff her disdain for him long enough to call him and invite him to the fight. Coop understood why Sam disliked Regis and found it difficult to disagree with her. Regis was an asshole and self-serving at best. Still, Regis was his uncle and the only family he’d ever known. Even if he refused to listen or be reasonable.

“Uncle, Sam invited you here out of the goodness of her heart,” Coop said. “A goodness neither of us can understand sometimes. Please refrain from being an asshole for a few minutes.”

“I’m looking out for you! Why doesn’t anyone see that? I came out here to this shit hole of a station to see you fight. I’m supporting you and now I’m trying to get you healed up so we can get the hell off of this floating pile of junk and back into the action.”

“Back into what action?” Coop was exhausted, coming down from the high of the fight and wasn’t in the mood for his uncle and his cryptic nonsense. “You mean trying to sell myself to those assholes again? Or back to Luna to train with your boys? Fuck that.”

“Look, I know you disagree with that,” he said. “I’m not getting any younger. I can’t do this all the time, kid. You don’t need me, you’re a grown man making his own decisions. Clearly. If I were managing you, there’s no way you’d be here, drowning your sorrows in these masochistic, bloody brawls or simmering in your stimnets like you do.”

“I ain’t touched the stimnet in ages now.” That was another thing he grew tired of explaining to his uncle, who didn’t understand Coop’s mood swings or need to unwind. “Tell ‘em, Sam.”

“Yeah, we’ve been too busy for that.”

“No shit?” Regis said. “Well, you’ve been good for one thing, then, Sam.”

“Oh, fuck off already!” Coop exploded. “I’m tired of you treating us like this! She’s done more for me than you could ever dream of. She’s not doing this for herself like you are, Uncle! This is all about you, all about you making money and turning your profits.”

“Fine, you want me gone? I’m fucking gone,” he said. “It was a mistake coming here. Good luck with your little groupie here. Keep the regen tank I ordered for you as a parting gift. I don’t give a shit. Rot here for all I care.”

Sam crossed her arms and was ready to boil over, watching while Regis stomped out of the room. They remained in silence for a few moments, the air thick and Coop unsure if he should run after him or let him go. Something about this felt more permanent, like the bond between the two was precarious enough and this was a breaking point.

“I’m sorry he’s like this,” Coop said.

“It’s not your fault. I’m sorry I even called the miserable prick. Shows me what I get for trying to do the right thing.”

“No, it’s not your fault. Not at all.” Coop rubbed her shoulder. “He’s the one who’s miserable. I’ve always been the only person in his life. Even then, he couldn’t see beyond himself. Regis is just a miserable prick and takes it out on everyone. I appreciate the gesture, you’re always trying.”

“Truth be told, I wanted his help, too,” she admitted.

“With what?”

“This whole management thing. He has more connections than I do. This place means something to you and you can take care of it, but if you want another fight in the league? I don’t know who to talk to, what to do, I just…”

“Don’t worry about it. I have a contract with them. Just call up Tuup and say I’m ready for another fight. Doesn’t matter the fight. Anything.”

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Although his shoulders ached and muscles burned and there would be fresh scars on his body, Coop had gotten more than he ever imagined out of his trip to Ushinatta. “Although there’s one thing I still want to do.”

“What’s that?”

“Leave my little gift to Ushinatta. If they’ll want it or not is another story altogether, but Regis has a regen tank coming? Just send it right to the fighting pit, see if they can use it.”

“Let me go down to the dock, I think I can arrange that.”

“Of course, you’re my manager.”

Coop watched while she departed and pulled up his console, sending a quick message to TAKASHI.

You’re gonna hate me, but enjoy.

Twenty

The Long Road Home

There was something to be said for quiet. Existing within your own mind in a time and place with no other noise. Coop’s small spacecraft was a prize from one of his first big victories in the arena, when he’d dismantled Zeke, a tough little Zondian. That was the beginning of his ascent, and one of those moments where it was possible to pinpoint his descent into misery. Sam being by his side made it easier to avoid jacking into the stimnet and losing himself, even if there was a magnetic pull, an itch he needed to scratch. She’d never broached the topic with him like his uncle did, but it remained unspoken that Coop needed to get that under control and avoid it.

TAKASHI’s response to the regen tank was a simple “thanks” and nothing more, Coop understanding it was a risky move, but it was his way of giving back and attempting to absolve himself of the guilt of once again bailing on Ushinatta. They lived by their own code there, and as much as Coop wanted to be like them, his life took a different turn and if he belonged anywhere, it was back in the arena. Fighting was in his blood and not something he was willing to walk away from, or retire to a life of blood and guts on the station.

“We’ve got a few offers already,” she said.

“Offers for what?” He didn’t need to ask, but was lost in thought and blurted it out, regardless.

“Fights, obviously.”

“Oh, wow. So you’re already in contact with Tuup,” he said. “That’s good. I wasn’t expecting anything so soon.”

“I’m not gonna lie to you, the money on most of these isn’t great.”

“How bad are we talking?” This is what he was worried about. His uncle was an asshole, but knew how to negotiate a deal. Or at least did, back when Coop was on top. This wasn’t Sam’s fault, but he couldn’t help but wonder what Regis would dig up for him.

“Fight in the backwoods of Ogden against the Sluglord Vella?”

“Are you fucking with me?” He turned to her to see a wry smile, although he still didn’t know if she was serious or not. “You’re fucking with me.”

“No, that’s an actual offer.” She turned her screen toward him.

“For fuck’s sake,” he said. “I’ve fallen that far?”

“Sorry, babe. That’s the best offer out of them, although…”

“Although, what?” He hated to be left hanging like that.

“Look, you aren’t gonna like this. Not even a little, so I’m not showing you.”

“Is the money better? Is it a better venue? Tell me.”

“It’s maybe a better venue, I’m not sure what you’ll say about it other than you dislike it.”

“More than fucking Ogden?”

“That’s…up to you. The pay is better.”

“Fine, I’ll bite,” he said. “How much better?”

“Double.”

“Then fucking hell, why aren’t we jumping on that one?”

“Because it’s on Luna.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Anger welled up and crashed through his body in the form of his fist hitting the dashboard. “Not fucking Luna!”

“Right. That’s why I didn’t bother with it.”

“Okay, fine. Wait. Wait,” he said. “Before we turn this down, who is it?”

“You already said you don’t want to fight on Luna, so—”

“Just tell me already!”

“Robert Burns,” she said.

“Who the fuck is Robert Burns?”

“He’s…from Luna,” Sam said. “You trained with him.”

“There were like twenty people training there.” His agitation levels were only rising further. Perhaps he should’ve listened to her and not pushed on this. “Which one was Robert Burns?”

“Big guy, bulging muscles, blonde spiky hair with a square face? Eyebrows were so blonde it looked like he didn’t have any, remember?”

“Oh fuck that guy,” he said. “I’m not afraid of some big bastard.”

“I know you’re not, but I still think this is a mistake.”

“The mistake would be for me not to flatten him. If this is what I need to do to get back into the mix, so be it. The money is fine, I’ll go back to Luna and crush his roided out ass.”

“Cooper, please,” she said. “Can we just drop this? I know Ogden is a shit hole, but wasn’t this always your thing? Fighting aliens?”

“Yeah! I smash fucking aliens,” he said. “But if I gotta smash a few people, you know I’m game for it. That’ll show Regis, that asshole.”

“Don’t you understand? That’s why I’m not telling you not to do this, Coop. Because of Regis.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he said. “You don’t want me fixating on my asshole uncle or trying to impress him or—”

“Listen to me, Cooper! Your uncle is managing him. He’s gonna be in his corner for this fight.”

That hit him like a Zondian headbutt. Subconsciously, Cooper knew his uncle had a vested interest in those Luna losers, but never thought he’d try to arrange for a fight between one of those dickheads and Cooper. Swelling inside him was a range of emotions he hadn’t experienced in ages; from rage to sorrow and everything in between. Cooper picked up the stimnet nodes and paused, turning to Sam.

“Take the fight.” That was all he could muster before fixing the nodes to his temples and pulling the lenses over his eyes, sinking into the familiarity of the stimnet overwhelming him.

Twenty-One

Low

It was approaching zero hour, with the fight on Luna a week and a half away, and Coop couldn’t muster up the energy to pick himself up off his couch, unplug from the stimnet and hit the gym. Sam had left another message for him, which Coop ignored, just like the last few. The last time he answered one of her calls was four days prior, where he explained he’d be at the gym shortly, he just needed some time to himself.

Subconsciously, he knew what he was doing and didn’t want to push her away. After she’d done so much for him, it was wrong and in contrast with what he knew was best for him, but that darkness shrouded his every move. Betrayal had never hit him this hard before, especially not with Regis. Expectations with him were always low and an understanding was in place between the two men.

While Coop navigated through a hyperspace simulation, droning music in the background with flashing lights that left him lethargic and numb, he accepted his fate. Coop Sabre was washed up. Any attempt to recapture what he had prior was lost in the churn. Even his sleazebag of an uncle knew the writing was on the wall. Sam tried. He appreciated the effort and all, but understood that it was hopelessly spent on someone like him and pushed him to tune out and give up. Time slipped away from him inside the stimnet, the occasional alert to a missed call or message pulling him out. For now, that was all he could bear, though. Life in the outside world came with nothing but pain and sorrow.

“Get up,” a voice echoed around him. “Get up!”

“W-what?” His own voice was thin and distant when spoken aloud. The voice wasn’t coming from inside the stimnet, he didn’t think. “Who’s there?”

“For fuck’s sake, Coop,” the voice said. “You’re a mess.”

“Wait, no.” In a mild panic, he reached his hands out, wondering if he was hallucinating, realizing it felt like someone was inside his flat. “Wait, don’t—”

Like a flash, the real world returned to him, his stim nodes torn from him. His eyes burned and head ached from the sudden comedown, Coop clutching at his face and curling up into a ball like an embryo lost in his mother’s fluids being born kicking and screaming into the world. There was a process to coming down after being inside for so long and this sure as shit wasn’t it.

The voice came through, stronger now. “Cooper, this is pathetic. I know you’re upset, but you need to get up and train.”

“What if I don’t want to?” It had sounded better in his head. When vocalized, it sounded like a petulant child.

“If you don’t want to fight, just tell me and I’ll cancel it.” Her voice was soothing and calm. “Tell me now so I can scrub it before it’s too late.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said.

“Fine, it’s your name that they’ll drag through the mud.”

“Wonder what Regis will think,” he mused.

“Who cares what that asshole thinks?” she asked. “Is this what all of this is about? I thought you were mad at me or something.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” he murmured.

Still unsteady on his feet, Coop caught himself on the couch, trying to stand up, preventing himself from toppling over and making an even bigger ass of himself. She wouldn’t understand. At least that was what he kept imagining. Emotions flew through his mind rapid-fire, all a mishmash of past failed relationships, losing his parents, and how Regis was the only person who had ever stuck by him before, but was now distant and off doing his own thing.

“You and I both know whoever this guy is, that’s not the problem,” she said. “The problem is you, Coop. You think your uncle’s greed is somehow your fault, or that everyone will leave you. I’m still here, though, aren’t I? At least for now. I don’t know what I’m doing. Maybe my sister was right.”

“Right about what?” That wasn’t the kind of statement she could just spill out and leave hanging there. “What was she talking about?”

“That’s the thing, Coop. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. I’m here for you, like I always have been. Do you see that?”

Coop sank back into the couch and folded his arms, unsure of what she was looking for from him. Out of instinct, he reached for the stimnet nodes again, Sam letting out an exasperated sigh before pulling them from his hands. Gripping them in her hand, she dangled them out in front of his face.

“You know, I wouldn’t listen to him when he warned me about this,” she said. “I ignored the signs when you’d disappear after your fights into this and thought ‘maybe he just needs some time.’ This isn’t what you need, Coop. This isn’t what you are. Here, take the stupid things, lose yourself again. Coming or not, I’m going to Luna. Show up or don’t, I don’t care anymore. This is your decision. I’m not the one running away, though.”

“Sam,” he muttered. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it, Coop?”

She headed for the door, opening it and standing halfway in and halfway out, something that felt symbolic for that moment in time. Cooper knew he was supposed to feel something and respond. It was lost on him while he mumbled incoherently and reached out for her. Out of anger, she tossed the nodes back to him, Coop catching them and wondering if he could stop himself from his impulses at that moment.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she said. “I’m not your uncle, you know that, right? Whatever you think you are, or I am, or we are, I’m gonna be on Luna getting things ready for your fight. I sure hope you show up, Coop. For your own sake.”

Just like that, the apartment was empty again, the door slamming behind her, leaving Coop alone with his nodes and sorrow.

Twenty-Two

Limping to the Finish

Through nothing short of a miracle, Coop boarded his small ship and punched in the coordinates to Luna, and passed out. The sheer strength it took to pry himself from the stimnet into the shower and out to his launchpad was more than he’d ever dealt with before. Knowing he was heading into a tense situation, he jacked back into the stimnet, allowing himself to drift into a controlled slumber with pre-programmed dreams. Images and sounds filled his mind, allowing him to relax and refocus, a saturated dreamlike state devoid of his real world failings and drama.

Unmoored, Coop drifted through space on what he knew would be a brief journey, but one he refused to face sober. Knowing Sam’s disappointment was going to be his greeting, and she was the only ally he’d have on Luna didn’t help. Old Coop would’ve stayed on the couch, though, which meant this was a win no matter what. At least, he hoped.

“You look like shit,” a voice stirred through the soup that was his mind.

Coop rolled to the side, navigating through the dream to find the source, to no avail. It echoed around, vague and rolling, although recognizable. That voice was one he’d heard before, the same disdain and disgust he knew all too well. Blinking, trying to find his way out of the tunnel and toward the voice, what came next was blinding light and another familiar sense of the nodes being torn from his head.

“I thought you were over this shit?” Regis said.

“U-uncle?” Coop glared up at the shadowy figure through the bright lights. “W-what are you doing here?”

“You’re on Luna, asshole,” he said. “At my facility. What did you expect?”

“Fuck,” he mumbled.

“Fuck is right. That Sam of yours has been here for days now, didn’t think you’d show. I have half a mind to not let you fight in this condition. You look like shit.”

“What do you care?” Coop stretched out, doing his best not to make eye contact with his uncle.

“Yeah, you sound raring to go here, kid. I’m calling it.”

“Fuck outta here,” Coop said. “You’re not in charge of me. In fact, you came here and decided I was some trash to be disposed of.”

“You’re burned out, kid. It was a tough loss, but you gotta do something else with yourself.”

“You stopped seeing dollar signs and gave up on me. Admit it,” he said.

“Believe what you want. I’m doing what I need to do.”

“So am I, so you aren’t calling shit, unless your new boy can’t deal with the pressure of fighting a championship-caliber fighter.”

“Oh, did you win a championship when I wasn’t looking?” Regis chided.

Trying to argue further would go nowhere, as decades of their relationship had informed him. Instead, Coop picked himself up, grabbed his bag and zipped the ship shut, walking by his uncle and leaving him without another word. Sam had sent the room details to him, although he hadn’t responded yet. After a certain point, it was too long to respond, where it was awkward and demanding of an explanation. That explanation was perhaps best given in person, not via a message from light-years away.

One thing was for certain: when Coop got into the ring with his uncle’s latest champion, or whatever he was, Coop was going to bash his brains in and make him regret stepping up in competition. There wasn’t much Coop excelled at, but busting rookies from Luna was one of them. If this was his ticket back to the big time, so be it. He’d play their game and show them just how good he really was.

Twenty-Three

Who the Hell is Robert Burns?

Just like Coop had expected, Sam was happy to see him, if not colder than usual. She didn’t need to say anything; it was abundantly clear that he was an absolute mess and perhaps needed time to dry out. That wouldn’t be an option, considering that the fight loomed ominously on the immediate horizon. If he’d prepared better, the trip would’ve come sooner, allowing him to adjust to Luna’s artificial gravity and hype himself up. Instead, he’d have to go in blind, wearing the clothes off his back and hope for the best.

“You know,” Sam said, the first words she’d muttered since he showed up, “Robert Burns looks ready.”

