I enter the room ahead of Neca. Three men are talking near the far wall. Yetic is on his way out.
He raises a brow when he sees me. “Come to join the winning side?”
I roll my eyes and step aside, ensuring his sweaty body doesn’t brush up against mine. He and Neca pass each other in the doorway without comment.
Neca stops as soon as he enters, his snarl now a frown. “Huemac, since when do you attend fight day physicals?”
I follow his gaze across the room. It’s obvious which one must be Huemac. One of the men is dressed in a doctor’s frock. The one who yelled at Neca moments earlier is wearing a sweat-ringed undershirt. The last man is well dressed in a colorful tilmàtli.
“Since Huehue skipped town, that’s when. Not that it’s any of your business.” Spotting me, the new boss does a double take. “Since when do you bring your,” he points with his chin, “companion to a physical?”
I don’t like the way he stressed the word companion, but at least he refrained from labeling me a yoalzoah—a trespass that would have required me to break his nose.
Neca moves toward a metal table. “Trust me, I didn’t bring her. She goes where she pleases.”
I smile and nod my agreement.
Huemac smirks. “My kind of woman.” He turns on me. “Now get the hell out.”
I narrow my eyes, sizing Huemac up. Physically, he’s much more imposing than Centavo. While the two men appear similar in age, Huemac’s not immortal. He’s a regular guy in his fifties. My parents taught me to respect my elders, but if it comes down to it, I’ll kick this one’s butt.
Neca lifts himself onto the table and rolls his shoulder straps down to his waist. “Save yourself the trouble, and let’s just get on with the physical.”
Huemac shifts his gaze from me to Neca, trying to judge the seriousness on the fighter’s face.
Neca doesn’t blink. “There’s a chance you might physically remove her, but you could kiss that tilmàtli goodbye at the very least. And more than likely we’d have to fish your totoltetls out of your body cavity. You know, after we removed her foot.”
For added effect I curl my lips into a snarl.
“I don’t have time for this.” Huemac throws up his hands. “Doc?”
The doctor snaps his gloves in place as he approaches the table.
Taking a seat near the door, I decide to stare at Huemac the entire time for two reasons. First, it keeps me from seeing parts of the physical examination I’d never be able to erase. Second, it seems to rattle him.
The more straightforward aspects of the exam proceed as expected. The doctor speaks his findings out loud throughout the procedure while the sweaty man, presumably the fight manager, records it all in a book. Muscle tissue is found to be healthy, reflexes normal, eyes and ears normal. Neca turns his head and coughs.
The doctor retreats to his desk. “Physical examination complete, no abnormalities of note.”
Just when I’m beginning to wonder if that’s everything, the doctor opens a large drawer and removes a strange-looking helmet. Returning to the table, he places the helmet on Neca’s head.
For the first time since entering the gym, Neca shifts uncomfortably.
The doctor moves in front of a computer terminal. Punching a few buttons, he continues in a deadpan voice. “Starting psychic exam.”
Neca twitches.
I crane my neck to see over the doctor’s shoulder. The screen is meters away, but I can distinguish a moving readout of spikes and troughs. Somehow they’re using the helmet to monitor Neca’s brain.
“Hmm,” the doctor mumbles while punching buttons.
Having forgotten me, Huemac jumps up and crowds the doctor. “What is it?”
“A second, please.” Irritated, the doctor focuses on the screen. “These readouts are all over the place compared to his last exam.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Huemac’s voice tenses.
“It means,” the doctor cracks his knuckles before typing in another series of commands, “his psychic levels have changed since the last time I performed this examination. Now if you please.”
“Oh, right. Sorry, doc.” Huemac backs off slightly, but continues to block the screen from my sight.
My mind buzzes. What did Huatiani do to Neca? Is the damage permanent? Will the doctor be able to tell how it happened? I stare at the side of Neca’s face and shift on my stool.
He refuses to look at me. Instead, his eyes bore a hole in the wall directly in front of him.
“Right here,” the doctor points at the screen. “This receptor. It’s as if the whole thing has been blown. All the others are compensating.”
“Blown?” Huemac sounds angry rather than concerned. “What do you mean, blown?”
The doctor shrugs and shakes his head. “Overloaded, suppressed, overwhelmed. The exact cause isn’t important. Bottom line, his brain has been damaged.”
“Damaged?” Huemac shifts his gaze from the screen to the fight manager. Slashing his fingers across his throat, Huemac orders the manager to cease transcribing. “Damaged how? In the cage?”
“Most likely,” the doctor faces Neca, “unless the fighter has engaged in extra curricular activities.”
Neca swallows but doesn’t break his stare at the wall.
Huemac waves his hand, dismissing the thought. “It doesn’t matter. What are we talking about here, doc? You said he was compensating. Hell, the kid just blew up the gauntlet. He can still fight, right?”
“Yes, he can still fight.”
Huemac breathes deeply, cracks his neck, and relaxes his shoulders. He winks at Neca. “You had me worried there, kid.” He gives the nod to the manager, who starts scribbling again.
“But,” the doctor interrupts the celebration.
I feel my gut shrivel inside me. Here it comes.
“It could kill him.”
The room falls silent. Beyond the closed door, I hear the rest of the fight day preparations continue as though nothing has happened, as though my heart hasn’t imploded under a suffocating anxiety.
After sufficient dramatic pause, the doctor continues. “If another receptor blows, it could cause a chain reaction, hemorrhaging, loss of brain function. With time the likelihood will decrease, but the injury is still recent. The newly-formed neurological pathways are unstable.” He scrolls his finger across the screen. “Even without blowing another receptor, the underdeveloped pathways will most likely slow his response time.”
The doctor flicks off the computer, approaches Neca, and removes the helmet. “Diagnosis: The fighter is classified at high risk.” The doctor’s voice is deadpan again, as if he knows no one is listening. He watches Neca watch the wall. “Probable decreased psychic response time. Possible psychic overload leading to loss of brain function and eventual death.” He sighs and returns the helmet to its drawer.
I stare at every face in the room, landing back on Neca’s. I understand the words coming out of the doctor’s mouth. I don’t understand the responses—with the exception of Huemac. His response makes perfect sense. Before the doctor had started his official diagnosis, Huemac had yanked the pencil out of the manager’s hand. I understand why he isn’t going to stop this. But why isn’t anyone else?
Zorrah had said the doctor’s report is public record. Once people know, Huemac will have to stop the fight. I jump down from my stool. The slapping of my bare feet echos across the room. “The fight’s off.”
Huemac turns on me. “Listen here, achitzin—”
“If you won’t tell the people, I will.”
“I wanna fight.” Neca lowers himself from the table. He stands between me and Huemac. “It’s my decision.” He grills me with his eyes.
“But—”
He shakes his head, his chin trembling. “You can either choose to spend a pleasant lunch with me on what could be my last day on this earth, or we can say our goodbyes right here, Calli Bluehair.” He extends his hand, waiting for my decision.
I hesitate.
He turns away.
“Wait.”
Neca strides toward the slack-jawed fight manager. Swiping the pencil out of Huemac’s hand, Neca drags the manager’s logbook aside and signs it in an angry flurry. He snaps the pencil in his fingers and tosses it to the ground. “Gentlemen, see you in the arena.” He stops in front of me.
There are so many things I want to say. I swallow. The bottom line is that none of those things include the word, goodbye. “I’m coming with you.”
Neca nods. A smile creeps across his face. “Good, I’m starving.”
Before I leave the room, I shoot Huemac a dirty look behind Neca’s back. I want the new kingpin to know our business isn’t over.
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!