Two hours after the fight ended, Lucius made his way through the corridors toward the medical area.
The facility had settled into its evening routine—guards on their rotations, fighters returning to their quarters, maintenance crews still working to fully clean the arena. The smell of disinfectant hung heavy in the air, attempting to mask the lingering scent of blood and ichor.
The medical area was located in a separate section of the facility, accessible through a secured corridor that required passing a guard checkpoint. Lucius approached, and the guard—a different one than usual, someone he hadn't cataloged yet—barely glanced at him before waving him through.
The medical area itself was cleaner, brighter than the rest of the Underground. White walls, fluorescent lighting, the antiseptic smell stronger here. A small reception desk sat near the entrance, staffed by a middle-aged woman in medical scrubs who looked up as Lucius approached.
"Can I help you?" Her tone was professional but tired.
"The fighter who was brought in after the last match. Odd. I'm here to check on him."
She studied him for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Are you family?"
"Friend."
"Fighters don't usually visit each other here." There was suspicion in her voice, but also curiosity.
"He helped me earlier. I'm returning the courtesy."
The receptionist considered this, then checked her tablet. "Room 7. Down the hall, third door on the left. But he's still unconscious from the sedation. Probably won't wake up until tomorrow."
Lucius nodded and walked past the desk.
The corridor was quiet, punctuated only by the occasional beep of medical equipment from various rooms. He found Room 7 and paused at the door. A small circular window provided a view inside.
Odd lay on the medical bed, his torso heavily bandaged, his left arm in a sling. His face was pale, bruised along the jaw and temple. An IV line ran to his arm. Various monitors tracked his vitals with steady, rhythmic beeping.
He looked small. Fragile. Nothing like the desperate fighter who'd survived that nightmare.
Lucius studied him for another moment, then turned to leave. He'd come back tomorrow when Odd was conscious.
As he turned, he nearly collided with someone coming around the corner.
His hand shot out instinctively, catching the tablet that had slipped from her grip before it could hit the floor.
Dr. Lois Sacah blinked in surprise, then smiled as she took the tablet back. "Fast reflexes. Thank you."
"Apologies. I didn't hear you approaching."
"That makes two of us." She tilted her head slightly, studying him with those sharp eyes. "Oh hey your king right"
"Yes."
"And what are you doing in my medical area?"
"Checking on Odd."
Her expression shifted to genuine curiosity. "That's... unusual. Why would a fighter come to check on another fighter? Especially one you're not affiliated with."
"He's a friend."
"You have friends here?" The skepticism in her voice wasn't mocking, just genuinely surprised.
"Acquaintance, then."
Lois glanced at the window to Odd's room, then back at Lucius. "That's still strange. Then again, Odd tried to help the opponent who was actively trying to kill him, so I suppose being too nice for this place might be contagious."
She moved past him to check the chart mounted outside Odd's door, scanning through the information. "He's not in critical condition. A few broken ribs, dislocated shoulder that we've already reset, various contusions and lacerations. Physically, he'll recover fully within a couple of days, especially with his abilities helping the healing process."
"And mentally?"
Lois's expression darkened. "That's another question entirely. What he went through in that arena..." She didn't finish the thought. Didn't need to.
"I'll come back tomorrow then."
"Wait." She stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Not aggressively, just deliberately. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you."
Lucius waited, his expression neutral.
"During the pre-tournament medical checkups, I noticed something unusual about your left arm. It's bandaged, but the way you move, the way you compensate... it's not a typical injury."
"It's managed."
"That's not an answer." She crossed her arms. "I'm a doctor. It's my job to be concerned about fighters' health. If you have a condition that could be exacerbated during combat—"
"It's a prosthetic," Lucius said flatly. "A specialized one. Nothing more."
Lois's eyebrows rose slightly. "A prosthetic? That's... what kind of prosthetic requires constant bandaging?"
"The kind that works."
"How did you lose it?"
Lucius's expression didn't change, but there was a slight pause before he answered. "Let's just say someone about eight years ago was very unhappy with my behavior." His tone was light, almost joking, but it carried an edge that suggested the story behind it was anything but funny.
Lois studied him for a long moment, clearly debating whether to push further. Then she sighed. "Fine. Keep your secrets. But if that prosthetic malfunctions during a fight and causes complications, don't expect sympathy from me when you end up on one of these beds."