“Who the hell is Robert Burns?” Coop asked.

“Your opponent, you asshole. The one you’re going to fight in just a few minutes.”

“Then why don’t you go manage him if he’s so ready,” Coop said.

“Stop speaking nonsense and just do whatever it is you need to do to get ready.” There was clear disdain in her voice. “This was a mistake.”

“Of course it was a fucking mistake,” he said. “You never go to fucking Luna. Luna is for losers.”

“I want you to get this through your numb skull right now, Cooper Sabre.” She hovered over him, an intense look on her face. “Cut the shit. You’re here, on fucking Luna. Got that? You’re here, and you’re here for a reason. I know this shit with your uncle has you worked up, but the reality we face is this: if you want to get back into the league’s good graces, you’re gonna have to show them you can play by their rules.”

“It’s a stupid game they want me to play.”

“Yeah, it is,” she said. “That’s why you’re going to go out there and smash this asshole’s face in and get us off this rock.”

“It won’t get me back to Kriger.” He was whining now. That was great.

“Not right away, no. Do you think, in your current shape, you deserve Kriger?”

“I…”

“No, you don’t. He’d obliterate you. So go out there and show them that Robert Burns is beneath you already. Then maybe we can see what else they’ll give us.”

Coop gave her a nod, not feeling up to going any further than that. It pained him to admit it, but she was right. There was very little incentive to toss him to Kriger again, and a stimmed-out version of himself wasn’t good for much beyond the Robert Whateverhisnameises of the galaxy. Everything about Luna was pristine and sanitized, a stark contrast from Ushinatta’s weathered and battle-worn walls that spoke to a revolution and countless fights in those pits. If his uncle knew he had left the regen tank behind for those outcasts, he’d flip his lid, which made him smile. Who said Coop Sabre never gave back?

“The countdown is on,” Sam called to him. “You ready?”

“Suppose so.” Coop popped open the case and pulled out his new bat, checking to ensure he’d left some charge in the pack, which he had. Even when he was at his worst, his weapon was always ready for battle. That made one of them. While it wasn’t Guy, it was his bat and one he’d had a hand in crafting.

Overhead, the ready light to the massive steel door pulsed, giving him a warning. Sam and he locked eyes, Coop gripping onto the bat and understanding there was more to this game than just his strained relationship with his family. He dropped the bat to the ground with a clang and threw his arms around her, squeezing tight. After a few moments, her arms returned the embrace, a few sniffles resonating in his ear.

“You can do this,” she said, “you bastard.”

“I got this,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

From red to green, the light shifted, the door cracking open and giving way to the artificial light of the Luna Dome. He’d been there in training, but never during an actual fight. The crowd roared, getting their first glimpse of a real live league fighter beyond the trainees. All were human, unsurprisingly. Luna wasn’t a place for the actual competition. It was the place where humans could get their start, or, in Coop’s situation, another crack at the big time. Head still pounding and swimming from his coming down off the stimnet, he stepped out onto the tightly packed dirt of the arena, imported from back on Earth, and couldn’t help but laugh.

Pumping the bat into the air, the wave of cheers undulated through the arena, penetrating his subconscious and reminding him of why he was here, doing what he did. This was that feeling, the same one he got when he stepped into those fighting pits; the excitement and anxiety bubbling together to create a miasma in his gut that fueled his aggression. Standing across the arena from him was a blonde man, body cut from stone, with a square jaw and a tight shimmering bodysuit built to make him look like a superhero. He leaned against a massive hammer, the head stuck into the ground, like something torn from Earth’s old mythologies.

Coop didn’t bother with the pleasantries. Not that he could remember this guy’s name, anyhow. The announcer barked their names out again, but the crowd’s roar made it just a murmur in the breeze. The start buzzer was loud and clear, though. Coop swung the bat and stepped forward, feet crunching against the imported dirt while the blonde man hefted the hammer onto his shoulder and dashed forward like a dart. Coop laughed at the aggression. This was his world, not some rube Luna loser’s.

The man was upon him in a heartbeat. Coop stepped away from his shoulder block, although he wasn’t expecting the massive hammer to come swinging around in an arc at his shoulder, expecting the dodge. With a flash of pain, Coop screamed out, tumbling to the ground at the weight of the blow. Turns out a massive hammer, even with a quick blow, hurts. Whoever this guy was, he was going for broke, seeing the opportunity of putting Coop Sabre away for good, something even the great Kriger couldn’t do. Hammer held up high over his head, he brought it down like a heavy wrecking ball toward Coop’s head. Coop rolled out of the way just in time, the breeze from the hammer whisking against his cheek. This created the opening he needed, though, Coop jamming his heel into the knee of the blonde Adonis and staggering him long enough to get back up.

Refusing to let go of one’s weapon was a rookie mistake for fighters in the league, one that this poor sad sap was making at that moment. He was relying not on his own abilities, but the girth of his weapon and the power it bestowed upon him. Bat in hand, Coop slashed it across the man’s arm, the shock reverberating through his body and down through the steel hammer on the ground. Poor Robert Whateverhisname stumbled to one knee, gripping at his bloody and electrified wrist, not expecting the shin that crashed into his chest, sending him to the ground. Before, this would’ve been it for the poor bastard, Cooper would smash him in the face and call it a day, but his stint on Ushinatta reminded him that longevity wasn’t about quick wins, it was about becoming an undeniable force people wanted to see. He played to the crowd instead, getting them excited and allowing his opponent to stagger back to his feet.

There were no expectations of the same level of courtesy, of course, him dashing back to his hammer and hoisting it from its resting place. Another blow came, this one more wild and less in control, Coop ducking under the hammer’s head and following up with a shot of his own from the bat, smacking across the faux-Thor’s chest with a splat. He attempted to bring the hammer back up for another blow, but Coop was ready for it, driving his elbow into the shaft, stopping it dead in its tracks. Taking the opportunity, Coop spun around, smashing his fist against the temple of the man’s head. The hammer slapped across the ground, Coop kicking with the toe of his boot into the chest and flattening him to the ground.

Coop tugged at the hammer, the weight almost overpowering. It was no surprise this bastard was so slow, this hammer was slowing him down, no matter how big the muscles on him were. Only hovering above the massive hammer above the ground a few inches, Coop brought it up and slapped the head down onto his opponent’s chest, taking the breath out of him. The man struggled to remove the hammer, but didn’t have the remaining strength to get up. Coop kneeled down next to him, shaking his head and laughing.

“Do you give up?” Coop asked. “This hammer is too heavy to fight with, you’ll get nowhere with it.”

“What’s…wrong with you?” the man sputtered.

“The fight’s over,” Coop spat next to him, wandering off with the bat by his side.

Entering back into the backstage area while the crowd remained confused, Regis stood there, arms crossed and face redder than usual. Regis opened his mouth, Coop glaring up at him and pointing the bat at his face. His uncle fell silent, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath.

“Your boy needs work,” Coop said.

Twenty-Four

The Real Battle

“Nobody does this shit to me, you hear me?” Regis’ voice echoed through the sterile walls of the locker room. A dejected Richard Burns stumbled back in with the aid of the red-faced coach, both doing their best to avoid eye contact with either Coop or Regis. “Sorry your new boy got embarrassed out there,” Coop retorted.

“No, you’re not! That’s the problem. You knew this was important to me and you fucked me. You fucked me hard.”

“You put your best man against me and he couldn’t take it. Admit it, none of these overblown bundles of flesh can cut it in the league.” There was an audience now, not that Coop cared. His time training there had been miserable, and he did a pitiful job of hiding it. “If that’s the best you have, then you’re starting over. None of these assholes are league ready.”

“So you think I wanted this fight?” Regis asked. “You think I said ‘gimme my stimmed-out nephew, who’s pissed at me for looking out for myself for once and—’“

“For once?! The balls on you, man.” Regis always had some nerve, but claiming he was only now looking out for himself after a lifetime of it was the final straw. “Everything you’ve done, every part of my career I have involved you in, has been for your own benefit only. Not mine!”

“Get outta here with that shit. You’re blinded by the stims.”

“Do I look like I’m jacked in right now? No. You know I’m right.”

“No, I don’t,” Regis said. “Before I came along, you were some lump fighting at Ushinatta Station. You were fighting those bums up there and had no hope of doing anything but that. I gave you guidance and helped you land better fights. Real fights.”

“Now Sam’s doing it, in case you didn’t notice. She’s getting me out of this mess.”

“I’m not saying shit about her, kid. Do you see me mentioning her?”

“That’s my point,” Coop said. “If you had it your way, she wouldn’t even be in my life. As soon as she takes a more active role in my life and career, you slink away like the snake you are.”

“Is that what you think of me? You think so low of me that I don’t want to see you happy? This conversation isn’t worth my time. Go jack into the stimnet and zone out or something.”

“Yeah, you go train a bunch of dead enders who’ll never get off of this rock and into an actual fight.”

“Maybe they will, maybe they won’t,” he said. “I don’t know if it matters, kid. We hold events here every week, place is jam-packed. My best guy losing to a living legend won’t kill this off. This is sustainable, can’t you see that? I’m not traveling all over, waiting on some snot-nosed brat every second of my life.”

“Snot-nosed?” he scoffed. “You’re a selfish, lecherous old bastard who had no one, nothing, and no ambition. I’m different from you and it eats you up alive. You can stay here with your parade of pathetic punks. This isn’t for me.”

“Yeah, go back to Ushinatta and get scarred up some more,” Regis said. “That’ll teach me.”

“I left them the regen tank, you know that?” Coop pressed. “I gave them a gift, because that’s the kind of guy I am.”

“Great, maybe they can get sanctioned and make something of themselves.”

“You…you think that’s all there is to this life, huh?” Coop balled his fists up, trying to suppress his anger after catching a glimpse at his beaten down uncle. “You pathetic little runt of a man. They don’t fight just for the money or the fame there. They fight because it matters to them. I don’t expect you to understand this, just like you never understood me.”

“I…I only wanted what was best for you, kid,” Regis admitted. “Look, I’m sorry if it seemed like I was out for myself or whatever. I’m not getting any younger, and watching you spiral down wasn’t great. There has to be something more for me than life on the road. I don’t expect you to get that just yet. I just hope someday you forgive me.”

“Forgive you?” Coop paused, glaring down at the case for his bat, remembering the awful attempt of a gift from the coach and his uncle when he trained here and the look of disappointment on his uncle’s face when he hated it. Trying to wrap his head around everything that was happening between the two overwhelmed him. Although admitting it out loud would be difficult, there was a genuine chance he was blowing this all out of proportion. “What’s there to forgive if all this was to you was just a paycheck?”

Coop grabbed the case and stormed off, his uncle protesting behind him, but the words were drowned out by the rest of the locker room and his own internal thoughts. Just like everyone else had, his uncle had chosen to leave, no matter how he candy-coated it. In the end, it was him looking out for himself, not for Coop, like he’d promised.

Emotions echoed and swelled inside him, from anger to sorrow to everything else in between. His uncle was the only family he had left and things had never seemed to click since the Kriger fight. It was almost like he’d gotten too close to the sun, and this was his punishment.

“Coop? Coop?” A voice smashed through his defenses. “Coop!”

“Huh, what?” he looked around, dazed, only to see Sam standing there with a smirk on her face.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “Just…shit with my uncle, is all. Why?”

“You don’t look so great,” she said. “You need to hit the regen tank?”

“Yeah, I was heading to do that now, I guess. Although, I kinda want to leave.”

“You know the regen tank needs to happen sooner rather than later. You took a nasty hit to the shoulder. Can you at least give me a few hours in there?”

“Fuck it,” he said. “Fine. Then we’re off of this rock and not coming back. Regis can have his loser brigade.”

“Okay, good.”

“Was that all?” he asked.

“No, so…look, something came through after that fight and…”

“And what?” Her smile only grew, while Coop, never one for surprises and already irritated, wasn’t in the mood for guessing games, although he didn’t dare tell her and burst her bubble.

“Tuup proposed something big,” she said. “Something real big. The winner gets a shot at Kriger.”

“What?” His heart soared. “Are you fucking kidding me? You got me a contender’s fight off that shitty little fight?”

“Sort of! Hear me out,” she said. “It’s a tournament.”

“A tournament?” Great, just what he needed. “How many fucking fights?”

“Four,” she said.

“Four fights? Ugh, well, it’s not a contender’s fight, but it’s close enough, just gotta win four fights. Right?”

“In a night,” she said.

“In a fucking night?!” A one-night tournament, that was madness. “Are you kidding me?”

“Take it or leave it, Coop. Winner gets Kriger.”

“Then I’m taking it,” he said. “Fuck it.”

Twenty-Five

Breaking Point

Driven on ego alone, Coop wished for nothing more than to describe his return home as a victorious one, ready for the next series of battles in the brutal, one-night tournament. In that same fantasy built up in his mind, he’d do something nice for Sam, show her how much he appreciated all she’d done for him and for sticking by him. Because, truthfully, Regis turning his back on Coop and laying out his somewhat selfish reasoning would’ve destroyed him, if it wasn’t for Sam being there by his side, pulling him out of every rut he’d found himself in.

That’s what he would’ve liked to have done.

Instead, slumped over on his couch, jacked into the stimnet, was where he gravitated. He knew why; he knew the complications of his relationship with his uncle were overwhelming, the responsibility he felt to Sam for sticking by him and the weight of being the lone human worth a damn in the league. Those things were too much for him to handle, yet speaking them aloud wasn’t possible. There were a few weeks before the tournament, the pool being announced in dribs and the matches drawn up the night of the event, leaving preparations to be complicated and broad, as opposed to laser-focused on the opponent like usual. Coop lost himself in the stimnet, in a trance, understanding Sam would be there when it was time to train.

Time passed differently when jacked in. Different worlds existed within the digital realm, allowing him to go to places he’d only dreamed of, live life as someone else. His favorite program to run was one he’d gotten baked up special order, something simple but complete. Inside, he was the owner of a little bar in old Birmingham. It was dingy, run down in places, but had its own rustic charm, like the one his father used to take him to, well before the accident had claimed both his parents’ lives. He tended bar, had his regulars, and life was simple. No one would suspect Coop Sabre, a violent, bloody gladiator of the arena, to yearn for such simplicity, or at least that was how he saw himself. The Coop the galaxy saw and the Coop that existed internally were different beasts.

“Coop!” Just like that, the immersion broke, which meant it was time for training.

A door slammed shut, and he closed his eyes, coming down from the stimnet and letting the simulation cycle before he tore the nodes from his temple. Sam stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest and a scowl adorning her face. There was a good chance he was late, and he knew it. Whenever he was inside, running Cooper’s, he lost track of when and where he was, even if subconsciously it was all there.

“Time to train?” he asked, blinking to adjust his vision.

“Time to train? Are you kidding me?” She wore her fury in her eyes.

“I’m assuming I…missed training?”

“Missed training? Coop, you missed two days of training,” she said.

“Two days?” Jolting up from his seat, he stumbled over his feet, stomach grumbling at the realization he’d been stagnant on his couch for at least a full day, probably more. “Jesus fuck, Sam. You’re supposed to tell me.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not fucking kidding you,” he said. “You’re supposed to come get me.”

“I’m not your mother, Coop. You’re an adult, you can do these things on your own like a big boy, can’t you?” Her tone was cold and just enraged him further.

“No, you aren’t my fucking mother,” he said. “She’s dead and you know it. You’re my manager!”

“That’s rich,” she said. “That’s what I am to you, then? Your manager?”

“That’s your job!”

“I’m your fucking girlfriend, Coop. That’s why I’m here, you lout. Your uncle left you and someone needed to do this. I didn’t think I was signing up to change your diapers while you vegged out on your couch, simmering in your own juices, lost in your depression!”

“Oh, so now I’m the asshole,” he said.

“Yeah, Coop. You’re the asshole. You ever stop and think about why your uncle needed to stop and do something for himself? Did you ever think about what life is like with you?”

“No, but I guess I’m just the worst. Just some contemptible asshole not worth giving a damn about.” How dare she question him like this? Not after all they’d been through together.

