Chance looked around the basement of the Ball & Joint which also served as the setting for his real job, managing the illegal cyborg cage fights that drew in crowds enough to make him and Garvan rich men. He didn’t always like what he did, but he was fuckall good at it. Fighting was in his blood. He loved watching them even though he didn’t fight himself anymore.

Besides, who would risk getting in the ring with him?

He wondered what Verity would think if she knew about this part of the establishment where she worked and frowned, but it didn’t last long because soon he remembered that kiss. If he'd been intrigued by her before, he was downright enamored now. What kind of girl kissed like that after being raised by the ecovangelists? Thoughts of her overtook his mind, until energy and violence coursed through his blood.

He quickly changed into a pair of workout shorts he kept in his office and pressed the button for the punching bag to drop down into the ring. He needed to work off some energy. He stepped into the ring, rolling his shoulders back and shaking out his arms. The plesh pulled taut over his cybernetic enhancements.

Chance hated what he was, but when the moments presented themselves to use his arm for what it had been designed for, he had to admit even to himself that he relished the power it contained.

He moved around the ring, warming up and feigning punches into the air. He didn’t wear gloves or wraps, it was just his knuckles and the bag in front of him. The memory of a fight. The bag had been adjusted to accommodate cyborg strength, so when he punched, he didn’t hold back. A cyborg fight club had to have the right equipment to handle a cyborg punch. His human knuckles were soon raw, blood seeping into the fabric of the bag and adding to the rusty stain and familiar smell.

He attacked the bag as if it were an opponent, lashing out, ducking down. Moving his body from side to side and punching in fast motions. Speed had made him the best in the ring. Fast and hard, he hit with enough power to down almost any opponent, but it was his speed that kept would-be contenders off-balance, so he rarely even took a direct hit himself.

Sweat beaded up on his skin, running down his back. He jabbed and punched, twisting and kicking. Finally, he jumped up to deliver a hard roundhouse kick to the bag, sending it spinning away from him, rattling the chains holding it up.

From outside the cage, he heard a low whistle and the slow clap of Hollywood.

"Good show, buddy," he said

Chance shook out his arms, sending drops of blood fluttering across the mat.

“Tell me, what did that bag do to offend you so? I haven't seen you in the ring in nearly a year now."

Chance turned and looked at Hollywood. He still hadn't figured the kid out, he was barely old enough to even be allowed in here. Illegal or not, Garvan couldn't risk getting shut down for something as stupid as underage drinking. But Hollywood was fast on his feet, landed a hard punch, and had the only mod six cybernetic hand he'd ever seen in person. Unfortunately, he was also missing half his face. The gleam of his cybernetic under skeleton ever present. There was no way to look at him without knowing exactly what he was. And Hollywood never offered any explanation for why he had a top-of-the-line hand but not the plesh necessary to conceal his face. Chance figured maybe the kid just liked it that way

“I don’t fight that doesn’t mean I don’t work out,” Chance said as he stepped out of the ring and down into the audience area of the basement room.

“But I did see you walking in earlier without a shirt on?” Hollywood slapped him on the back with his titanium hand. "Does this mean you’ll stop being such a dick if you're getting a little action for well, your dick." Hollywood cracked up, endlessly amusing himself.

Chance just scowled as the memory of the tiny feminine body pressed against him resurfaced. All the frustration he had worked away in the ring returned. Now he was sweaty, tired, sore, and annoyed.

“None of your fucking business, Hollywood.”

“Hey man, I understand, there’s more than one way to work up a sweat.”

“Don't you have work to do?” Chance chuckled, standing at his full height which usually towered above most men he met, but with Hollywood, he stared right into his eyes. The boy was tall, lean, and more than a little of him had been reconstructed with high-end titanium. Chance wondered if he could take him in the ring, he was definitely a better fighter, more experienced and capable. But Hollywood had endless energy combined with possibly no findable human weaknesses. It was one of the reasons Garvan hired him instead of having him fight. He was intimidating to look at, that was for sure.

“The inventory, seeing what we need to restock for tonight. No doubt the crowd will be huge. I heard the Deluge announced another round of layoffs. I don’t get how they can let so many people go when the water just pours into the streets most days.” Hollywood moved behind the solid wood bar and checked the locked cabinets to see what alcohol was left over after last night. Unlike like upstairs, they couldn't leave bottles or even glasses lying around if they expected them to make it for more than a night. More than one spectator had found themselves thrown over the bar, bloody and unconscious.