"Noted."
She stepped aside, allowing him to pass. "He should wake up sometime tomorrow afternoon. If you're going to visit, do it before the next scheduled fights. He needs rest."
Lucius nodded once and walked past her, making his way back through the corridor and out of the medical area.
As he walked, his mind was already shifting to the next task.
The device. The rats. The exterminators.
Tonight.
---
Lucius didn't return directly to his quarters. Instead, he made his way through the facility's corridors, taking a route that led past one of the public bathrooms—the one he'd identified days ago during his reconnaissance.
It was located in a junction between the fighter quarters and the recreational areas, positioned just far enough from high-traffic zones to be relatively private while still being accessible.
More importantly, its security camera had a blind spot.
Not a natural one. One he'd created three days ago by directing one of his rats to gnaw through a specific wire in the camera housing. The damage was subtle enough that maintenance hadn't noticed yet, but significant enough that the camera's view didn't cover the entire bathroom entrance or the interior.
Lucius checked his internal clock. Approximately two and a half hours until lights out at 9 PM. According to the conversation he'd overheard in the mess hall that morning, the exterminators were scheduled to arrive tonight and would begin their work after lights out.
Perfect timing.
He entered the bathroom, scanning quickly to ensure it was empty. Three stalls, two urinals, a row of sinks. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, one of them flickering intermittently.
Satisfied he was alone, Lucius stepped into the middle stall and locked the door behind him.
He lifted the toilet seat and stared down at the water in the bowl.
Within his zone, he could feel the complex network of pipes that ran throughout the facility—water supply, drainage, ventilation. His rats had been mapping these pathways for days, finding routes through spaces no human could access.
Four of them were waiting in the pipes below, each one carrying components he'd spent the past week gathering.
Lucius extended his awareness through the water, directing them upward through the plumbing. He controlled the pressure to guide their movement.
Moments later, four spheres of water emerged from the toilet bowl, rising into the air above the seat. Each sphere contained a rat, the water keeping them suspended and protected.
Lucius lowered the spheres onto the closed toilet seat, then released the water, allowing it to flow back into the bowl. The four rats remained on the lid, shaking themselves dry.
Each one held something in its mouth. Small components carefully transported through the facility's hidden pathways.
Lucius reached out and collected them: thin copper wire, a handful of tiny transistors and capacitors, a sliver of quartz crystal scavenged from a dead circuit board, and a few screws and metal fragments. The building blocks he'd gathered piece by piece over multiple nights.
He closed the toilet lid fully and sat down, spreading the components out on the flat surface.
Then he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the wireless chip—the one he'd extracted from Seung's tablet during the chaos of Odd's betting window. It was smaller than his thumbnail, but it was the critical piece. The one component he couldn't have assembled from scavenged parts.
He also pulled out a small round battery—a CMOS coin cell taken from electronic waste. Flat and silver, with just enough power to run a low‑power beacon for several hours.
The last items were a pencil stub and a torn scrap of paper—stolen earlier from the medical area. No one had noticed. No one ever noticed the small things.
Now came the delicate work.
Lucius held up his bandaged left hand. Ice began forming at his fingertips. Microscopic tools shaped from frozen water, finer than any mechanical instrument, sharper than surgical steel.
He worked quickly and precisely, his fingers moving with the steady confidence of someone who'd done similar work countless times before.
Wire was stripped and coiled into a loop antenna. Transistors and capacitors were arranged into a crude oscillator, the quartz shard stabilizing its rhythm. The wireless chip was integrated, linked through a simple matching network. The coin cell was secured as the power source. Solder points were fused with precisely heated ice.
The entire assembly process took eight minutes.
When he finished, he held a device roughly the size of a bottle cap, maybe slightly larger. It wasn't elegant. It wasn't sophisticated. But it would work.
The device had one purpose: transmit a repeating pulse‑burst pattern. To outsiders it would sound like random noise, but Green Gate's monitoring systems would recognize the cadence as an emergency beacon. Amber would know. The team would understand he needed extraction.
He couldn't test it. Not here. Any transmission would be detected by Big Boys' security systems. Even if they couldn't decode the pattern, they'd know something was broadcasting from inside their facility. That was unacceptable.
