The underground arena is crammed beyond capacity and sweltering. Most of the onlookers have been here for hours, watching novice matches and waiting for the bout of the decade—the bout I’m about to hijack. Currently there’s no fight. A flurry of activity near the center indicates betting for the big show has begun.
Olin had described to me earlier where he and Zorrah would be standing. Even so, it takes me a minute to locate them. Despite my nerves, I smile when I see Zorrah perched atop Olin’s shoulders.
I scan the vicinity for Huemac’s men, spotting three at safe distances. Yetic had explained how to distinguish them by their headset communication devices. Pushing through the crowd, I remind myself I’m making the right decision for all of us. They may not see it now, but isn’t this what Centavo had meant when he said some of us have to be monsters?
The arena is nothing more than a cavernous underground space. Packed dirt floors slope downward toward the center where a single cage, yet to be charged, floats midway between the floor and ceiling. I gulp as I think about how I’m supposed to get from here to there.
The sides of the cage flicker to life with projected images of Neca and Yetic. A recorded voice booms over the din of noise, narrating the mostly-fabricated life stories of the two fated fighters. There isn’t much time now.
“Why are you dressed like that?” Olin eyes my sparring outfit suspiciously.
I shrug and shout over the noise. “Neca was showing me some moves, or trying anyway. It was nice of him to want to.” My preprepared story seems to satisfy him.
“Isn’t this exciting!” Zorrah yells from her perch on Olin’s shoulders.
I smile and nod. Looking past her, I spot a burly man with a headset moving in our direction. I swear. They must have known to watch for anyone talking to Olin. I wave Zorrah down from Olin’s shoulders. Here goes nothing.
Huddling the three of us, I communicate as quickly as possible without conveying panic. “Zorrah, remember what we talked about this morning?”
It takes her a second, but she nods. “About Neca?”
“I was at his physical. The officials are covering up the fact that fighting tonight could kill him.”
They stare at me wide-eyed.
“I’m not going to let that happen.”
“Why doesn’t Neca refuse?” Olin grips my arm.
“I don’t know,” I lie. “Maybe he feels pressure. Look, I don’t have much time. Centavo’s replacement has threatened to kill me in order to conceal his duplicity.” I nod in the direction of the nearest goon. “His men are wearing these.” I hand an identical headset to Zorrah. “You think you can do something with this to slow them down?”
Zorrah whips the device on her head and listens in before nodding. “Sure, but what—”
“Just keep them off me however you can.”
Olin grips my arm tighter.
I bull forward. “Stick to the plan. Bring my uniform to the academy in the morning. I’ll have to lay low tonight.” I yank Olin’s hand free. “I’ll be there in the morning with Yetic, I promise.”
“Yetic?”
“I’ll explain everything tomorrow. Trust me!” I thrust into the crowd and push downhill toward the center of the arena. Luckily, Huemac’s men have been instructed to block my escape. As a result, they’re intentionally forcing me closer to my actual target—the cage.
A loud squeal interrupts the recorded voice as the audio system temporarily distorts. I smile, imagining the effect of the surge on Huemac’s men. Zorrah’s a gem, no doubt.
Person by person, I shove my way through the crowd while trying not to panic. The process is painfully slow. I’m only halfway to the center when the recorded voice ends its introduction and the announcer takes over. I have to get closer.
“Citizens of New Teo! People of Worker City! What most consider a curse, we choose to embrace. We welcome the fight!” The crowd ignites, cheering and thrusting fists into the air. A chant breaks out organically around the arena, “Fight, fight, fight!” This continues for several seconds as I scratch and claw my way closer to the cage.
The announcer continues. “Tonight is the night of undefeateds. Two champions will enter the cage. Only one will exit!” At this point the audience splits, each person chanting for his or her favorite fighter. Using my head as a battering ram, I force my way closer.
“Determined by the flip of a coin, I introduce to you tonight’s defending champ, the only psych-fighter in history to string together more than fifty victories in less than a year, from District Four, your very own Golden Boy, Yetic!” The arena shakes as people cheer, cluck their tongues, and stomp.