“So, what is it that’s got you beating up innocent bags? Girl got you down?”

Chance let himself release a chuckle at the kid’s heckling.

“From what I hear there hasn't been anybody in your bed for longer than you've been out of the ring.”

Chance raised an eyebrow and glared at the young cyborg. “Did it ever occur to you there might be a reason for that?”

“Are you gay? That’s cool man, you really should bring him in, let him see the fights, bet it would get him all kinds of hot and bothered knowing what you used to do.” Chance had to give the kid credit, he was as laid-back as he seemed, not even a hint of mocking came through in his voice.

“No, not like that. Just nothing worth investing the time in right now.” Chance grabbed a towel from the bar and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“Well, if you’re looking for a little honey, I know a few girls who would be more than happy make your acquaintance.”

Chance’s mind flashed to Verity. No, if there was anyone for him, it was her. The idea of having anyone else in his bed made him sick.

Shit, now he was tired, sweaty, sore, and horny.

“Upstairs hopping?” he asked.

Hollywood gave a noncommittal grunt and nodded his head as he clinked bottles around in the cabinets.

“All right, I'll let you get to it.” Chance dropped the towel on the top of the bar and wrapped it with his metal twice. He turned to walk back to his office and change into the clothes he kept here, but before he got too far, a towel smacked against the back of his head.

“No wonder there’s no girl around. Take this shit with you, I ain’t your mama.” Chance scowled at Hollywood before he disappeared behind the bar.

* * *

Chance entered the Ball & Joint using the back door everyone pretended wasn't there. He slid it closed behind him without even a glance from any of the patrons. They had learned a long time ago not to get in his way unless shit was serious. And on fire.

The bar was busier than usual, still early but if Hollywood was right and there’d been another layoff, that would mean not only more fighters for the ring but more drinkers for the bar. Layoffs always came with a one-time severance payment. Smarter men would save it for when they needed it, but smart men didn’t tend to come to the Ball & Joint. It was going to be a long ass night.

He stepped behind the long counter with a nod to the bartender on shift and poured himself a double shot of whiskey. If it was going to be the kind of night he expected, best do it with a buzz.

The girls danced with more enthusiasm as the bills flew early, and the music thumped. Most of the lights had been turned down, but he could see couples in the corner as the waitresses took advantage and offered their extra services more brazenly than usual. Priya was supposed to make sure that shit stayed in the back rooms, but on a night like tonight, when everybody had money to throw around and a little extra frustration to work off, the rules went by the wayside.

He’d keep an eye on that though, the last thing he needed was to get busted for prostitution. What the girls did was their own business, but Garvan made sure Priya adjusted the tip allocations based on any side business.

Just as the liquor was starting to warm up his system, the strobe lights flashed and Verity’s pale face shown in the middle of the room, walking straight towards him. She wore thigh-high high-heeled boots, a skirt that couldn't even be called mini, and a light pink lace halter top. Usually, the juxtaposition of her clothing would give him a chuckle, it was just the kind of thing men who frequented this sort of bar liked, naughty and nice all wrapped up in one package. Now that he knew where she came from, he imagined her entire outfit had been homemade out of clothing she brought with her. The girl was smart.

He watched her hips sway, a handful of empty mugs, and he couldn't help but smile.

“Shit, Chance’s smilin’. Somebody gonna die?” One of the regular patrons, Jenkins, said from down the bar.

Chance flipped him off with a metallic middle finger.

When Verity caught his eye, the smile that spread across her face lit up the room. No longer was it a strobe light, alcohol ridden, mildew infested dump. Now it was a bright sun shining field with green grass and other shit that doesn't grow anywhere on this planet anymore.

If anyone knew the teenage girl shit going on in his head, they would smack him. Hell, he kinda wanted to smack himself. But her smile did something to him he just didn't have words for.

“It’s crazy tonight,” she said sitting down the empty mugs and leaning against the edge of the bar. She looked at him out of the side of her eye, a cautious smile on her lips.

“I heard there have been more layoffs from the Deluge. It’ll be a late one. Your friend okay alone?”

Verity turned and looked Chance right in the eye. Her smile lit up again like she just realized who she was talking to. He liked the idea that talking to him made her happy.

“Oh!" He reached under the bar and pulled out a small plastic bag with two unmarked pill bottles. “The white ones are for pain, only two at a time at most every six hours and the blue ones are real antibiotics, none of that boiled charcoal shit you were using.”

“Chance—I can’t afford this.”

“I can.” He shrugged. Usually, he tried to avoid any conversation about how he made his credits, but he had plenty of it so why not do something good for once.