He had to trust his work. Trust that when the device powered on, it would function as designed.
---
The signal would masquerade as chaos. Each burst was short, irregular, spaced by gaps that seemed random to anyone listening. But the proportions of those gaps carried meaning—short, medium, long intervals forming a code only Green Gate used. To a stranger it was static, a meaningless flicker. To Amber, it was a voice in the dark.
---
Lucius picked up the scrap of paper and pencil stub. In tiny, precise letters, he wrote instructions. Not detailed—just enough for whoever found it to understand what needed to happen next.
He folded the paper into a small square, then encased both the transmitter and the paper in a thin layer of ice formed from the ambient moisture in the air. The ice sealed them together, protected them, made them a single unit.
Now for the delivery method.
One of the four rats on the toilet lid was special—one of his remote scouts that he could sense and control from any distance. That rat would be the courier.
Lucius examined the ice‑encased device. It was small enough to fit inside a cheek pouch, but that would be uncomfortable and risk damage.
Better option: surgical implantation.
He picked up the remote scout rat, holding it gently. The creature was still, calm, responding to his will.
Using his ice tools, Lucius made a small incision in the rat's abdomen—precise, clean, causing minimal pain. He inserted the ice‑encased device into the abdominal cavity, positioning it carefully to avoid vital organs. Then he sealed the incision with a thin layer of gel‑like ice that would hold the wound closed and dissolve harmlessly over the next few hours.
The rat would carry the device internally. Protected. Hidden. Undetectable even if someone examined it closely.
Lucius returned the modified rat to one of the water spheres, along with the other three scouts. Then he lifted the toilet seat and guided the spheres back down into the plumbing, releasing them into the pipe network.
They disappeared into the darkness below.
He flushed the toilet, washing away any trace of his work. Then he stood, checked his reflection in the stall's metal surface to ensure nothing looked out of place, and exited the bathroom.
One guard passed him in the corridor. The man barely glanced at him.
Perfect.
Lucius returned to his quarters, locked the door, and lay on his bed. He closed his eyes but didn't sleep. Instead, he extended his awareness through his network of scouts, monitoring their positions throughout the facility.
He'd been preparing for this moment. Some of his rats would be sacrificed tonight—unavoidable casualties of the extermination. But he'd hidden others in locations the exterminators wouldn't find. Deep ventilation shafts that weren't connected to the main system. Wall spaces sealed behind false panels. Areas that wouldn't be treated with gas or poison.
Those rats would survive. Would remain useful for future reconnaissance.
The remote scout carrying the device was positioned near the maintenance area, hidden in a ventilation shaft that overlooked the corridor where the exterminators would likely begin their work.
Now it was just a matter of waiting.
---
Lights out came at 9 PM as always. The harsh buzzer echoed through the facility, and the overhead lighting dimmed to minimal emergency levels.
Lucius remained on his bed, eyes closed, breathing slow and steady. To any guard checking through his door window, he appeared to be sleeping.
But his mind was completely active, his awareness spread throughout the facility through dozens of rats.
At 9:47 PM, the exterminators arrived.
Lucius sensed them through the water content in their bodies as they passed through the security checkpoint. Three men, all wearing protective gear—coveralls, gloves, respirators. They carried equipment cases and large disposal bags.
The guards searched their equipment thoroughly but professionally. Standard procedure for anyone entering or leaving the facility. The exterminators submitted to the search without complaint—clearly they'd done this before.
Once cleared, they proceeded into the facility proper, guided by one of the maintenance supervisors who'd been waiting for them.
The supervisor led them to the maintenance area first—the most heavily infested section according to the official complaints. Which made sense, given that Lucius had been deliberately directing rats there for the past week.
The exterminators got to work immediately. They set up their equipment—traps, poison stations, and most importantly, gas canisters designed to flood the ventilation system with an extermination agent that would kill any rats hiding in the walls.
Lucius's rats in the treated areas had two options: the ones he'd designated as expendable remained where they were, dying as the gas spread through the connected ventilation system. Sacrifices necessary to maintain the illusion of a genuine infestation.
The others—the ones he wanted to preserve—had already been moved to isolated sections. Hidden spaces that weren't part of the main ventilation network, where the gas wouldn't reach. Wall cavities behind sealed panels. Unused pipe chases. Areas the exterminators had no reason to check.