“Stop with the self-pity, this isn’t the man I fell in love with.”

“This is the man you fell in love with,” he said. “Right here! And now, what? You’re gonna leave me like everyone else did? The door’s right behind you.”

“I…” Sam paused for a moment, glaring at the door, then back at him. “You think that’s what this is all about, don’t you? I’m not a fan of Regis, not in the least. I think he’s a sleazeball who used you for himself, but there was something more to it, Coop. He’s your uncle. That’s why I called him to show up at Ushinatta. Not because I like him, not because I think he’s flawless, but because you two had something together and you’re important to each other. Are you gonna let me walk out of this door because you’re a miserable sop who pushes everyone away, or are you going to talk to me like a fucking man?”

Coop sank back down onto the couch, eyeballing the stimnet headset before gathering it up in his fist and tossing it across the room. Of course she was right. She was always right. It wasn’t easy to admit that, though. His parents died in a car accident when he was a teenager, leaving his uncle to deal with an emotionally immature troublemaker, who ran off as soon as he could to fight on some shit hole station. Of course, he didn’t make it easy on Regis and there was that creeping suspicion that Regis, as much as he was an asshole, wasn’t wrong in looking out for himself. Tears welled up in his eyes and the emotional torrent came fast and heavy, leaving him curled up in a ball.

“Coop…” Sam’s voice was softer, at least. “You can’t just break down like this all the time and not deal with this stuff. I’ve done everything I can for you. The rest is up to you. This world isn’t a kind one, and no, you haven’t had it easy, but neither have I, remember? What was it we originally bonded over?”

“That…you lost your mom at a young age,” he said, remembering back to when they met years prior. “That you lost your mom and your dad was a deadbeat.”

“Uh, huh. But I’ve got my shit together, in case you didn’t notice. I’m over my bullshit. I’m not falling apart whenever things get rough. Trust me, they get rough.”

“I know, I just…”

“You just what?” she asked.

“If I let go, what happens if it all goes away?” This was it, the fear that always kept him at arm’s reach. “If I let go of all of this…frustration, what if I’m not the same person? What if I can’t fight the same? Shit, what if you don’t love me anymore and then it’s just me and the stims?”

“Coop, as it stands now, you’re getting closer and closer to it just being you and the stims,” she said. “I need you to think about what you want, what you really want out of all of this.”

“What do you mean? Out of our relationship?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “I mean, yes, but everything. I can’t be your only tether to reality. What is it you want out of life? Where are you escaping to all the time? If fighting isn’t your passion, if it’s leaving you like this, then fuck it! You’ve got money saved up, right?”

“Some, yeah,” he said, although he hadn’t checked his accounts in ages. Most of his finances were set up to be handled automatically, something Regis had set up for him.

“Then why are you still fighting? What’s the point? I don’t get it anymore, Coop. I can’t be the one to fix this for you. I’m…going to stay at my sister’s tonight, give you some space to think this over.”

“Sam, no, wait!” Coop hopped up, trying to catch her before she ran out the door. “Don’t leave me, please.”

“You need time to think about this, Coop. I can’t figure this out for you and, frankly, I deserve better than this. I’ll talk to you later, Coop.”

In the blink of an eye, the door shut, leaving him again alone and miserable. Anger overtook him, balling his fists up and driving them into the wall in rapid succession until his right hand punched through the wall. He fell back onto the floor, his knuckles bloody and burning, blood smearing the white wall. Just him, alone with his sorrow.

Twenty-Six

Sam and Max

Clomping across the greater London sprawl always left Coop wistful for a time he wasn’t alive for but had heard enough about to know was different. In the last few confusing months Sam had quietly moved in with Coop, as in they never acknowledged it. She was just there every day and more and more of her stuff came with her. There was a creeping fear that if either of them acknowledged it and understood the gravity of the situation, it would become more real. Now, walking the noisy streets overflowing with multiple layers of traffic in the streets whizzing by, street vendors and homeless interspersed, reality was kicking him in the teeth. Sam said nothing because she understood Coop and how he got spooked, or his overwhelming fears about people leaving him.

He never meant to be this dense or difficult, it just came with the territory. Sam’s sister’s place was just a few blocks away, in another self-contained superstructure of a compound not unlike his own, but not as nice. The idea was to create buildings that could serve as their own little cities, with every amenity or necessity under one roof and one set of owners, and you’d never need to leave unless you were physically needed elsewhere. Folks like Coop could afford the nicer things. The poor folks out there walking the streets weren’t as lucky and their buildings were Old London holdovers, cracking at the seams and held together by hopes and prayers.

Luckily for him, Sam’s sister Max lived in a compound that didn’t have as tight of security as his. Nobody could surprise Coop in his home when they arrived, but here? Sam knew he’d come eventually, or at least that’s what he hoped she thought. There was a chance she didn’t want him to come at all, which made him pause after entering the compound. It was vast and sprawling, the base floor with a park in the middle, lined with trees and a small pond. Shops were along each side of the small park, attempting to recreate the malls of old. With a deep sigh, Coop leaned against a tree and tapped away at his console, pulling up Sam’s profile, pausing for a moment before attempting to call her.

“What?” she answered. “I’m not in the mood, Coop.”

“I’m downstairs,” he said.

“Of course you are. I came here to get away from you, in case you didn’t figure it out.”

“I know you did and I don’t blame you.” A deep sigh escaped him. Taking responsibility was new to him, as was trying to explore his feelings and not be such a miserable prick. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

“You always are. You need space to think about what you want out of life. I can’t fix this for you.”

“Can I just come up for a minute? I promise, I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“You know Maxine hates you,” she said.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “I’ll just have to deal with it.”

“Fine. Best behavior, though, you got that?”

“I got it. Trust me.”

They both knew how he felt about Maxine. While Sam was freer and more open-minded, Maxine was tightly wound and disapproved of virtually everything. On top of that, she was protective of Sam after a few destructive relationships in her past, making Coop even more of an object of scrutiny for her. Still, he’d fucked up, and he needed to make his amends. His issues were his own, even though he knew they impacted Sam just as hard. This was something he needed to figure out on his own, but he needed to let Sam know he understood this instead of being a petulant child all the time about it.

They lived on the 14th floor and Sam was already standing outside the door, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. There was a slight chill in the air, meaning the summer months were melting away to whatever the autumn would be inside of the mega city and its permanent heat from so many people and things crammed together. For a long moment, they stood there in silence, Sam not making eye contact with him, waiting for him to make the first move.

“I know I fucked up,” he said. “You’re right. This is something I need to get under control and figure out for myself. I never…I never meant to drag you into any of my bullshit like this, Sam. Everything you do for me is beyond my comprehension and I don’t show how much I appreciate it enough. So yeah, I’ve fucked up pretty bad and I’m sorry for dragging you into this.”

“It’s not about you dragging me into anything,” she said. “I want you to understand that. Being with you is my choice, the same with helping you out. Being your manager is a better job than I had before and being with you has always been my choice.”

“Right, that’s probably not what I meant.” Trying to navigate through his own feelings was a minefield enough, never mind someone else’s. “I just mean that…I don’t even know. Everything I’ve done until now has been out of fear or just mindless self-indulgence. When Regis was with me, it felt like the two of us were just there, along for the ride. Nobody was in control or steering the ship, just riding it down as far as we could before bailing out. That’s all we knew and didn’t think there could be anything more. Now, Regis has, well…he’s found something else, and it’s not me, he didn’t even think to bring me along and I’m still trying to figure out what I’m doing and who I am.”

“You know I don’t have any issues with you figuring this out, right?” she asked. “I just want to hear it from you, Coop. I want to hear that you understand what I’m upset about.”

“I can’t pretend to read your mind, but I think I get it. Me right now? I’m a mess, but I’m being a selfish asshole.” Those words were tough to swallow, never mind spit out. “Everything that’s going on with Regis is between him and I, you’ve just been trying to make those things right for me and show me there’s life after Regis. Life after the arena. I’m over here holding onto it all so tightly and afraid if it changes, I’ll lose everything.”

“The only way you lose me is if you keep pushing me away, Coop.”

That stung.

“I’m not trying to push you away,” he said. “I know it feels that way, and I’m sorry. Sometimes I just get so…so lost in everything and sad. No matter what I do, it’s hard to escape all of this and—”

“You sound like such a whiny brat!” a voice called from inside.

“Stuff it, Max,” Sam called back. “I’m sorry, Coop.”

“It’s okay, she’s not wrong. Hi, Maxine,” he called.

“I always knew you were no good,” she called back.

“Nice to hear from you, too,” he said.

“Sorry about her,” Sam said. “You know how she is, overprotective and all.”

“She’s not wrong, though. Look, I promise I’m gonna work on this. The only way this gets better is if I treat myself better and realize losing myself in the stimnet isn’t helping anyone. I’m Coop Sabre, the toughest human being in the galaxy. That has to count for something.”

“It does.”

“You’re right.” Coop took a deep breath. “Okay, goodnight, then. I’ll see you tomorrow at the gym?”

“You gonna be there this time?” she asked.

“I’ll be there, you don’t have to worry about it.”

Twenty-Seven

We’re Not Alone

Something about being in the gym again—his gym—and getting lost in his training helped to take the edge off from recent events. There were no easy fixes to any of Coop’s actual problems, but understanding other people doing what was best for their own wellbeing and the world not revolving around him was a crucial step, or at least that was what he thought. Although Sam claimed everything was okay between the two of them, there was still a hesitance in her that he couldn’t shake. An artificial barrier she had erected, waiting to see if this was another of Coop’s big promises he wouldn’t deliver on.

Not that he blamed her.

The programmable mech was giving him one hell of a workout. Ever since he’d returned to his own gym and his own training, the mech never left the Kriger program. A few losses couldn’t erase the fact that Coop was one of the best fighters in the galaxy and the only thing to stand in his way was that giant bastard Kriger. Somewhere, lurking in the shadows, was Skidz, but the man who fought him last wasn’t the same one and those conditions were far from optimal. If he had to fight that poor asshole for a fourth time, it would be quick and painless. A one-night tournament and Skidz having a win over Coop meant he’d be in the conversation, meaning getting a shot at Kriger or seeded in the tournament. Coop leaned against the powered down mech, a silent menace that, unlike the real thing, he could turn off when he needed a break. Sweat soaked his shirt and his breathing was heavy while Sam was engaged in a call in the corner, turning to face him.

“Good news?” he asked, attempting to sound chipper and engaged, fighting through the exhaustion.

“They are sticking to the live draw,” she said. “So no, not really. We won’t know who you’re fighting until the day before. That won’t give us a ton of time to prepare. It’s supposedly random, but I don’t trust Tuup as far as I can throw his Zondian ass.”

“Know what you mean,” he said. “Tuup’s a genuine piece of work. Him and my uncle are a match made in heaven sometimes.”

“Anyway, I uh…”

“What?” Dramatic pauses were never a good thing, especially from Sam.

“I got some of the names and it’s pretty much what you expected.”

“Fucking Skidz again?” he groaned.

“Of course Skidz is involved. Beating you was a step forward for him. I doubt they want you two to fight again so soon,” she said. “Although, even if you’re on opposite sides of the tournament, there’s a chance it could happen again.”

“I can handle Skidz. Don’t worry about that.”

“It’s not Skidz I’m worried about.”

“Then what?” he asked.

“There’s another human in the tournament,” she said.

The words hung thick in the air before it hit Coop. There weren’t many humans who could hang in the arenas. In fact, there weren’t any outside of Coop that were established. Unless…

“Is it that Robert Butch guy?” he asked.

“You mean Robert Burns?”

“Oh, right. The guy I beat up?”

“No, it’s not him,” she said. “I’m not sure how to break this one to you.”

“Just tell me already.”

“Remember that guy you fought on Ushinatta?” she asked.

“TAKASHI?” A laugh burst from somewhere deep inside. “Bullshit to that. TAKASHI is an old dog full of cybernetic implants. They wouldn’t take him, not that he’d ever offer himself up like that.”

“No, the other guy.”

“Ohhh shit,” Coop said. “Ramirez?”

“Yeah,” she said. “They announced Ruthless Ramirez today on top of Skidz and a few others.”

“Nobody from Ushinatta has ever gotten the call before,” he said. “What changed?”

“You know what changed, Coop. You were there. It made galactic news.”

“It did?” Ever since his fall from grace, he didn’t pay any mind to current affairs. They trashed him from all angles. The entertainment people thought he was a joke, the sports people urged someone “better” to emerge and take his spot, like somehow he hadn’t earned it, and the politicians spoke about finding a suitable replacement considering clout in the arena meant clout for a race. Not that he ever listened to them when they met with him to discuss how important his role was within humanity’s interests. Fuck them.

“Uh yeah, Coop. Video of you and Ramirez beating the shit out of each other made the rounds.”

“You didn’t tell me about it.”

“If you were me, and you saw a bunch of headlines about you having a ‘crisis of identity’ on an outlaw station getting beaten up by a no-name, would you have said anything?”

“He’s not a no-name,” Coop argued, almost missing the point. “But no, I wouldn’t have.”

“We know he’s for real,” she said.

“Now everyone else is going to find out as well.”

“How do you…feel about this?” She was trying to be sensitive about it. It was kinda cute, although it made him feel bad to understand how off he’d been that she needed to worry about his moods like this. How long had that been going on?

“Good for him. Really.” Ramirez was a powerful fighter, foolish, but just as good as anyone else he’d fought.

“You aren’t upset that another human is going to be sharing your spotlight?”

“Me? No,” he said. “This makes my life easier. By contrast, I’m not some wild renegade anymore. I’m just Coop Sabre.”

“You won’t be humanity’s lone representative on this level anymore if he can cobble together a few wins in the arena,” she said.

“That’s great,” he said. “If anyone can do it, it’s him. Shit, I guess it makes sense. He didn’t seem to have any major implants or anything yet. Having another human around would take the pressure off of me.”

“You’re…taking this a lot better than I thought you would.” Surprise was laced with respect, making Coop smile at her reaction.

“I’ve got a good feeling about this tournament now.”

Twenty-Eight

The Draw

Never in his wildest dreams did Coop imagine he’d be standing on a podium alongside another human, never mind one from Ushinatta Station. Ramirez stood like a child that had gotten into somewhere he didn’t belong, looking around with a nervous energy in case someone whisked him away from the lineup. Coop stood next to him, offering a fist bump that Ramirez returned with more enthusiasm than the situation warranted.

Chances were he didn’t need anyone looking out for him. Still, it felt like Coop’s job considering the circumstances. Without their battle and the attention that came from Coop Sabre, Intergalactic Championship contender, battling it out on some remote renegade human station, it’d all still be a secret. Knowing TAKASHI, he was pissed with the newfound attention, probably with the regen tank, too. The scars they earned were a point of pride and integral to their fighting pits.

“This shit is wild,” Ramirez said.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.” What he didn’t say was how publicity wore him down more than the fights ever did. That pressure was always the worst part.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here, man.”

“I’ve got you.” Coop did his best to assure him, even though it was impossible to know how someone like Ramirez would handle the pressures of the arena. It was different for different audiences and more cutthroat. “Just stick with me. You’ve got this.”

Skidz hissed past the both of them, cackling at the sight of two humans together like that. That last victory over Coop inflated his ego. What caught Coop’s attention was Kriger entering the stage, the Intergalactic Championship title belt slung over his shoulder. Coop had been so close he could feel the weight of that belt over his own shoulder. Instead, he was mashed back down into a paste and discarded like last week’s trash.

“So that’s him?” Ramirez asked.

“Uh huh, that’s the bastard.”

“He doesn’t look that tough.”

“You’d be surprised.” Painful memories flood his nervous system, sending a shudder down his spine. “We gotta get through this first. More than one fight a night is a lot.”

“It’s only what? Three fights?”

“Only is a strong word, Ramirez,” Coop said. “They’re fucking with you putting you in a tournament like this right away.”

“I can handle it,” he said.

“Not saying you can’t.”

