The Underwater Research Center
Piggy walked through the main floor of the underwater research center, his hands buried in his pockets. Goggles caught the dull blue-green light filtering through the reinforced glass walls. He scanned the room, taking in the clusters of personnel, the heavy machinery, and the general atmosphere of organized crime wearing a lab coat.
He gestured toward the central meeting area. "Everybody in."
The staff gathered around the platform. Someone near the back raised the question that had been circulating for days: were they really cutting ties with Cole? Finished, just like that?
"Yes," Piggy said simply. He wasn't looking at the person who asked. His eyes moved from face to face, performing a quiet headcount. He came up short. "Where's YT?"
The crowd shifted, looking around. Nobody answered.
Then, on the wall directly behind Piggy, the surface distorted. A figure materialized out of the dark paint: dark-skinned, orange dreads, and black baggy clothing traced with neon blue lines along the seams. He raised one hand.
"I'm here."
Piggy didn't even flinch. "I need you to do a favor for our old friend Mr. Cole."
"I don't do favors."
"Come on." Piggy tilted his head slightly. "You know how corporate works. No favor goes unpaid."
YT was quiet for a moment, his posture relaxed. "Alright. Who's the target?"
Piggy held out a printed photograph. It showed Damien, sitting atop a glacier of frozen bodies in the town square.
YT took the page, studying it. "Damn."
"What?"
YT turned the image around, holding it up for the rest of the room to see.
A heavy beat of silence followed. Then, from somewhere in the crowd, a voice muttered, "That's cold, ain't gonna lie."
"Yeah," another technician agreed. "Kinda hard."
YT lowered the photo, saying nothing else. The neon lines along his jacket dimmed as the active camouflage reclaimed him, leaving only a faint outline where he had just been standing. The wall looked empty.
Piggy looked at the vacant space. "I'll take that as a yes."
The Hallway
The assembly dismissed and the crowd began to thin out. Damien stood near the lockers with Wayne as waves of students filtered past. Alex had positioned herself just behind Damien's shoulder, close enough that a slight lean would have closed the gap. Her hand rose a fraction, lingering in the air for a second too long before she lowered it cleanly.
Wayne noticed the hesitation. "Hey," he said, glancing back at her. "Did you want to say something?"
Alex didn't hear him. Her attention was locked forward.
Damien had stopped directly in front of Tina. "Hey," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "You looking forward to the tournament?"
Tina smiled faintly, her eyes downcast. "Not really. I don't like fighting."
"Oh. Yeah," Damien said quickly, switching stances. "Me neither."
A heavy shoulder shoved past him, breaking his line of sight.
"Hey. We gotta go." Tyrone stepped between them, his hand already reaching down to clamp around Tina's wrist.
"O-okay," Tina murmured.
Damien confronted the taller boy. "Where are you taking her?"
Tyrone looked down at him, his expression flat. "None of your business."
"It's okay, Damien," Tina said softly, offering a small wave.
Damien hesitated, his jaw setting. "I hope I get to fight you, Tyrone."
Tyrone's eyes narrowed for a brief second. Then he shook his head, turning his back and walking off down the corridor with Tina without another word.
Alex watched the entire exchange from the side. "I want to fight Tina," she said, her voice unusually firm.
Wayne blinked at her. "She'd beat the crap out of you."
Alex jumped, startled by the bluntness. "What?!"
"You've been here two days," Wayne said, adjusting his backpack strap. "You don't stand a chance."
"Don't say that."
Cecelia stepped closer, her vacant gaze moving between them. "Could you train us?"
"Hell no."
Alex crossed her arms, looking between the twins. "Him? He doesn't exactly seem like the sensei type." She glanced across the hall at Damien's retreating back, a faint flush hitting her cheeks. "We should ask... I mean, only if he's free."
"You can ask him," Cecelia stated simply. "I want Wayne. He already taught me something."
"That wasn't me," Wayne muttered, heading for the exit. "You're just crazy strong."
"Cop out."
They stared each other down in the middle of the hallway. Alex watched them from the baseline, her arms crossed tightly. Two strange kids weirding each other out.
Wayne let out a long, defeated sigh. "Fine. Come to my place tomorrow."
The Training Day
The next morning, Damien headed out into the early downpour to run drills in the rain. Wayne stayed inside.
When the girls arrived at the house, Mandy answered the door with a warm smile. She paused for a moment, her eyes moving between Alex and Cecelia as she recalibrated.
"Oh," Mandy said, stepping aside to let them in. "You're here for Wayne?"
Upstairs, Wayne was exactly where he always was: sprawled across the center of his bed, a controller gripped in his hands while the television screen flickered wildly. Without looking up from the match, he reached sideways and tossed two extra controllers onto the carpet.
"This is the training."
The girls stared at the plastic inputs.
"You're playing," Wayne said, his eyes locked on the monitor. "With me."
He selected a high-speed versus mode, a chaotic map packed with moving parts, traps, and tight parameters.
They played for four straight hours. Wayne said almost nothing throughout the session. He occasionally pointed out a structural opening someone missed, or quietly observed how they made tactical decisions under spatial pressure. When their avatars ran out of lives, he reallocated the inputs without comment and initiated the next round.
They left the house late in the afternoon, thoroughly dissatisfied and feeling like they had wasted the entire day on standard entertainment.
At the front gate, they nearly collided with a damp Damien returning from his run. "Oh, hey," he said, wiping water from his forehead. "How did it go?"
They told him.
Damien winced. "I'm sorry about that." He thought for a second, looking up at the gray sky. "We only have tomorrow left before the tournament brackets lock. But if you're up for it, I can train you properly."
The following day, he did.
The Tournament
When the tournament morning arrived, Damien drove the deep red muscle car to Tina's place, only to find the driveway empty. The curtains were drawn still. No lights were visible inside the house. She had already left with Tyrone.
"Damn," Damien muttered, staring at the empty gravel. "How early is this guy?"
He sat behind the wheel for a quiet moment.
"Maybe she likes him because he's punctual," Damien reasoned to himself, shifting into drive. "Girls like organized men. I'll just be even earlier next time."
In the passenger seat, Wayne stared out the side window at the passing suburban fences. He didn't say a single word. He had completely stopped trying to break his brother's delusions.
The arena was deafening. Brackets and names scrolled continuously across giant electronic screens hanging from the steel rafters. Students packed the concrete stands, the atmosphere thick with high-tension energy as everyone hunted for their placement.
The first official matchup flashed in bright red letters across the main board.
Wayne vs. Kendrick
Wayne cracked his knuckles, his expression fading into a cold, familiar indifference.