Those rats stayed perfectly still, conserving energy, waiting for the extermination to pass.
His remote scouts—the four with enhanced capabilities—were different. They wore tiny protective coverings over their noses and mouths, fashioned from gel that hardened into makeshift gas masks. The gel filtered out the toxic agents while allowing them to breathe.
It was crude, uncomfortable for the rats, but functional.
Over the next two hours, the exterminators worked through multiple sections of the facility. They collected dead rats by the dozens—bodies that had been killed by the poison and gas, piling them into large disposal bags.
The bodies filled three bags. Forty, maybe fifty rats total.
Throughout the process, Lucius's remote scout carrying the device remained hidden in the ventilation shaft, tracking the exterminators' movements, waiting for the right moment.
At 11:34 PM, the exterminators finished their work in the maintenance area and prepared to move to the next section. The supervisor who'd been escorting them received a call and excused himself, leaving the three exterminators alone for a moment while they reorganized their equipment.
That was the window.
The remote scout emerged from the ventilation shaft, moving silently along the ceiling support beam. It reached the edge, positioned itself directly above the pile of disposal bags.
But it didn't jump yet. Not until the distraction.
Lucius directed one of his other scouts—a regular rat he was willing to sacrifice—to run directly toward the exterminators.
The rat burst out from behind a storage shelf, chittering loudly, its movements erratic and obvious.
"There's another one!" one of the exterminators shouted, lunging forward with his catching equipment.
The other two joined the chase, all three of them focused on the fleeing rat as it scurried across the floor, leading them away from the disposal bags.
The remote scout dropped from the ceiling beam.
THUD.
It landed on top of one of the disposal bags, immediately burrowing into the pile of dead rats inside. The bag was already sealed at the top but not compressed—there was space between the bodies, gaps where a live rat could hide.
The remote scout pushed deeper into the pile, positioning itself near the bottom of the bag where it would be least likely to be disturbed. The tiny gas mask it wore would continue filtering the air for another few hours—long enough to survive the transport out of the facility.
Above, the exterminators had caught the distraction rat, killing it quickly and adding it to one of the other bags.
"That should be the last of them in this section," one said, breathing heavily. "Let's move on."
They collected their equipment and the disposal bags, carrying them to the next location.
The remote scout remained motionless in its hiding place, barely breathing, conserving energy.
---
The extermination continued until nearly 2 AM. By the time the exterminators finished, they'd collected five large disposal bags full of dead rats, eliminated dozens more that were left in the walls to rot, and set up poison stations throughout the facility to prevent future infestations.
But hidden throughout the facility, in spaces the exterminators never checked, approximately two dozen rats remained alive. Tucked away in isolated wall cavities, sealed pipe chases, unused ventilation branches. Lucius's preserved scouts, waiting to emerge once the danger passed.
They would be useful later.
The exterminators returned to the main entrance, exhausted and ready to leave.
The security checkpoint procedure began.
Guards searched the exterminators' personal belongings thoroughly—bags, pockets, equipment cases. Everything was inspected. The exterminators were patient, professional, clearly used to this level of scrutiny.
Then came the disposal bags.
One guard approached, looking down at the five large bags filled with dead rats. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.
"You want to check inside?" one of the exterminators asked, his tone suggesting he knew what the answer would be.
The guard glanced at the bags, at the visible shapes of dead rats pressing against the plastic, at the faint smell that was already starting to permeate despite the sealed tops.
"No," he said flatly. "Get them out of here."
The exterminators loaded the bags onto a rolling cart and wheeled them through the security checkpoint, past the guards, through the cargo elevator that led up to the Big Boys building proper.
Inside one of those bags, hidden deep in a pile of corpses, Lucius's remote scout waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Lucius tracked it through his connection, feeling the distance growing as the exterminators transported the bags through the building, out to their vehicle, loaded them into the back.
The vehicle started. Began moving. The distance increased further.
One hundred feet. Two hundred. Three hundred.
The remote scout was leaving the Underground. Leaving the Big Boys building. Heading toward wherever the exterminators disposed of their collected pests.
Success.
Phase one complete.
---
The next day began like any other. Morning routine. Breakfast in the mess hall. Guards on their rotations. Fighters preparing for the day's matches.