All eight of the fighters stood on the podium, a fearsome group with Tuup standing by the lectern alongside his champion, Kriger. The intergalactic press was eating it up, especially both humans side by side, motley in comparison. If Coop had to guess, this was Tuup playing hardball with his uncle, who was trying to create a professional training center as a pipeline for humans into the league. Bringing in someone like Ramirez to this stage was some kind of mind game, for sure. Among the aliens were Skidz; a barrel-chested Zondian; a female Flaxian— the closest analogue to humans in the galaxy—with her green flesh and slender frame; an Araken warrior; another Brandian, giving them two participants alongside Skidz; and finally a Dondan, towering, sluglike amorphous, asexual blobs who changed colors to emit different attacks.

Every one of them was dangerous, with their own history fighting inside the arena, or even challenging Kriger. There were no active former champions, Kriger having held it for over a decade, retiring the former champion, a crafty Zondian, by gouging both his eyes out. It was a sadistic and brutal end of an era, especially knowing what regen tanks were and weren’t capable of.

The draw started, and a knot appeared in Coop’s stomach. While he was there, trying to assure an exuberant Ramirez everything would be fine, he himself wasn’t sure what he was doing anymore. Yes, fighting was in his blood and this was all he ever wanted, but the longer he lived, the more he realized life was much more than fame and glory. There were people in his life he cared about and wanted what was best for, and life inside the arena was brutal and never ending. Humans didn’t live as long as just about any of the major races involved in the league, so Coop’s time at this level would be comparatively fleeting. That meant it was now or never. Tournaments like this only happened occasionally, never in Coop’s time in the league.

One by one, the combatants’ names were called, the brackets filling out. Ramirez pumped his fist when called, drawing the stout Zondian for his first draw. The Zondian was a formidable opponent, but the weakest of the field, which both made Coop feel better knowing his newfound comrade wouldn’t get smashed right out of the gates, but also jealous he didn’t get such a lucky draw. Coop, of course, drew the fucking Dondan. Of course.

Of all the races he’d fought, he’d never touched a Dondan before. Just giant, gelatinous blobs who channeled elemental powers and were almost impossible to hit because of how soft their bodies were. Coop and the Dondan squared up against each other, forming two bright red protruding limbs from its globular body, its dead eyes glaring at Cooper, which made him feel cold inside.

After the pose down, they dispersed, Ramirez slapping Coop on the shoulder. The look in his eyes was one Coop understood all too well, having lived that first time fighting jitters. Inside, he was most likely feeling a rush of emotions from excitement and confidence to self-doubt and even fear. Having seen both combatants in action, Coop felt better about Ramirez’s chances of getting past the first round, but anything could happen once that bell rang.

“You ready for this?” Coop asked.

“Brother, I was born for this.”

“You gonna bring the chains with you into the arena?” Coop turned to face him, remembering the kiss of those metal links.

“I don’t think light tubes will do me much good out there, so the chain it is.”

“Be ready for anything tomorrow.” He meant the words for Ramirez, but spoke them aloud for himself as well. This tournament was his last chance at the top and he couldn’t show mercy, even if he found himself across the arena from Ramirez again.

Twenty-Nine

A Boy and His Blob

Being back in the big leagues was an indescribable rush. Although the fight on Luna was sanctioned by the Intergalactic Deathmatch, it was still a human-only affair; the crowd and combatants almost entirely composed of humans, with very few aliens mulling about. Being back on an alien moon, preparing backstage in his own room, had him pumped up. Sam stood and watched, engrossed in ensuring everything went off without a hitch.

“This feels right,” Coop commented.

“Does it?” she asked. “I’m glad. Getting us back here wasn’t easy, so it’s good you’re feeling ready.”

“Look, Sam, I know you were worried, and that I wasn’t…great, but—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam said. “Not now, at least.”

“So we’re good?” Although the answer was clear, Coop still felt uncomfortable knowing how inside his head he had gotten and the impact it had on her.

“Yeah, Coop. You just gotta get out there and win these fights.”

“Blobman is first.” He swung the bat twice, watching the indicator light above the arena door, still a strong red.

“Don’t worry, no Regis surprises tonight. Just get out there and get this done. The quicker you can smash this blob, the quicker you’re in the tank and ready for the next fight. Three fights is a lot.”

“Let’s hope there’s no need for the regen tank,” he said.

A buzzer sounded, light blinking over the door, letting Coop know the time had come. Bat in hand, he adjusted his jacket, exhaling. Before heading for the door, Coop turned to Sam, opening his arms while she came in for an embrace. It took her by surprise. Coop’s pre-fight rituals were guarded and intense and this was new. Whatever hyping up he’d done prior worked for who Coop was then, not who he was now.

“Go get ’em, champ.”

“You bet.”

Another buzzer sounded, the light turning green. Sam planted a kiss onto his cheek before he sauntered out into the arena, Coop shooting her a wry smile. Both stood for a moment, eyes locked with intense emotion.

“I love you, Sam,” he said.

“Love you, too. Go smash this blob.”

With a groan, the door opened, light pouring into the ready room alongside the roar of the crowd. It was the first time since the catastrophic Skidz battle that he’d been in front of an intergalactic crowd. A chant broke out through the crowd, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Coo-per, Coo-per!”

They hadn’t forgotten him. There was no faded star in Coop Sabre. An arena filled with aliens from across the galaxy chanting his name in Earth basic was all he needed to know. His strut across the sands was deliberate, bat held high in the air while they chanted and raved.

Across from him stood—or more like undulated—the blob. The announcer worked through their names, although it was a blur thanks to the crowd noise. If Coop fucked this one up, it’d be over for him. There would never be another opportunity to come back like this. When the buzzer rang, instead of rushing in, Coop stood in the moment. Instead, the blob rushed toward him, leaving a streak of purple behind them. The blob’s eyes bulged and remained in place while its body bubbled beneath it.

Two stubby arms protruded from its body, bursting out toward Coop, him batting it away with his elbow. His arm sank into the limb, which was cold and mushy. The other makeshift arm swung around, Coop ducking under it, bringing the bat up and connecting with a shot to the body.

His bat lodged itself in the alien’s body, a panic running through his system. If he couldn’t hit the damned thing, what could he do? Elbow freed, Coop backed up, flicking the charge pack on his bat into the “on” position. Just in time for another blow from the side, Coop slashed the bat upward, intercepting the blow with a crash and a boom, the blob’s purple limb turning gray and hardening.

This was it. The opening.

Just like that, the fight changed. The blob knew it, its eyes widening and turning to rage, its color shifting from an amiable purple to a raging red. The grayed limb cracked him across the back of the neck, Coop stumbling into the red body, its once-cool flesh burning him, sending him leaping backward regardless of the pain. Before the blob could recover, Cooper slashed at him again, the bat exploding on contact and graying whatever it came into contact with. There was no point to finesse, just to hack away at the alien indiscriminately, smashing and graying the blob’s body.

The grayed-out limb took another shot, cracking and breaking away. In shock, the blob stared down at the severed, hardened glob, Coop returning with another hacking blow to the blob’s midsection, a gargantuan chunk crumbling away and leaving a massive hole in its side.

A protrusion burst from its body, a crushing blow to Coop’s chest sending him onto his back. In its attempt to capitalize, the blob had to split, leaving behind a bulk of its body, grayed and crumbling behind it, now only a third of its original size and on top of Cooper. Its body burned an intense red, burning his flesh and singing his clothing. Two small protrusions extruded from the goo and smashed down onto his face, Cooper flicking at the switch on the bat, turning it up to full power. While on his back there was no chance of gathering up enough strength or momentum to land a solid blow, so instead Coop drove the bat into its soft flesh, bringing his other hand around and feeling the cut of the barbs into his fingers while he gripped it tight around the blob, not letting it escape. The smell of burning flesh from both the blob’s red state on his body and the bat on the blob burned his nostrils, a high-pitched scream emerging from the blob before silence.

Coop pushed the hardened blob off of him, parts breaking away. His shirt was blackened, holes giving way to his burned flesh and his hand bleeding. An eruption came from the crowd while Coop staggered to his feet. He didn’t even hear the buzzer while the blob’s crew ran out to begin the rehydrating process.

“Your winner…Coop Sabre!”

Coop was back.

Thirty

Regen and the Chain

Time inside the tank ended up truncated thanks to needing to be ready to go in short order. As much as the idea of the one night tournament bothered him, the adrenaline still pumped through his veins after decimating the blob and the time in the regen tank allowed him to remain focused. Although he’d debated jacking into the stimnet for the duration, it took every ounce of his self-control to not and remain in that moment. When they fished him out, it felt like he’d been in there for hours, even though it was just twenty minutes. Sam was there to greet him with a fresh charge pack for his new bat and a smirk on her face.

“So?” he asked. “What’d I miss?”

“Your pal Ramirez made quick work of that Zondian. Wrapped his chain around his neck, dragged him around a bit, even smashed him into the walls just beneath the stands a bit. Really got the crowd worked up.”

“He’s from Ushinatta,” Coop said. “I think he’ll always be a showman.”

“Yeah, well, you know what that means, right?” Coop knew she was being careful with the approach.

“We’ve gotta fight again.”

“Right. Just…it may be different this time out. Things work differently up here,” she warned.

“I know. Ramirez understands what this means and so do I. I wish we’d been at opposite ends of the bracket, speaking of, how’s it looking?”

“If you’re asking about Skidz…”

“Fucking Skidz.” The idea of fighting Skidz again made him retch. He owed a massive beat down to that asshole, but it seemed too soon, almost like overkill.

“He’s on to the next round and, by the looks of it, the Flaxian will be fighting him to see who moves on to the finals.”

“Well, I already know I can handle Skidz. Never fought a Flaxian, so that’d be new.” Trying to keep his optimism up was difficult with his anger for Skidz bubbling back to the surface.

“You gotta get through me first,” Ramirez’s voice boomed from behind them.

Standing drenched with a towel wrapped around his waist and one slung over his shoulders was Ramirez, looking fresh and ready to go. Coop had taken far more damage in his fight than Ramirez had, or Ramirez just wasn’t used to using the regen tanks and bailed earlier than he should have. Either way, he knew Ramirez wouldn’t be a pushover. Still, this was his world inside that arena, not Ramirez’s. Ramirez was still playing to the crowd and didn’t understand the importance of swift brutality over showy crowd pleasing. There was a time and a place for both. A one night tournament was hardly the place to stall.

“I heard you battered that poor old Zondian pretty badly,” Coop said.

“You bet your ass I did,” Ramirez responded. “Had them eating out of my hand out there while I dragged him to all four corners of that place. Still missed the old squared circle, though. Gotta admit that.”

“Yeah, a wide open arena is a different playing field than the ring. No explosives, either, unless you’ve got your own.”

“That’s fine,” Ramirez said. “The chain’s good enough. I can still put on a show.”

“That you do.” A part of him felt guilty for not chiding Ramirez and explaining he wouldn’t be putting on a show this time. This was about survival and victory. It should be implied.

“Well, guys,” Sam interrupted them. “It looks like you’re up.”

“What happened between Skidz and the Flaxian?” Coop asked, a pit forming in his stomach, knowing it would be Skidz.

“Already thinking ahead?” Ramirez said.

“He tore the Flaxian’s arm off,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Just wrapped his arms around hers and pulled it clean off.”

“What the fuck?” That dumbfounded him in a hurry. He’d known the power of Skidz, and tearing her arm off like that was a feat to be in awe of.

“I better get to my mark,” Ramirez said. “Wouldn’t want to fight in my towel.”

“Right.” Taking a deep breath, Coop exhaled and grasped onto his arm. “Hey, bud…I’m not gonna go easy on you out there, just want that clear.”

“Wouldn’t expect it, compadre.”

“Good luck,” Coop said.

“Don’t need it.” Ramirez sauntered off toward his own ready area, leaving Coop and Sam alone to prepare.

“Guess I should get dressed as well, eh?” he asked.

“You know, you don’t owe him anything, right?” Sam said. “I know you feel responsible for this, but he’s an adult and came here on his own.”

“Yeah, I know all that…you don’t have to worry about it.”

“Cooper, do I know you better than anyone else?”

“Yeah…of course you do,” he admitted.

“Then I know what you’re thinking. You didn’t force Tuup to capitalize on that fight and bring him in. It’s a publicity stunt.”

“Leaving that regen tank behind opened the door for it, though,” he said. “How can I not feel guilty about it?”

“So, what? Are you gonna throw the fight?”

“I didn’t think we’d meet this early in the tournament.” There had to be a way to let Ramirez off gently and not destroy him, but they’d met before and Coop knew how strong willed he was. “It’s sort of nice to have another human around, take some of the heat off.”

“Coop, enough.” Sam handed his clothes to him. “You’ve lost before. He’s lost before. It’s part of life. You’ve earned this. Don’t talk yourself into thinking letting this guy win is for the good of anyone. It’s not.”

“Okay, fine.”

Coop exhaled and pulled his clothes on, his head swimming.

Thirty-One

Ruthless Redux

Although Coop wouldn’t say he was anywhere near fully healed, it’d have to do. Ramirez awaited him in that arena, a trial by fire for the relative rookie, and a test for Coop’s will. More humans battling in the league at this level made it easier for him to exist in this space.

“One minute,” a Flaxian called into the ready room.

Coop knew it was coming and what to expect of his foe, but the other end of the bracket still loomed on the horizon, heavy and suffocating. Winning these next two fights meant a chance at redemption. Another shot at Kriger, that bastard. If it wasn’t Coop, the next best thing would be Ramirez, although he wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. Sam mulled about, arms crossed and shoulders tense, like always. It wasn’t difficult to see the impact these fights had on her, even though she put on a strong face.

“Don’t worry.” Coop placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze, watching the red light above the door. “I’ll be okay. You don’t have to always worry like this.”

“I know you will,” she said. “Okay?”

“Yeah, you’re just tense. Shit, you’re more tense than I am.”

“This never gets easier,” she admitted. “Never thought how multiple times in one night would feel. It’s…compounded.”

“I’m ready for this. We know how Ramirez fights. There’re no surprises out there.”

“Right. Sorry, I’m just not feeling great is all. My stomach is off.”

“Just take care of yourself in here. Relax, okay?” With as much tenderness as a man carrying an exploding barbed wire bat could, he pulled her in close. “No matter what, we’re good. This here? It’s important to me, but it’s just work. Before I met you I…”

“You what?”

“There wasn’t anything else. This wasn’t work, this was life. If I failed out there, my life was meaningless. That’s not how I see it anymore, Sam.”

That was the first time he’d verbalized those thoughts, another new shade of gray hidden within his chaotic mind. She embraced him tighter while the klaxon blared, the light blinking from red to green, prompting the parting of the mighty doors. Ramirez awaited him across the arena, a proud approximation of what Coop was when he started out. Brash, angry, and eager to prove himself as the baddest man in the galaxy.

Sam and Coop’s bodies parted, her touch and scent lingering behind while he stole glances back at her, her purple hair dangling over her eyes and that mischievous look that broke through the deep sadness she wore. The crowd’s roars were welcomed and set his mind at the task at hand, turning from his beloved to his opponent, chain wrapped around his wrist and a deadpan expression.

Both men stood, shoulders squared to each other, weapons of choice in hand, ready to pounce. There was a breathless moment between the two, a knowing nod, and a release of tension when the announcer commenced with the formalities and the bell rang.

They didn’t need to utter a single word, it all being done backstage before the fight, so instead they leaped into action. Coop knew Ramirez wanted to put on a show, but three fights in a row demanded a different pacing. Ramirez wound up with the chain, whipping it around his wrist at his side, Coop taking aim at Ramirez’s hand. The kick was on target, but his opponent was ready for it, snapping the hand back just enough for his boot to go wide and for the chain to wrap around his ankle.

A sudden jerk sent Coop to the ground in a heap, Ramirez whipping the chain free and chuckling from up above. Like the rookie entertainer he was, Ramirez turned his back to Coop, appealing to the bloodthirsty crowd, who ate it all up. On instinct alone, Coop dashed up to his feet and almost smashed the bat across Ramirez’s head, holding back and instead cracking it across his shoulders with a thud and a boom.