The lights around the edge of the arena dim. Dead center, over the top of the cage and beneath it, spotlights burst into life. The light shining up from the floor redirects to illuminate a circular hatch in the arena ceiling.
The clamoring audience intensifies. They sharpen their focus upward and ignore the rude girl pushing past. I’m jabbing a particularly fat fellow in the side the moment Yetic plummets through the open hatch. The crowd flinches as he drops within centimeters of their heads. Manipulating telekinesis I can only dream of, he reverses direction and flies to the top of the cage.
The stunt reminds me of the fly or die moment Centavo subjected Olin and me to a couple of days earlier. The results are considerably different. Watching Yetic open the door on top of the cage and drop inside, I realize my time is almost up. Just a bit closer.
This is when Yetic is supposed to address the audience with the simple invocation, “I welcome the fight.” Instead, the plan is for him to invoke an archaic version, one never used but still in the books. He hesitates. Tension builds in the crowd.
Is he still trying to locate me? Is he waiting for me to get closer? Or is this Yetic’s idea of showmanship? He clears his throat. The sound cracks loudly due to the telescoping microphones positioned on him. For a split second, he looks straight at me.
I’m close enough to see his expression. It’s the same one he wore when he came up with the idea. What have I gotten myself into?
“Anyone and everyone close enough to hear and brave enough to respond,” Yetic’s voice is jocular, teasing, “I welcome you to fight.”
The audience breaks out in clucks and laughter. They get the joke instantly. Yetic has sold the taunt with perfect disdain and flare. In the old days, challengers were decided by whoever was first to lock themselves in the cage with the champ. Everyone in the arena thinks Yetic is rubbing in his victory of the coin toss with a wink and a nod. Everyone in the arena except for me. I raise both hands, the signal that I’m ready.
If Yetic moves fast enough, while disguising his involvement, no one should be able to stop us now. With a sudden yank, I rocket upward from the arena floor, leaving the crush of the audience below. I grit my teeth. I have to keep my eyes open and look in control, despite my total lack of it.
In an improvised flourish—something Yetic and I had not discussed—I perform an acrobatic flip before landing on top of the cage. Yetic cuts the cords of his psychic control, leaving the rest up to me. The spotlight beneath the cage has shifted toward Neca’s hatch, but I can tell by the murmuring that many in the audience are watching me instead. The announcer hesitates, buying me more time.
I lunge for the open door of the cage the same moment the audience gasps at Neca’s descent into the arena. According to the archaic rule of challenge, the first to enter the cage is bound by the sacred honor of the sport to fight. Neca’s the only one left who can stop me. I jump for the opening.
Neca’s voice cracks over the loud system. “Wait! What—” the cry is one of confusion, perhaps betrayal. A second passes. He’s too late.
I grasp the cage door and slam it shut above me. Dangling there, I lock eyes with Neca. I want to wish him well, perhaps kiss him goodbye. But the opportunity has long passed. We’re both too late.
The cage jolts to life with telekinetic energy, dislodging me. Yetic’s thoughts clutch me before I hit the bottom.
With Yetic suspending me, I turn my attention to the matter at hand. I’ve got seconds to learn how to fight, or else become Yetic’s personal marionette for the remainder of the bout, and possibly for the next year.
Thanks so much for taking the time to read this scene of Outburst, Season 1 of The Green Ones. I’ll be publishing FREE daily scenes from The Green Ones until…I die…or something terrible happens. Seriously, I’ve got over 100 scenes written so far, and I’ll be writing more until the story reaches its natural ending. You are totally welcome to read the entire story for FREE! If at any point you decide you would rather finish the story in ebook or print format, just click the buttons below and you can do that as well. If you enjoy reading the serial releases, BUT you would also like to support me as a writer (my kids need wine!) please subscribe to my premium content for bonus scenes, exclusives, and insider access to my process. And of course, I’d be grateful if you would share this post with any of your reader friends who you think would enjoy The Green Ones. Happy reading!