The announcement boards throughout the facility updated with the schedule:
ROUND 1 REMAINING FIGHTS:
Fight 13: Diablo vs Andrew G. Adams - TODAY 1PM
Fight 14: Plague vs Oliver Scot - TODAY 4PM
Fight 15: Lee Son Yu vs Adam Mavrick - TOMORROW 1PM
Fight 16: Tim Young vs Yan Dawo - TOMORROW 4PM
Lucius studied the board briefly, committing the schedule to memory, then made his way toward the medical area.
It was approximately 12:35 PM. The receptionist from yesterday was at the desk. She recognized him immediately.
"Room 7. He woke up about thirty minutes ago."
Lucius nodded and proceeded down the corridor.
When he reached Room 7, he didn't knock. He simply opened the door and entered quietly.
Odd was lying in the medical bed, staring at the ceiling. His torso was still heavily bandaged, his left arm in a sling. He looked better than yesterday—color had returned to his face—but his eyes carried the haunted look of someone who'd witnessed something they'd never forget.
Lucius closed the door behind him and moved to the chair positioned near the bed. He sat down without a word.
Odd turned his head slowly, registering Lucius's presence. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Odd's eyes drifted back to the ceiling. "I keep replaying it in my head. Over and over."
Lucius waited.
"I could have saved him," Odd continued, his voice hollow. "If I'd held on tighter. If I'd been stronger. If I'd—"
"The same guy who was actively trying to kill you?" Lucius interrupted, his tone flat.
Odd's jaw clenched. "I know. I know he tried to— but before that, I offered to help him. I extended my hand."
"And he used that moment to try to murder you."
"Yeah." Odd's hands formed into fists, the knuckles white. "Yeah, he did."
Silence stretched between them.
"What if he had someone waiting for him?" Odd asked quietly. "A wife. Kids. A family. What if they're sitting at home right now, wondering why he's not coming back? What if—"
"What about you?"
Odd stopped mid-sentence, his head turning to look at Lucius.
"What about me?" he repeated.
"You have people waiting for you. Don't you?"
The question hung in the air like a weight.
Odd's expression crumbled slightly. His fists unclenched. "Yeah. I do."
"Then why are you here?" Lucius leaned back in the chair, his royal blue eyes fixed on Odd with that unreadable intensity. "Why are you in an underground death tournament, fighting people who want to kill you? Why risk everything?"
Odd stared at him for a long moment. Then he let out a shaky breath.
"You really want to know?"
"Yes."
Odd closed his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was raw with emotion.
"I have two daughters. Maya's ten. Ruby's eight." He paused, swallowing hard. "And I'm here because I need to get them back."
Lucius said nothing, just listened.
"Their mother—my wife, Annie—she died two years ago. Overworked herself trying to support us after I..." He trailed off, then continued. "After I couldn't find legitimate work because of my background. Because of what I was. What I'd done."
He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling again.
"The city took my girls. Put them in foster care. Said I wasn't fit to be a parent. No stable income, criminal record, couldn't provide a safe environment. They were right, technically. I couldn't take care of them. Not the way they deserved."
His voice cracked slightly.
"This tournament—it's my only chance. Win the prize money, start a business, prove I can provide for them. Get them back. Be the father they deserve. The father I promised Annie I'd be."
Lucius studied him carefully. "And if you die here?"
"Then they grow up in foster care. Maybe get adopted. Spend the rest of their lives thinking their father abandoned them." Odd's jaw clenched again. "That I was just another deadbeat who couldn't handle responsibility."
"But you're not."
"No." Odd's voice was firm despite the emotion. "I'm not. I made mistakes. A lot of them. But I love my daughters more than anything in this world, and I will not let them down. Not again."
Silence fell between them again, heavier this time.
Then Lucius spoke, his voice quieter than before.
"Tell me about them. Your daughters. Your wife. How you got here." He paused. "Tell me everything."
Odd looked at him, surprise flickering across his features. "Why do you want to know?"
"Because," Lucius said simply, "you remind me that not everyone in this place is beyond saving."
Odd stared at him for another moment, then nodded slowly.
"Alright." He took a deep breath, settling back into the bed. "It started a long time ago. When I was just a kid..."
---
TO BE CONTINUED