This was for real and being an entertainer wasn’t the most important part, especially not for these crowds, who hungered for blood and destruction. Ramirez tensed up, arching his back while the barbs tore into his leather vest and bit into the flesh. The vest itself allowed a layer of protection, albeit not enough. Coop tugged it free. The barbs kissed with his blood pulling free from his flesh and fabric. Anger painting his face, Ramirez turned to Coop and shook his head.

“C’mon, motherfucker! That the best you got?” Ramirez smashed his knuckles against his jaw and begged Coop to smack him. “Show me what you got.”

Without hesitation this time, Coop swung the bat with all his might, the charged electrified bat cracking across Ramirez’s jaw, barbs sinking into his flesh and the explosion obscuring his face and hair into a smoky, charred mess. Ramirez hit the ground hard, face planted in the dirt with smoke rising from his motionless body.

A hush came over the crowd, half expecting Ramirez to stagger back to his feet and fight back, Coop himself knowing he was done. Ramirez’s hand reached out for the chain, finger-by-finger attempting to grip it, fighting through the pain, Coop stomping on his hand, then planting a kick to his ribs.

“Stay down,” Coop whispered. “Just stay down, it’s over.”

“Didn’t…think you’d do it,” Ramirez panted, picking his bloody, charred face up off the ground. “Didn’t…think you had it in you…”

“Never underestimate your opponent, Ramirez. This is a cut throat business.”

“My face…how…bad is it?”

“Regen tank will take care of that.” He stood up tall and raised his hand high, the crowd roaring at the victory.

Thirty-Two

The Finals

After everything Coop had been through, all roads again led to Skidz. His time in the regen tank was short, but long enough for Skidz to dispatch his Flaxian opponent in brutal fashion. When Coop emerged, Sam was deep in a conversation, pacing around the room.

Toweling himself off, Coop threw his arms around her, Sam laughing and elbowing him in the ribs to get him off. It hurt, but he played it up more than he needed to, doing his best to stay in a positive mindset.

“I’m talking to your uncle,” she said. “So chill.”

“Regis jealous now that I’m doing well again?” Although a joke, nothing would surprise Coop anymore.

The Coop of a few weeks ago would simmer over any involvement with his uncle, but it was a momentary glimmer of dread that dissipated into the aether. His fight clothes were stained and torn, but not in a major way. They slid on, soiled and sweaty, a contrast to his freshly tanked body. Whatever Sam’s conversation was about ended, leaving her staring at him and shaking her head.

“What?” he asked.

“You went easy on him,” she said.

“Look, it’s his first time out there.” Having a soft spot wasn’t a bad thing. “It wasn’t too bad. We both got out alive and I’m fine to fight again.”

“As long as you think so. Skidz, on the other hand, looked unstoppable tonight. After your last fight—”

“I’m not worried about it, Sam. Please.” Her concern was touching, but unnecessary. “I’ve beaten him before and I’ll beat him again.”

“You’re tired, Coop. I can see it in your eyes.” Sam moved in closer, Coop wrapping his hands around her waist. “Things are…good now. You’re doing better now, we’re doing better. I’m just afraid of what another loss to this creep would mean.”

“Sam, I…Shit, I know things have been going well and I don’t want that to change.” She had a point. Losses before had crushed Coop, leaving his mind an existential puddle of goop. “If I’m gonna keep doing this, I’ve gotta find a way to keep it together, win or lose.”

“That’s great. I don’t want you doing it for me, though,” she said.

“Trust me, I understand.” He planted a kiss on her cheek, leaning back to stare into her eyes. “I’m keeping myself together because it’s the right thing to do, Sam. For us.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“What did Regis want, anyway?” The thought of his uncle’s invisible hand gripping him again sent a shiver down his spine.

“He wanted to wish you luck, and to remind you about the eye,” she said.

“Fucking Skidz,” he said. “You fuck a guy’s eye up and he never lets it go. Of course I know he’s aiming for my eye. He always does.”

“I’m not sure I can save you this time.”

“Yeah, I know. Trust me, Regis pounded it into my head that regen tanks can’t repair complex things like eyes, hearts, brains, and some of the other major organs.”

“You never told me about the major organ thing,” Sam said.

“Didn’t want you to worry, is all. There’re risks that come with what I do and they’re real.”

“That’s certainly a risk.”

“Just…don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

Skidz wasted no time, barreling forward the nanosecond the bell rang, smashing one of his massive six arms across Coop’s neck, which batted him to the ground before Coop could prepare. The night’s previous two fights fogged him over worse than he’d assumed they had. Skidz’s lowermost arms wrapped around Coop’s waist, dead lifting him off the dust-clouded ground, sending him flying and crashing down onto his neck and shoulders.

In a heartbeat, the spear stabbed downward at his head, Coop rolling out of the way. With the spear’s head stuck in the ground, Coop summoned up his strength and their conjoined history, rolling back to his feet while his neck burned from where the Brandian’s flesh had touched his own.

Coop swung the bat in a haphazard arc toward Skidz, the Brandian having learned his lesson and relenting his grip on the spear, backing up so the bat smacked against the spear. The speed of the blow and elasticity of the pole slapped the bat back where it came from, almost toppling Coop over. Skidz pounced, grabbing his legs with his bottom arms, tackling him to the ground with his legs bound tightly together. Next came the rain of blows, a vicious rain of hardened fists onto Coop’s face. His sheer weight and strength made it impossible to spring back up, Coop arcing the bat toward him but Skidz catching it in the soft flesh of his palm, screaming out for the briefest of moments without losing focus on turning Coop’s face into meat.

With nothing else to lose, Coop swung the bat again, Skidz not expecting its toothy barbs to dig into his soft belly. The alien let out another scream, swatting it away, giving Coop another opening, this time bringing his left fist up and connecting flush on the alien’s jaw.

“Fuck you!” Skidz shouted. “I’m getting my payback on you, human.”

Before Coop could retort, he squeezed harder, four of his six arms enshrouding him in a makeshift Brandian cocoon. Only Coop’s right hand—the one with the bat—was free, but the pressure from Skidz paralyzed him, making movement all but impossible.

Skidz gripped onto the top of Coop’s skull with his left claw, holding it like a vice, leaving Coop’s right eye, the bad one, staring up at the incoming free hand. The thumb and forefinger had long, pointed nails, incoming and occluding everything else in the arena. His vision flattened and the only thing could see was the impending doom of Skidz’s hand, attempting to tear the eye out of its socket.

All Coop could do was scream out when the nails sunk into his flesh, an immediate pressure that threatened to take his consciousness. He cried out but couldn’t make out his own words, hand still gripping the bat with all his might. The claws ground into his face deeper, a sharp, piercing pain unlike he’d ever felt before, while all he could see was blurred and scattered. His thumb rested on the explosive switch of the bat, powering it off, knowing there was only one hope of getting out of this. Survival was all he could think of, not winning or losing, just getting this brute off him. Skidz’s grip on his body had loosened, the top arms pressed against his head, leaving an opening. Coop took his shot, jamming the barbed wire bat between their two bodies, feeling the kiss of the barbs while they ground the two of them.

When Skidz let out a cry, his grip loosened just enough, Coop flicking the switch on the bat to full power, a wave of heat and a boom engrossing them in their deadly embrace.

Skidz relented, falling back and screaming out, the pressure relieved from Coop’s body allowing him to breathe. Everything burned and there was blood everywhere: on his body, streaming down his face. Skidz himself was a disgusting heap on the ground. This was who Coop was, though. Coop was a deathmatch wrestler, his body battered, bruised, and burned to a crisp. Using the bat as a guide, he stumbled to his feet, Skidz sitting up, rasping out something in his native tongue and reaching his claws toward Coop, Coop summoning the last vestiges of his strength with the bat set to full blast and smacked him across the face, sending his gooey alien blood flying and his body limp on the ground.

Stumbling to one knee, kept up only by his bat, the crowd flummoxed at how to react, but then exploded into applause. Coop’s entire face was numb, blood streaming down into his mouth, the taste of iron and dirt accentuated by the pain. Raising his hand high in the air, the crowd cheered, Coop collapsing and blacking out from the pain.

“Coop?” A voice assailed his subconscious. “Coop, get up. Please.”

Thirty-Three

Falling Unknown

Like something out of a cheaply made horror flick, Coop awakened in a panic, the side of his face numb and nothing but darkness surrounding him. This couldn’t be it, could it? Balling his fists up, he thrust them forward; they moved like he was in mud before smacking against something hard. Using his fists like hammers, he smashed them against the wall repeatedly, the soft thudding filling the chamber. A mask covered his nose and mouth, making his breathing complicated. A sliver of light pierced through the darkness, almost blinding him at the moment, before it spread out more evenly, a shadowy figure hovering over him.

“He’s awake,” the voice echoed through the aether. “Isn’t he supposed to be out still?”

“Shit,” another voice answered. A second shadow figure joined the other, this one more stout to the other figure’s svelte frame. “Stubborn bastard.”

The second figure disappeared for a moment, when a sudden rush of air filled the chamber, fluid dissipating around him, sucking downward. Clarity came, Sam standing over him while the scene came into a blurred focus. Joining her was Regis, fiddling with a panel that popped open the compartment to the regen tank. Coop tore the mask off and took and heaved for fresh air, only to find recycled ship air. Gasping to catch his breath, Sam leaned in and embraced him, her body warm against his cold, clammy frame.

“Wh-what happened?” he asked through his fog.

“I didn’t know what to do,” Sam said. “I called Regis, and he rushed over. He was already at the fight.”

“You were?” It made little sense yet, but a picture was forming in his mind of his last few moments. “Did I win?”

“Yeah, kid, you won.” Regis used his calming tone. “I know things between us ain’t great, but I couldn’t miss a tournament. Was good scouting, anyway, right?”

“Yeah, right.”

“We’re on a ship?” Coop asked, trying to blink his vision into sharpness.

“Hey, chill out with that until we get there,” Sam said.

“Get where?” he asked.

“We’re heading back to Luna.” Regis sauntered away from the cargo area and shouted from the next room. “Gotta get you to a specialist. Wanted you to be out the whole time, but it won’t be long now, anyway.”

“A specialist?” His face remained numb and his vision blurred. With the palm of his hand, he smacked at his eye, trying to clear things up. “I’ve got something in my eye, it’s all blurry.”

“Regis, this was a bad idea,” Sam called. “Should we put him back out?”

“Put me back what?” Coop picked himself up, bracing against the side of the overturned tank to prevent himself from slipping. “You put a regen tank on a ship? This is all so odd.”

“Look, kid. I’m gonna level with you,” Regis returned. “That eye ain’t looking so hot. I told you Skidz wasn’t gonna rest until he returned the favor.”

“Is that why my vision is blurry?”

“Sam, could you get me the medgun? If he’s gonna be up, we’re gonna have to do something until we get to the doc.”

“Right.” Sam rooted around in a cabinet, bringing Regis a small gun with a needle protruding from it.

“Alright, kid, this is gonna hurt, but if we’re gonna try to save that eye you’re gonna need to hold—“

“What the fuck?” Coop swatted the gun away. “Someone explain what’s happening here before you prod me any further. Did he take my eye out?”

“No, Coop. It’s still there.” Sam rubbed his arm. “It just…doesn’t look very good right now.”

“Doesn’t look very—“

Before he could finish the thought, a sting pierced the side of his head, followed by a blast of cold numbness. Coop swatted at his uncle again, sending the gun clattering along the floor while he gripped at his head, almost slipping in the glass tube.

“What the fuck?” he shouted.

“Sorry, kid. We gotta numb it up and freeze it if you’re out of the tank,” Regis said. “We all know those tanks can’t deal with eyes.”

“Gods fucking damnit.” Coop staggered out of the tube onto the cold metal floor of the ship. His depth perception was off, Coop reaching for a counter and missing it, Sam catching him before he fell. His initial instinct was to pull away, but Sam’s embrace overflowed with warmth that he melted into. “How could this happen?”

“It’s okay, Regis said he’s got a guy back on Luna and he’ll look at it. A specialist, right?”

“Yeah, best in the game, kid,” Regis assured him.

“If he’s the bloody best, then why’s he on Luna?”

“You’re gonna have to either accept the help, or go fight Kriger with one eye, you got that?” Regis snapped.

“For fuck’s sake.” Coop slumped back against the wall, crumbling into a ball at the realization. This was happening. “I’ve gotta fight fucking Kriger again? Like this?”

“It’ll be okay, Coop,” Sam hovered over him. “We’re gonna get you fixed up as best we can, right?”

“It’ll be something,” Regis said. “No promises.”

A few deep breaths later, Coop had control over himself, straightening up and realizing he’d been stumbling around naked still. His panicked scan of his body was all the cues Sam needed to grab his clothes for him, helping Coop step into the loose linen pants and pull the shirt over his head.

“At least I won, right?”

“You’re damned straight you did,” Regis said. “Maybe I was wrong about those Ushinatta bastards, too. That Ramirez guy looked tough as nails out there, and that sacrifice move you did at the end to defeat Skidz? Who else would have the balls to do that but a madman who fought in those pits?”

“I couldn’t think of anything else to do.” Images skipped through his mind of Skidz, arms wrapped tight around him, attempting to grind his eye out of the socket, just before the opening presented itself. A shudder ran through him. “Fucking Skidz.”

“There’re no questions left if you can beat him or not, at least,” Sam said.

“There’s a bigger question now, though.” Kriger had decimated him in their last meeting. Even though his eye wasn’t in great condition then, it was sure better than it ever would be again, if they could even save it. An optical implant could make his life easier, but the league would never sign off on that, leaving him with a glass eye for battle if things were that dire. His uncle rushing him to home base meant that it wasn’t looking good. A sigh quaked through his body, Sam reaching out and gripping his hand.

“I’m here with you,” she said.

“I know,” Coop returned the grip. “Thank you.”

The look on her face broke his heart. Living life like a warrior was the only way he’d imagined things going prior to meeting Sam. Now there were people who cared about him, stakes beyond winning or losing, or being some big hero. There was a lot more on the line now.

“Thanks, Regis,” Coop muttered.

“For what?” he asked.

“All of this. I appreciate it.”

“You sure everything’s okay in that head of yours?” Regis reached for Coop’s head.

“Oh fuck outta here.” Coop swatted him away. “Can’t even be nice to this asshole.”

Regis burst out laughing, Coop joining in, doing his best to ignore the uncertainty.

Thirty-Four

The Real Lunar Loser

The shadow of Kriger loomed on the horizon, a heavy, ominous harbinger of destruction and, more importantly, Coop’s eye wouldn’t stop itching. It would be another week before the damned eye patch could come off and they’d have any idea if Regis’ doctor pal had fixed the problem, or just prolonged the inevitable. Holding out for hope was akin to a fool’s errand most of the time, Coop knew that. Still, Sam was doing her best to remain optimistic and if she was holding on, that made it easier for him to.

Walking around with one side of his face covered up was helping him adjust to a life without his full visual spectrum. The adjustment was anything but easy, his hips bearing the brunt of his transgressions and were covered in bruises. Moving around like this was hardly graceful enough to cope with fighting the toughest bastard in the galaxy, that was for sure.

“Just cut it out,” Sam said. “You know the more you poke it and prod at it, you’ll just make it worse.”

“Easy enough for you to say,” Coop said. “This itches so bad, I just want to tear this damned patch off already.”

“We both know it’s a miracle you’ve even still got an eye, let’s at least wait and see if Dr. Liu’s treatment worked.”

“It’s not that I don’t, it’s fucking annoying.”

There were multiple frustrations in his life, including being stuck on Luna until things were sorted with his eye. The doctor worked out of Regis’ facility, meaning he was tethered to them until things were better. Sam had to talk him into staying every day, the pull to at least return home to his flat and be comfortable too overwhelming.

If there was one thing working in the injury’s favor, it was temporarily severing his tie from the stimnet until he was healed. His senses weren’t ready for an experience like that just yet, nor was it healthy for him mentally to dive back into something that’d consumed him for so long.

What he wanted was to get back into training, something with substance, and could actually help him. Anything was better than stumbling around the sterile, sad compound full of high hopes and future broken dreams.

“Maybe it’s time to get back into training?” Sam asked.

“What? You mean here, on Luna? With this thing on my face?” He didn’t mean to sound that incredulous, but he was worn down. “Sorry, I’m just tired is all.”

“Look, I know nothing about here is ideal. This is the hand we’ve been dealt, so we’ve gotta deal with it. Letting yourself sit here, rot, and stew over things isn’t gonna help either of us. You remember how you get…”

She didn’t need to say anything else. It stung because it was true. The stimnet wasn’t the problem, it was merely a vehicle to bring out the worst in him. Those tendencies and problems were ones that existed in the real world and the stimnet was the easiest place to facilitate that behavior. Of course she was right. He should make an attempt to train again. He’d trained on Luna before and it didn’t go well for him, albeit his attitude at the time was utter garbage. Training in his current condition, the once-great Coop Sabre, stumbling around in front of people he’d considered amateurs, was not ideal. Was that what he was reduced to? Some sad sack worried about looking bad in front of people he didn’t respect?

“C’mon, what do you have to lose?” she asked.

“My pride,” he admitted.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Cooper,” she said. “Is that what you’re afraid of? Making a fool of yourself in front of these kids? They look up to you. You already made a fool of yourself to them the last time you were here by being such a prick. What else could you do? They still look up to you.”

“I wasn’t that bad.” The words came, but they felt empty. He had been a miserable prick. But it couldn’t be that bad. “Right?”

“You insulted them, hurt a few of them, couldn’t get beyond your loss and that stupid bat—“

“The bat was shit, Sam. C’mon.”

“So what? They were trying to make you feel at home, and instead you shit all over them. You know, I think Regis is an asshole, but he came to your aid without me calling him. That regen tank? You ever wonder why it was just slapped into that ship? He bought it off of Tuup on the spot.”

“From fucking Tuup?” That floored him. “Tuup wouldn’t do that for cheap.”

“He didn’t. Your uncle didn’t flinch at the price, he just wanted to get you back here and stitched up.”

“Oh fuck me.” This was hitting him hard. “I’ve been an asshole.”

“You can be,” she said.

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“That’s what love is, right? I’m not here to make you feel better. I’m here to help you be the best person you can be, even if it’s kicking and screaming.”

“How am I ever gonna pay him back for that tank?” he asked.

“Go out there and be Coop Sabre. What do you have to be afraid of? To them, you’re a living legend. Seeing you still going, regardless of your injury or pride, would be more inspiring than seeing you stumble around and grunt about hating it here.”

“Yeah…”

“Just a thought.”

She followed it up with a peck on the cheek and strolled out of the room, leaving Coop to contemplate how far he’d come from the miserable bastard he was and how far he still had to go. His uncle buying one of Tuup’s regen tanks on the spot to rush him back to Luna and attempt to fix his eye was above and beyond what he’d ever expected of him, especially after the stunt with the last tank and leaving it on Ushinatta out of spite. In retrospect, it was a nice move for those guys and helped push Ramirez into a career in the league, but done out of spite, not any sense of nobility.

He still had a lot to learn.

With a deep sigh of resignation, Coop rifled through his things and pulled out some workout gear, knowing she was right and he needed to get back into the gym no matter what. It would probably also help to be more public and help some of these hopeless losers find themselves. If all it took with Ramirez was bashing his skull in and leaving a regen tank for him, these guys could be whipped into some sort of shape as well.

Thirty-Five

Humility

Stepping out onto the mats, surrounded by the people he’d made no attempt to show even remote kindness to, made the knot in his stomach twist and burn. Even though he deserved that pain, it didn’t make him feel any better about his previous lack of humility. Although names remained foggy to him, the faces were etched into his memory from his time in the compound, as brief as it was. That period of his career remained dark, but not the kind of darkness that was easily forgotten. Instead, now it burned inside of him. The gawking at seeing him, donning the eye patch and again entering the mats of their fancy modern training facility. Coop snatched up a wooden cudgel for practice and made toward a heavy bag in the corner of the giant open room.

“What are you doing?” Regis approached before he could warm up.

“I’m here, right? May as well get some reps in.”

“Thought you were waiting for that thing to heal up?”

“If it does,” he said. “We still aren’t sure it will. If it doesn’t, I’m gonna need to be ready to fight with one eye. I figure if Skidz can do it, I’ll be fine with some work.”

“Kriger is no Skidz.”

“No shit.” His uncle was a firm believer in tough love and always pushing, never showing weakness. While he couldn’t fault him for being that way, it only helped to harden him and taught him plenty of bad habits that he was attempting to unlearn.

“Well, whatever. While you’re here, you’re free to use the facilities as you please,” Regis said. “Although I know, it’s just a bunch of losers.”

Those words hung in the air, Coop squaring himself up toward the bag and gripping the cudgel, trying to get a feel for the heft and weight, and for his uncle to fuck off. And yet, he remained, letting his words sting while awaiting a reply. Coop took a few deep breaths, knuckles white, gripping the bat with his surging anger, doing his best to not smack him over the head with the crude weapon. Regis chortled at the display, knowing he’d hit a nerve with Coop. The duality of the man who bent over backward to ensure Coop’s safety and recovery just wanted to dig in further let him feel it.

“I know I was an asshole,” Coop said. “While I’m here, I’m gonna try to give back.”

“Give back?” Regis laughed louder. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“These kids need more than they can get from you or that red-faced asshole you call a coach. So yeah, it’s gonna be real nice, you piece of shit.”

“Can’t wait to see this.” Regis shook his head and waddled away, leaving Coop alone with the bag and the cudgel.

The first shot came from his pent up rage, contact coming far too low, closer to the hilt of the bat than he’d ever throw, sending vibrations through his hands. He cursed under his breath, stepping back and landing another blow, this one flush and proper, getting the expected thud and resistance. With each successive blow, he needed to temper his expectations, understanding his newfound limitations and the need to give himself time to relearn what had once been instinctive.

It had been years since he’d trained in a setting like this under his own volition, instead opting to spend his time in his rented warehouse near his flat with his proprietary combat mech. A few of the cheaper, off-the-assembly line Kaijutech bots were littered about, but Coop refused to work with them, which always angered his uncle, who saw it as a branding opportunity. They’d been chasing Coop for years to slap his name on one of their models, along with his likeness for adverts and such, but it was one area Coop wouldn’t budge on. A few mats over, a younger hulk of a man swung a massive hammer at a Kaijutech bot, putting in his reps until something hit Coop. He knew the bastard.

The cudgel still in hand, Coop stopped smacking away at the bag and being frustrated with himself, instead watching the kid from a safe distance. The square jawed Robert Burns, with his hammer attempting to look like an ancient god of thunder, wearing his training gear and not the same skin-tight bodysuit. Since their fight, he’d tightened things up, or at least seemed to have done so. The unchecked aggression that didn’t work against Coop wasn’t present, which was what being bettered in front of your peers would do to you. After a few moments, Robert landed a crushing blow with the hammer head to the robot’s jaw after setting it up with a jab from the hilt, forcing the bot onto its back. Coop couldn’t help but laugh, tucking the cudgel under his arm and clapping.

“Well done,” he said.

“Uh, oh…” Burns stopped and glared over at Cooper, taken aback by who was standing there. “Hilarious. Well done for a loser, right?”

“I probably deserve that,” Coop said.

“What the fuck are you doing here, anyway?” Burns asked. “I’m trying to train.”

“You’ve slowed down, you’re thinking things through more, picking your shots.” It was true. That’s what Coop had seen.

“That’ll happen when someone embarrasses you,” he said.

“I was trying not to hurt you too bad,” Coop said. “I’m sorry if it came off otherwise.”

“You think?” Burns lashed back. “You came here, into our gym, had the red carpet rolled out for you and called us all losers? Then, when we fought, you couldn’t show me an ounce of respect. No shit, I’m not on your level, but you didn’t give me anywhere near the same respect you gave that biker guy with the chain.”

“Ramirez?” he asked.

“Yeah, that guy.”

“Ramirez is someone I bonded with,” Coop said. “It’s different, but yeah, I’m sorry, no matter what. I should’ve shown you some respect. You’re a big deal up here and eventually, you’ll be in the big time.”

“Eventually, huh?” There was an edge to his voice. He was still pretty pissed.

“With what I just saw? There’s something there, man. That big ass hammer needs control if you’re married to it. I get it, right? The whole barbed wire bat thing? Not exactly a normal weapon, nor the best. Still, I love it and it’s my thing. If the hammer and the whole Thor thing is for you, embrace it and figure it out.”

“Why are you even here?” he asked.

“You didn’t see Skidz try to tear my eye out?”

“Of course I did. We all saw it. You still beat him.”

“Yeah, I beat Skidz, alright. Still not sure if that eye will ever work the same again. My uncle showed up, though, and brought me here to your doc.” Coop let out a deep sigh, knowing this wasn’t enough. “I…look, I know I was an asshole before. There’s no excuse for it, even if I was going through some shit. You all looked up to me and I big timed you guys.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Trust me, I’m figuring this out.” Coop walked over to the fallen bot, prodding it with his cudgel. “They got you working just with these things?”

“More or less, yeah. We do plenty of sparring, but these are mostly what we work with.”

“Never liked the Kaijutech.”

“Are you kidding me?” Burns asked. “Kaijutech is the gold standard.”

“No they ain’t, bud,” Coop said. “Fucking hell, I feel pretty bad. How about this? I’m gonna call my buddy Brent up, get my custom bot boxed up and shipped up here and I’ll show you how a champion trains.”

“Custom bot?” Burns turned to him. “Custom how?”

“These things are fine, but their AI is shit, the subroutines are predictable and they can’t imitate most of those big bastards we’ve gotta fight out there. These things are repurposed service bots with a few fight programs in ’em. Nah, they’re fine, but I’ve turned down their money enough times to know they’re shit.”

“You’d do that?” he asked.

“I’ll go do that right now. I know it doesn’t make up for being an asshole or anything, but it’s something.”

Thirty-Six

The Blurred Line

Even though it took Coop a while to recognize, the potential of Richard Burns became apparent to him after two weeks of training alongside each other. A natural athlete that things came much more naturally to than Coop, who didn’t have the same anger guiding him. That was what tripped Coop up at first; this kid wasn’t coming from the same sort of raw background that Coop came from, where brute force and sadism could overcome athletic deficiencies. Regis spoke of training a new generation of fighters and Burns and this lot was it, even if they weren’t there yet.

In the back of his mind, he knew this newfound focus was a distraction from what lay ahead of him. His eyesight, while recovering, would never be the same. If he did any other job in the universe, there would be zero questions about installing an augmentation to restore—even enhance—his vision. Instead, he was still mulling over if fighting with the eye patch was better than fighting with the exposed, damaged eye surrounded by scarred tissue. Distractions were good.

“I’m still not used to this thing.” Burns was out of breath after a session with the bot, Coop having configured it to his Skidz setting, arms and all. “You were right, this thing fights a lot different from the ones we have.”

“The Kaijutech are trash,” Coop said. “Trust me, this is the real deal.”

“This Skidz is a real asshole, then,” Burns said.

“No shit.” Coop unconsciously scratched at his eye under the patch, Burns collecting himself and pretending not to notice.

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to…”

“It’s fine. I still beat the bastard.”

“Should we configure this beast for Kriger now?” Burns asked. It was a fair question. They’d spent two weeks with Coop showing Burns and any other curious fighter his special bot, configuring it for different specific fighters and archetypes. He did his best to not focus on his own troubles.

“Suppose I’ll have to at some point,” Coop admitted.

“I know things aren’t…better yet or anything, but there’s a date set for it, right?” Burns asked.

“Six weeks from now,” Coop sighed. “In theory, I should’ve been preparing for him for the last two already. Instead, I’m trying to get a feel for the basics like some sort of newbie. Not even sure I should take this fight.”

“W-what?” he asked. “You’re Coop fucking Sabre! Every one of these guys in here is doing this because of you. There weren’t any fighters in the league for us to look up to before you. Every human was a speed bump for these big bastards, then you came outta nowhere with that attitude and recklessness. You inspired us.”

“I became a tool for the Earth gov,” Coop mumbled. “A face to put on an advert and parade around as some sort of exceptional person, when I’m just a fuck up like the rest of you.”

“Be that as it may, you’ve shown us we can do this,” Burns said. “Without you and your uncle…I don’t even know.”

“I’ve beaten a few aliens over the head with a barbed wire bat,” Coop said. “Let’s be real here.”

“I am being real. You kicking my ass that night was an honor. It was an experience and—“

“Alright.” Coop’s palm shot out, stopping Robert in his tracks. “Look, I get it. I’m dealing with a migraine right now and should call it for the day. You mind getting that thing configured for me to train with tomorrow or something?”

“The Kriger program, right?”

“Suppose I have little choice, do I?”

“I’ll go fetch the parts for it now with some of the boys. They’ll all be excited about watching you train for this.”

“Thanks, kid.” He forced a smile before slinking away from the gym, the weight of the situation back on his shoulders after a few carefree weeks of ignoring his problems. Regis was pacing around the hallway arguing with someone, only to stop at the sight of Coop and approached him.

“Boy, you know, I didn’t expect much from ya, kid. But this? You’ve really lit a fire under their asses out there.”

“That’s great,” Coop said. It was sincere, even if his voice didn’t reflect it. “Just glad I can help.”

“The eye getting any better?” Regis asked.

“Not really,” he said. “Doc told me my vision wouldn’t get much better than the 30% or so it’s at now.”

“The bright side is, whenever you retire, we can set you up with a nice augment,” Regis said.

“Fighting Kriger again, like this…” All the thoughts he’d pushed aside, the shame and depression that followed the initial loss, were coming back to him.

“Nobody ever said this was gonna be easy. You’ve come further than either of us ever expected,” Regis said.

“…And if this is it?” It was a thought that had crossed his mind more than a few times. “If I’ve got one more fight, win or lose?”

“Then you’ve had one helluva run.”

“It just feels like everyone wants something from me. I don’t even know what I want for myself.”

“Yeah, you do,” Regis said. “I’ve known you a long time. We’ve been through some rough times together and if you’re anything, you’re someone that when you figure out your path, you see it through.” Regis clasped him on the shoulders. “You’re in a better place now than ever before. Sam’s a good one. She cares about you, and even if you quit now, money won’t be an issue. Hell, you could help out around here. There’s always room for you. Those kids out there? They think of you as a god.”

“I’m not a god, I’m just some fuckup from the streets of Birmingham who found a way to make money off of being an asshole.”

“You’re much more than that,” Regis said. “You’re family, don’t you forget that. Fuck what anyone else thinks. You don’t gotta do anything for these people, anyway. You wanna quit and go disappear? Go do that. Fuck it.”

“Yeah, fuck it.”

Coop slapped his uncle on the shoulder and continued down the hall, his mind swimming through a myriad of awful options before him. Defeating Kriger and winning the Intergalactic Championship was always the goal. Making it this far was never good enough; defeating Kriger and becoming the first human to capture the crown was. Proving every last asshole that had claimed he’d grow up to be nothing more than a petty thug wrong had been a driving force for his existence. They’d already been proven wrong countless times over and, win or lose, he had become somebody. Maybe helping these kids out was where he belonged. The door to his suite slid open and Sam was slumped over on the couch, blankets slung over her.

“Oh, hey,” she said.

“You still not feeling well?” When he left that morning, her stomach had been bugging her, and she didn’t look much better.

“Feel like shit,” she said. “You’re not looking too hot yourself.”

“Got a lot on my mind.”

“Sorry, Coop,” she said.

“It’s no worries. What can I get you?” He sidled up next to her on the couch.

“Just sit with me for a while,” she said.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

Thirty-Seven

Change is the Only Constant

Things weren’t going to get better. That wasn’t Coop in doom mode, either. Oh no, it was the cold reality that was his eye. Until he was done fighting, and could get a solid augmentation installed, everything was going to be more muddy and his peripheral vision would remain less than it ever was before. Heading into the battle of his life with such an impediment was a sobering thought. If retirement was something he’d danced around before in the throes of his depression, it was looking more like a reality if things didn’t go well in this next fight. There was no shame in saying it wasn’t the right time for Coop to be on top, with Kriger, the reigning champion, who looked almost unstoppable.

Almost.

There were always cracks in any warrior’s armor and Kriger was no different. His arrogance was his Achilles heel and if it wasn’t for Coop’s own arrogance and his issues with his uncle going into the last fight, things could have ended differently. One wrong move against someone as strong as Kriger was the line between life and death, victory and defeat. This time would be different. He’d throw everything he had at Kriger and leave it all in the arena. It wasn’t fair that he’d go into another fight with Kriger nowhere near 100%, and he believed the league needed to adjust how augmentations were ruled in the case of humans. He could get an implant in his damaged eye to help fix his vision, providing nothing else, nothing that a biological eye couldn’t do and nothing more than that, either. Since Sam was still feeling run down, Regis did his best to appeal to Tuup, to no avail.

“What a piece of shit,” his uncle said.

“Tuup still won’t listen?” Coop was lounging in the stands of the gym, watching while the team trained after a hard session of his own.

“Won’t even humor me.”

“Even knowing it wouldn’t be an advantage?”

“Keeps crying about the integrity of the sport.” Regis sidled up next to him and let out a deep breath. “What a piece of shit.”

“I guess if Skidz didn’t get a pass, there’s no chance of me getting one.”

“Skidz is an asshole, but no, if he can’t, you can’t. That was his argument, just with a lot more Zondian cursing.”

“Figured as much. Looks like I’ve gotta go into this one as damaged goods again.” Coop let out a sigh of his own.

“Where’s Sam, anyway? Still feeling like shit?”

“Has an appointment back down on Earth with her doc, spending some time with her sister to see what’s going on with her.” Coop had felt her absence for the prior two days, but he understood she had her needs and spending some time with family was good for her.

“Neither of us has really had much to do with family. We don’t work like that, huh?”

“And yet here we are, two street urchins in a facility you own and manage, and me challenging for the Intergalactic Championship again.”

“We don’t always get along too well, though, do we?” Regis prodded.

“Doesn’t matter. That’s just who we are and how we deal. When I needed help, you came with no questions asked and made sure I was taken care of.”

“Didn’t do much good,” Regis said.

“You don’t know that.” The eyepatch itched at the mention of the injury again. “In fact, the doc said if I hadn’t been rushed to him it could have been worse and I’d have no vision in that eye.”

“Yeah, well, if fucking Tuup just let you get an implant…”

“If it’s not happening, then it’s not happening,” he said. “You see why I prefer Ushinatta?”

“Never got the Ushinatta thing, if I’m honest here, kid,” Regis said. “That being said? Sorta seeing some of it now. You could have a goddamned pneumatic robot arm there and nobody would give a shit and let you fight. Humans already have a disadvantage in the arena, they should let up.”

“At least we’re not gelatinous cubes, right?”

“True, there are always those poor suckers. Never had a chance.”

“It put up a decent enough fight, I thought.” Every combatant he’d faced in the arena had its own strengths and weaknesses. Coop was just faster and smarter, or just better at using whatever opportunity arose to his advantage.

“You’re getting soft, you know that?” Regis said it as a joke, but it was something he’d been considering. “What’s next? Settling down and having a family? Could you imagine that? Me, being a great uncle. That’d be something.”

“Who knows? I could see that happening. You’d need to be less of a piece of shit.”

“Oh fuck off. That kid would be spoiled rotten and you know it.”

“Like I was?” Although he didn’t intend for it to have that level of bite, it did. Regis did his best with Coop when he was younger, but had no idea how to deal with a kid who’d just lost his parents and was brimming with rage like Coop. Fighting seemed like the only option either of them understood. At times, Coop imagined taking his love for technology or music and turning that into something, but his hands were built for smashing and not for finesse. It wasn’t Regis’ fault. He did his best.

“We were both in a rough way…”

“I’m just fucking with you,” Coop said. “Who knows where I’d have ended up without my uncle Regis around. You gotta promise me if I have a kid not to be as much of a scumbag as you were when I was a kid.”

“Think I can do that.”

“I’m not worried about it. It’ll work out just fine.”

“Just like this fight will, you’ll see.” Regis slapped Coop’s knee. “I have a feeling about this one. This is gonna be the one where you find what you’re made of.”

“Yeah. Right.”

Regis picked himself up and gave a lazy stretch, plodding down the bleachers and shouting at some trainees. For all intents and purposes, Coop’s training camp for Kriger was done, and he was surprised by how helpful Regis and his boys had been. Granted, he needed to show up in the worst shape he’d been in in a while, hat in hand and apologize for being an asshole before and instead worked as a resource. Things were changing and Coop couldn’t nail down which way the winds were blowing just yet. Whatever happened in that fight, it almost didn’t matter. One of these kids could pick up where he left off and try to be the first human champion. Coop didn’t need to always be carrying the entire world on his shoulders.

Things were different now, and he wasn’t sure he gave much of a shit about what the world needed. What Coop and his family needed mattered. Still no word from Sam, although he knew waiting for results from the doc could take forever. He shot a message to her, hoping she was feeling better, and that he was thinking of her, something he’d never done before with anyone else, which made him laugh. What a piece of shit he was.

Thirty-Eight

Media Day

“Whatever Kriger wants to say about my eye is his business.” Decked out in his fight gear, Coop sat in front of a bustling street in downtown Baltza, protected by a wall of glass sitting in an uncomfortable chair. A lithe and gorgeous Flaxian sat across from him, a made-for-broadcast smile on her face, trying to compose herself after he blew off the question. The silence was killing him, Coop forcing himself to elaborate. “We all know Skidz wanted his revenge, and he got part of it. I hope he’s sleeping well knowing his revenge wasn’t good enough and I’m here while he’s not. I’ve still got my eye, too.”

“Reports tell us it’s not 100%, though, is that correct?” she pressed.

“No, of course it’s not.” This wasn’t what he wanted to be talking about. Coop tapped his temple to pull up the ocular display from his lens to see if Sam had arrived yet, but nothing. “Skidz is a tough bastard, and he wanted to take my damned eye out. If it was anyone else, he’d have gotten it. So no, it’s not the best it’s ever been, but it’s not completely ruined, either.”

“You’re going to fight Kriger, the most dominant champion the galaxy has ever seen. Perhaps the toughest fighter in the league’s history.”

“That can’t be.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because he’s not Coop Sabre. He’s some big, jacked-up bastard who gets to bully everyone else around. Look at me. I’m just some guy with a barbed wire bat, his jacket, and a pair of torn up jeans. When I step out onto those sands? I’m always undersized. I’m the only human being to ever hang out there and dominance or not, that makes me the toughest damned fighter we’ve ever seen, Lirtredd.”

“You certainly seem ready, one has to wonder if Kriger is taking you lightly after—”

“This pathetic excuse for a fighter dares claim anything over me?” A voice boomed across the studio, Kriger bounding in through a massive set of doors with Tuup in tow.

“You’re on next, Champ,” Lirtredd said, attempting to calm him. “Please let me finish conducting this—”

“Isn’t this what they want to see?” Kriger strode across the room with his massive legs making it easy, Tuup trailing behind, comical in comparison. “They want to see this pathetic worm square off against Kriger, the true champion of the galaxy! So go on, little man. Show me what you’re made of.”

“This is pathetic.” Coop crossed his arms and glared up at the giant alien, blurred to the side. It was impossible to ignore how fucked his eye was when confronted with the massive alien. “Intergalactic Champion and he can’t even understand the concept of a ‘turn’ that he needs to wait for.”

“Your humor won’t save you from an even swifter defeat on the sands of the arena,” Kriger growled. “I’ll crush you once and for all. Then you can whine about that bad eye even more, or perhaps I’ll finish what the weakling Skidz couldn’t do.”

“At least Skidz left a mark,” Coop said. “You, on the other hand? Our fight wasn’t memorable.”

“I destroyed you when you still had your precious weapon, the only tool a weakling like you would need.”

“Don’t know if you’ve heard, but I got a new one.”

“And after I break your neck again and tear that eye from your skull, I’ll use that bat to smash your eye into the cosmos before I break that one and end this pathetic thing you call a career.”

“I’d like to see you try.” Coop bounced up to his feet, getting as close as he could to Kriger’s face. Mention of his neck injury made it tingle, a memory he tried to suppress.

The massive alien leaned down, his breath warm on Coop’s face, giving off a stench that had to be experienced to be believed, making Coop retch. Kriger grew angry, reaching back and smashing his massive arm down against the chair Coop had been sitting in, reducing it to splinters and forcing Coop to dodge to the side. The Gurgian growled, stabbing his pincers down behind Coop to pin him down, Coop knowing it was vital to stand his ground, not budging or showing a hint of intimidation. With Tuup here, it meant Kriger wasn’t acting alone, and this was him trying to stir up some media buzz, so Coop needed to do his part. There was no fear, just raw adrenaline pumping through his veins, staring down the being that was the toughest fighter in the galaxy. That much he knew. Kriger was a bully, and the thing that bothered Coop the most was not letting him get into his head. Standing in quiet defiance was enough to drive him mad.

It was a full two minutes before station security and league officials broke up the stare-down. The poor sitting Flaxian flustered at the display and arguing with Tuup, who couldn’t wipe the grin from his face. The show had gone off the air and it was just Coop and Kriger amidst a sea of hired muscle attempting to peel them from each other. Coop was pleased with himself for keeping his cool and never laying a finger on Kriger. The same couldn’t be said for the champion. This was the kind of leverage Coop needed before a big fight like this, especially after the crushing loss of the last time. Perhaps his uncle was right. This was going to be different. Different was the word, although he couldn’t see what that would be yet.

“Keep your dog on a leash, Tuup,” Coop shouted over the ruckus.

“I’ll eat you alive, you worm!” Kriger screamed, smashing a table before storming out of the room.

“You better be ready this time,” Tuup said before following him. “Be ready, Sabre.”

“Fuck off, Tuup.” Withholding the urge to spit in public, Coop turned to see Sam’s purple hair bobbing back and forth over the security guards. “Sam? Sam, is that you?”

“Coop!” she shouted.

“Let her through, you dickheads. That’s my girlfriend.”

They parted ways, letting her through. Sam looked tired and worn down, needing to travel from Earth to Belzhur, a journey none of them enjoyed particularly well. The last update he had had from Sam was that she felt better, but they needed to talk about something. That last bit left a knot in his stomach, something he was trying to brush aside and focusing on the fight week helped ease whatever nerves he was having about what was going on with Sam. If it was serious, he’d need to be there for her, no question about it. Old Coop would have bailed, but there was zero doubt in his mind he’d do what was best for her, even if it meant walking out of that room, hopping on a ship and heading back home without even bothering with Kriger.

“You look like shit.” Coop embraced her, regretting the words instantly. “Err, I mean, are you feeling alright? I know that trip sucks.”

“Always were a smooth talker, Coop,” she said. “Don’t ever change.”

“Me? I’m always changing. Are you feeling okay?”

“Better, but um, what happened here? It looks like a bomb went off.”

“Kriger did. Can’t hold his temper to save his life, that asshole,” Coop said. “You’d be proud of me. I didn’t let him get to me.”

“That’s good,” she said.

There was something on her mind, that much was clear. That sinking feeling returned to him, tying his stomach up into a tight knot. This wasn’t what he needed before a big fight, not by a longshot. Life had a way of working out like that, though.

“What’s going through your head right now?” he asked. “You proud of me?”

“Of course, you didn’t take his bait. I’m just…I don’t know, there’s a lot to talk about,” she said. “But it can wait until after the fight. We both know how you get.”

“No way,” he said. “If something’s up, I want to know.”

“You’re fighting Kriger, Coop. It can wait,” she said. “Trust me.”

“Are you sure? You’re the most important thing in the galaxy to me, period. Kriger can go fuck himself for all I care.”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” she said. “C’mon, can we go rest for a while? I’m beat.”

“Of course.”

Hand in hand, Coop and Sam made their way out of the busted up studio while the Flaxian attempted to regain her composure. Although Sam said it was fine, whatever was on her mind still hung there, dangling like a Sword of Damocles, ready to stab him even if she said it could wait. If she wanted to wait, that was her prerogative, though, and pressuring her wouldn’t do any good. All Coop could do now was make sure she was comfortable and keep focused on the fight and that things were okay. She said so. He just had to trust her.

Thirty-Nine

And the Walls Came Crumbling Down

What had become a familiar feeling of pacing around the ready room with Sam in tow didn’t feel the same this time. Fight nerves were normal for Coop, but this was different. Sam didn’t need to tell him what was going on and it was sweet of her to wait until after the fight. That much was true. Still, it was eating him alive, not knowing, wondering if there was something truly wrong like one of the newer mutations of cancer that were harder to treat or something worse. They’d been to some weird places together and humans weren’t known to have the greatest immune systems.

Whatever it was, they’d deal with it. That was where they left it.

After spending all afternoon warming up with Burns and Regis, Coop was as ready as he’d ever been to face down a raging Kriger. Very few combatants got this far in their careers to fight the champ, never mind getting a second chance after fumbling hard on the first time out. Chances were slim there would ever be a third crack at this level, not if he messed up like he did last time. His uncle and Burns headed off to their box high above the arena, Regis a gym owner now and reaping the benefits befitting of an official league partner.

An unexpected knock came, most likely his uncle trying to get one last deal solidified, before Coop stepped out for the fight of his life. When he looked up, though, the figure standing there was an unexpected one. It wasn’t his uncle or even Burns; it was instead the augmented dark figure that was TAKASHI. To the best of Coop’s knowledge, TAKASHI rarely left Ushinatta, and if he did, the league was the furthest thing from his mind. Perhaps it was bitterness at their harsh augmentation rules, or just his distaste for something so organized, political, and fueled by money.

“TAKASHI,” Coop said. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.” His voice was quiet, echoing off the cavernous walls and filling the room more than his reserved presence would imply.

“That’s…you’ve never been to a fight out here, have you?”

“No.”

“Wow, so you came all the way to this planet full of things you hate to watch this fight?” Coop couldn’t quite wrap his head around this one.

“In a way, yes,” he said. “I heard about your eye.”

“Oh, right. It’s not doing great.”

“I have no love for the league and their Draconian augmentation rules,” TAKASHI muttered. “Why are you fighting for them?”

“What do you mean? I’m fighting because I have a chance to be the champion. No other human has gotten this far. This is history.”

“What does history matter when it’s not what you want?” TAKASHI riddled him. “These fights don’t matter. There’s no heart or passion, just money. You aren’t that man.”

“Maybe I am,” Coop said. “I’ve gotten this far. It doesn’t make sense to stop now.”

“Old friend, what I’m telling you is to be true to yourself.”

“You know the money isn’t why I’m here.”

“I can feel you.” TAKASHI reached out and placed his hand on Coop’s shoulder. “There’s no passion for this fight, for these people. The warrior I knew isn’t before me.”

“Okay, look. This isn’t helping.” Coop brushed his arm aside and paced around, trying to decipher what the point of this was. “You know this is a big fight for me. If you’re here to wish me well, do that. If you’re here to…I don’t know? Convince me to stop for no reason. Fuck off, man.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” he said. “I’m here to remind you there’s always a choice. Ramirez belongs here now. His spirit is set on it. He’s still young and full of vigor.”

“Are you telling me I’m old? Enough of this speaking in riddles shit. You’re gonna get into my head.”

“I want what’s best for you. When you returned to Ushinatta we fought again, perhaps for the last time—”

“You don’t know that.”

“Don’t tell me what I know,” TAKASHI said. “Whatever passion for this remained needed to be rekindled in the pits of Ushinatta. Your life has changed and so have you. Sometimes it just takes an old friend to remind you of how much you’ve changed. That man I fought wasn’t the same one I fought before. Yes, you defeated me, but I’m not the man I was before, either.”

“Is this about the regen tank I left?”

“Sort of. That certainly was a bold move,” he said. “You showed me something there, though. Taught me a lesson I hadn’t learned yet.”

“I did?” That didn’t sound right.

“Yes. Technology holds together my body, the same technology that prevents me from entering this arena. So why was I so resistant to technology that could have prevented myself becoming a cyborg?”

“Oh c’mon, you aren’t a fucking—”

“By every sense of the word, I am,” TAKASHI said. “I’ve made my peace with it. As I assume you’ll need to, at least with your eye.”

“Can we talk about this after? I appreciate all of this, I—”

“My friend, be true to yourself.” TAKASHI stood, gave him a nod and walked toward the door.

“You came all the way here to tell me that?” Coop shouted across the room. “Are you kidding me?”

“He’s not wrong,” Sam said.

“Did you see that? What was that?” Coop motioned at his friend, the door zipping shut behind him. “What do you mean he’s not wrong?”

“You know this…thing I haven’t been telling you?”

“Of course I do.” He practically shouted it. “I can’t stop thinking about it, thinking that we’re wasting our time here and you could be sick and need care and you’re sticking with me through this, when I should be there for you.”

“It’s not like that, Coop.” She reached up and placed her hands around the back of his neck, pulling him in. “I’m not sick.”

“You aren’t? That’s great, Sam. But if you aren’t sick, then what’s wrong?”

“Oh Coop.” Tears welled up in her eyes, Sam looking away.

“What? Just tell me, already. It doesn’t matter what it is, we’ll get through this. I can’t go out and fight like this not knowing.”

“I don’t want you worrying before this fight,” she said. “I promised myself I’d wait. At least I tried to wait, it’s been so hard to hide it from you.”

“Hide what?”

“Coop, I…” Her eyes locked with his and it seemed that time had come to a standstill in that moment, her words cutting through and returning time to normal with a zip. “I’m pregnant.”

It was at that very moment the picture came into focus, whatever he had perceived of his life until that point came to a dramatic close. They were going to have a baby. Coop was going to be a father. Him. A father.

“Holy fucking shit,” he muttered. “I’m gonna be a father?”

Forty

I Know the End

Everything had changed in the blink of a blurred, busted eye for Coop. Perspective shifted then and stepping out onto those sands again, ignoring how jumbled up he was, became impossible. Both the words of TAKASHI and then Sam echoed through his mind and were unshakeable. People always talked about big, life-changing events that shook them to the core and shifted their perspective. Coop just always thought it was bullshit and people couldn’t change.

People can change, though. Coop was proof of that.

With his bat in hand, Coop awaited the arrival of Kriger. He stomped into the arena, the Intergalactic Championship belt slung over his mammoth shoulders. The fans were unglued at the sight of him, the footage from the interview spreading far and wide, taking this fight from one the diehards were excited about to a cultural touchstone. Coop was a can’t miss fighter, not just for humans anymore, but now for everyone. Surviving a one-night tournament like he did, overcoming an old adversary in Skidz, and now stepping into the ring again with the alien that had shredded him with ease. There was no give in Coop Sabre, at least that was what public perception was. The internal turmoil was as strong as ever.

What the hell was he doing anymore?

“Ladies, gentlemen, distinguished guests and fight fans across the galaxy,” the announcer barked. “First, the challenger. From Earth, weighing in at 111 Earth kilograms, 43 Gurgian gelds, Cooooop Saaaaaaaaaaaaay-berrrr!”

Coop pumped his bat into the air, flicking the switch to send sparks flying over his head while the crowd cheered him on. Whatever TAKASHI was there for, it reminded him that pageantry was important in these settings. Winning was one thing, but not how someone became a legend and secured the hearts and minds of the audiences everywhere. Not that he’d be finishing Kriger without the fight of his life.

“Now, the champion.” The announcer played it up for tension. “The crown jewel of the Gurgian people, weighing in at 125 gurgian gelds, 342 Earth kilograms. He’s the reigning, defending, unstoppable champion of the galaxy! This! Is! KRIIIIII-GERRRRRRRRR!”

The sound was deafening, Kriger pumping the belt up high over his head and posing for the fans before presenting it to an undersized Zondian official, leaving him weaponless beyond his massive body, pincers and tail, approaching his starting mark. Coop followed suit, anchoring his feet into the ground and waiting for the mark. All around them, the audience boomed and the stadium cameras zipped around overhead, something that never bothered Coop much previously and now frustrated him with his impaired vision.

After the chimes counted down, the horn blared, both fighters frozen in place, neither taking the first shot. Coop dug his right heel in behind him, prepared for whatever charge Kriger was planning, gripping the bat’s hilt after flicking the switch on. Whenever Kriger pounced, Coop was ready. This time, he wouldn’t be surprised. He had to narrow his focus and hope to hell that tail or pincer didn’t whip around and take him by surprise by his bad eye. In comparison, Kriger was relaxed, his shoulders drooped down, no tension visible in his body.

“You aren’t going to take the first move?” Kriger asked.

“I know better than to trust you,” Coop said. “I don’t need an advantage against you.”

“Every human I’ve faced, I’ve defeated without breaking a sweat. You won’t be any different.”

He knew better than to banter too long, to let Kriger get into his head. After Kriger’s explosion the other day, he was attempting to remain in control of his senses and not get too emotional. It was the smart, veteran move, almost lulling Coop into a false sense of security. The tail whip came hard and fast, emerging from behind his back and aimed like a spear toward his midsection. Coop brought the bat up just in time, the charge zapping the powerful Gurgian’s tail and recoiling, even if his face didn’t show the pain. Instead, he snarled, letting out a deep chuckle.

“Smarter than you look.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” he quipped back while simultaneously bringing the bat around, catching Kriger in the ribs. The champion cried out in pain, bringing his arm down and trapping the bat beneath him, a throwback to their prior fight to where Guy was stuck in his skull. Whatever pain Kriger was feeling had to be immense, Coop flicking the switch up to the highest voltage, followed by the smell of burning flesh and Kriger’s grunts. Still, Coop knew better, releasing his grip unlike last time, and following through with a barrage of right and left hooks to the stone jaw of the alien.

Kriger was unprepared for Coop to make such a sacrifice, nor was he ready for the onslaught of hooks to the jaw, reeling back and almost toppling over, only his tail smashing into the ground to keep him upright. What came next was out of nowhere, the pincer piercing his right shoulder and the inertia almost making him face plant onto the ground. Coop caught himself against Kriger’s chest, Kriger dropping the bat and following up with a knee to the stomach that doubled Coop over.

His powerful arms wrapped around Coop’s waist, just like last time, the champion hefting him up high into the air onto his shoulder, leaving Coop staring up at one of the buzzing cameras, knowing the impending doom that awaited being powerbombed to the ground again. Reaching up and grasping for something—anything—Coop came up empty, trying to dig his knuckle into Kriger’s skull, to no avail. The pincer jabbing at him to keep him from landing a clean blow. This was his chance, though, Coop’s hand jutting out and catching the slick pincer in his hand, gripping it tight and pulling.

That was enough to make Kriger scream out in pain. If Coop’s eye was his weakness, Kriger’s busted up pincer was his. It was a powerful tool that only a few combatants had ever been able to injure, and when they did, it drove him wild. Kriger screamed out and attempted to slam Coop down, but both hands gripped onto the pincer, proving enough resistance that the sheer force of the brute’s will still sent him toward the ground, but he flipped over, landing on his feet and relenting his grip on the pincer.

Never one to waste an opportunity, Coop drove himself forward, smashing his elbow across Kriger’s exposed jaw, ducking a swiping blow from Kriger’s paw and reaching down for his bat. It was just in time, too, bringing the bat up with a swipe that caught an incoming swing with his other arm, the explosion close to Coop’s face, the flash temporarily blinding him. With nowhere else to turn, Coop swung the bat, whiffing with each blow until the inevitable happened, the tail swinging around and smashing into the back of his legs, flattening him to his back with a thud.

But he held on, knowing better than to lose control of his weapon again while fighting Kriger. Blurred and washed out, whatever was left of his vision came into focus, showing Kriger’s massive foot plant on his chest, sucking the wind out of him. Kriger was fuming mad. Whatever cool he pretended to have was lost at the insolence of this human. The champion leaned down, laughing at the pinned down Coop, prompting Coop to spit up into his face.

“Fuck you!” Coop shouted.

“You insolent little pest,” Kriger said. “You’ll know genuine pain this day. I’ll finish what that bastard Skidz started!”

The pincer shot from behind him, coming in hard and fast toward his injured eye. Coop was prepared for the blow, though, bringing the bat up just in time, the pincer crashing into the bat, the sheer force sending the bat down onto his face while it exploded. He was able to bring his other hand up in time to catch it, but the damage was already done, his eye overwhelmed with pain at the barbs and explosion, unable to see out of that eye in that moment. Kriger cried out, attempting to drive the pincer down into him again, Coop able to shift his weight and pinning the pincer to the ground with his bat this time, causing Kriger to stumble off him.

With that damned pincer pinned down, Coop kept the pressure up, holding the bat into place with one hand and kicking it with the heel of his boot, forcing more and more explosions while Kriger screamed out in pain. The champion rushed forward, barreling shoulder-first into Coop and sending him flying onto the sand. With Coop down for a moment, Kriger tended to his wound, the pincer mangled, driving him mad with pain. An attack was coming, he knew it, and needed to brace for it, it just wasn’t clear what the attack would be. Kriger was injured and angry now, more angry than he’d ever been in a fight that Coop had seen. With the back of his sleeve, he attempted to wipe the blood away from his eye, to assess the damage, but still, there was nothing but blood and pain. This could be it.

Kriger shot his tail through his legs, Coop dodging the blow, pausing for a brief moment to think that he’d never get to see his child with his natural eye if it was as fucked as he thought it was, a thought that rippled through him. What was he doing with himself? Why did defeating this brute matter? His tail planted in the ground, Kriger used it to spring himself forward, his feet extended out and aimed at Coop. Tearing himself away from his wandering thoughts, he dodged the kick, sliding under and bringing the bat up against the base of Kriger’s tail at full charge, the explosion brilliant and violent, sending Kriger’s blood spraying out and the champion toppled over with a screech.

It was now or never. Coop had to follow up and not lose his momentum. With Kriger attempting to stand back up, his head was exposed. Coop brought the bat down across Kriger’s skull, the barbs scraping across his face while they exploded. Following it up with another. Then another, this time it planted into Kriger’s skull, just like it had in their last fight. Kriger roared, exploding forward with a headbutt, the bat digging into Coop’s chest, exploding again. The pain came in a tidal wave of pain, his shirt tearing and flesh burning. Coop lay on his back, the bat dislodged from the two and Kriger tossing it aside. Kriger’s blood was everywhere, blended together with Coop’s own, creating what looked like a gruesome crime scene, in what was feeling like a murder-suicide.

Only Kriger couldn’t capitalize. Coop had smashed his best tools—his tail and the pincer, then did massive damage to his skull and had even worn down his arm earlier. Chest heaving, Coop picked himself up, watching while Kriger stumbled back to one knee, blood pouring down his face and chest. The smell of their combined gore and rotten flesh seared into his nostrils. Coop was going to be a father. What was he doing? How much longer could he endure this cycle of masochism, recovery, and more pain?

The champion and challenger were on their feet, staring each other down. Neither man had a weapon this time, just barely able to remain standing. Kriger took a wild swipe, Coop able to duck under it and plant a heavy body shot toward his ribs where the bat had been prior. He could feel Kriger’s body tremble in pain. This was another opening, Coop driving his fist into the ribs again, only for Kriger to grasp onto his neck with his free hand, forgoing any sense of tension and flinging him onto his back with a thud.

“You’ve landed your blows, human,” Kriger seethed. “Congratulations, you’ve done better than anyone else.”

Instead of replying, Coop reached for the bat on the ground, using it to prop himself back up to his feet. Although unsteady, he could remain standing, smacking at his eye with the palm of his hand, to no avail. Nothing was coming back. It was all so dark, and he had to think back to his training with the eye patch. This was it, the worst-case scenario, but he was prepared. Or, at least, he was physically. Mentally? No. He was staring at the toughest bastard anyone had ever fought and, for the first time, didn’t see an imposing figure. He saw someone who couldn’t stop.

“C’mon, human! Bring that pathetic weapon of yours down on me again! You’ll need to kill me to take that title!” Kriger was beyond strategy. This was his raw essence exposed.

Coop straightened himself out, his grip on the bat loosening at the sight of Kriger barely able to stand, nursing that age-old injury to his deadly pincer. This was madness, and yet, he knew Kriger was being truthful. The only way he’d go down would be if Coop killed him, and Tuup wasn’t about to stop this fight until there was a resolution. This was fucked. Months prior, Coop would have thought there was nothing as noble as dying on those sands in glory. He was just as addicted to the chaos as Kriger was. There was more now, though. Life wasn’t just about a belt or glory.

“It’s kill or be killed,” Kriger shouted.

“Fuck it.” Coop shook his head, unsure of what he was doing, or how to reconcile his own thoughts. He held the bat up in front of him, displaying it to Kriger before he released it, letting it fall to the ground with a thud. The look on Kriger’s face ran through a range of emotions, from anger to anguish until settling on confusion. “This isn’t who I am anymore.”

“What are you doing?” Kriger shouted after him.

This couldn’t be who he was anymore. Never had he thought he’d come to this conclusion, not when he was so close, but the desire had left his body. Instead, he turned his back to the baffled champion and staggered his way back to the door. Tuup ran along the perimeter of the stands, screaming something inaudible over the sound of the crowd at Coop, who looked up at him and shook his head.

“I’m finished.” Coop palmed the switch on the door, it zipping open while Tuup screamed down at him and Kriger attempted to remain upright in the middle of the arena, a path of blood trailing behind Coop. Inside, his uncle and Burns stood, equally baffled.

“Kid?” Regis asked, letting the question hang.

“I’m gonna be a father,” Coop said.

“No shit?” Regis chuckled. “So I am gonna be a great uncle, after all, huh?”

“I don’t get it,” Burns said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Regis said. “Congratulations, I can’t wait to meet the kid.”

Sam approached him, her hand caressing his face, and Coop recoiling at the sting of her touch by his eye. He was hurt worse than he had thought initially, his mind still cloudy, perhaps himself in shock at the decision he’d just made. Still, looking at Sam, the way she glowed while pregnant, he couldn’t help but smile.

“This what you want?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I don’t want to be like that out there. That’s not who I am. Not anymore.”

“Okay,” she said. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you before the fight. I knew it’d do something to you. That’s not something I wanted to do, you know…influence you.”

“I’m glad you did.”

They sat together on the small wooden bench, Coop’s whole body in pain. He’d need to get into the regen tank soon, but he wanted to take a moment to catch his breath and take in what he’d done. With the championship within his grasp, Coop just…walked out. His uncle did his best to keep a screaming Tuup at bay, Cooper laughing at the sound of his voice and how out of breath he was. Coop would never fight for Tuup again. There was no way. Fuck it.

“What about Kriger?” Burns asked, Coop having forgotten he was still there.

“I’m not worried about him. We’ll get you up to speed and he’ll stand no chance against you, just trust me.”

“W-what?” Burns asked.

“You heard me,” he said. “Once things are settled down with the kid, I’ll make sure you’re ready for him.”

“Me? Have you lost your—”

Coop stood, a more arduous task than he’d have liked, and placed his hand on the kid’s shoulder. Both for stability and to reassure him. They locked eyes, and he saw how lost Burns was, but he was resolute. This was the right call and nothing could change his mind about that.

“You heard me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta get into that fucking regen tank one last time.”

Something had changed out there. That something was Coop. He just needed that final time in the arena to understand what everything inside him was screaming at him to do, what TAKASHI had been trying to explain to him and even what his uncle had alluded to. Change was inevitable. You either embrace it or die denying it.

“So you decided?” TAKASHI stood propped up against the regen tank Coop was limping toward.

“I decided,” he said. “Maybe I’ll finally open that bar back home, help some kids train like you did.”

“How do you feel?”

“I feel…like a crushing weight was lifted off me and I’ve got nothing but the future ahead of me,” Coop said. He meant it, too. The dark cloud surrounding him had dissipated, and although in intense pain, that wasn’t who he was anymore. There was nothing left to relish in that pain.

“Good.”

Also by Dave Walsh

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