“I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

“That’s really not necessary. I don’t do shit I don’t want to, and I wanted to do this. How’s she feeling?”

“She's fine. My landlord is with her.”

“Shit, Verity! You can’t trust people around here. Are you sure she's okay? I can go check on her if you want. I have a little time to kill yet. This is how people end up missing organs or arms." He held up his metallic arm as an example.”

“Oh, Wicksham isn’t like that.” She laughed, and Chance refilled his whiskey lifting the bottle to ask if she wanted some. She looked around to see if anyone was watching and then gave him a cute little snicker and nodded her head. “He’s been real good to me, he let me stay in the apartment without paying rent for the first month. From what I understand,” she gave him a pointed stare, “that's not how people act around here.” She grabbed a drink and downed it in one gulp without even a cough.

Chance widened his eyes and refilled her glass.

“He had a daughter. She got sick or something, and when Wicksham tried to take her to the doctor, they wouldn't help. Said saving her wasn't worth the investment. I guess she ended up running away, and they found her body a few days later, sinew stripped from her arms and legs, veins too. Creepy shit. The first time I came into the building, he said I reminded him of her, so he helped me out. He'd never been anything but nice.”

“Except for asking you for more money on short notice.”

Verity frowned and shook her head. “That's not his fault, he says the police have been coming down on him harder and he has to raise everyone's rent.”

“Yeah, that happens.” Chance mentally calculated when last time was he paid his own security fee to the Cyn City police. There were good guys and there were bad guys. Being a cop didn’t make a difference as to which side of the line someone fell on.

Verity nodded as the bartender returned with filled mugs of beer. She placed them on her tray and cast Chance a shy smile. “Thanks for asking about her, that was nice of you.”

Chance leaned forward on his elbows, so his shirt strained across his chest. “I keep telling you, I'm a nice guy.”

Verity laughed again and hurried off to deliver the drinks.

He watched as she went, a stupid ass grin on his face. He dragged his eyes up the length of her legs all the way up to her upper thighs and a peek of her ass sticking out from under that tiny skirt. A growl grew in the back of his throat. He didn't like the idea that anybody else could see so much of her. He wanted her to be his, naked and alone, maybe tied up in his bed. So, no one else could see so much of her body.

Man am I fucked.

He grabbed the small pad he kept behind the cash register and popped it into the pocket of his cargo pants. After doing a quick walk-through of the bar, he had a good sense of which regulars were here, and which new faces were likely to sign up for the fights tonight.

Garvan didn’t much care how Chance ran the circuit fights, so long as they didn’t get caught and no one died. Actually, Garvan didn't care too much about the second thing either.

Chance made every effort to make sure people were safe and had followed his previous boss’s tradition of having Enver around whenever possible to help stitch up anyone unfortunate enough to need it. Having to fight your way through life wasn't fun. Having to fight your way through pain, could be even worse. So, Chance did what he could to minimize the harm, and maximize the fun. He made sure the alcohol flowed, the music thumped, and the girls were pretty.

If he were smart, he’d put Verity downstairs. But he didn't want her involved. The Ball & Joint was on the right side of the law with most things, but the cage fights in the basement were definitely on the wrong side.

After collecting a short list of names, he made his way from person to person. Most of the patrons stayed out of his way, the waitresses didn't meet his eye, and even the more inebriated of the cyborgs knew to keep their distance. It made his job a fuck of a lot easier in some ways, but when it came to recruitment, not everybody wanted to speak up. And that was where Hollywood came in. Soon enough he’d send the boy out to schmooze and recruit anyone without the balls to step up to Chance.

He returned to the bar and watched the scene, making sure the small fights breaking out handled themselves, or that the bouncers who lined the room broke things up. More than one waitress got groped, but at a place like this, that was half the fun of coming.

An extra bold cyborg tried to slide his hand up the back of Verity’s skirt.

He placed his hands on the bar ready to jump over and kill the motherfucker who dared touch her. Mine the thought flashed through his brain, making him half crazy. Before he could do anything, Verity turned around and slammed her thumb into his eye. The cyborg howled and apologized, bringing both hands to his wounded face.

Chance let out a bark of laughter, drawing attention from patrons and employees further down the bar.

“Now you're laughing? Seriously, whatever you’re on, give me some.” Hollywood said, as he walked up, speaking with his hands.

“No, it's not that it's…”

Verity walked up to the bar with a scowl on her face. “Whisky?” she demanded, and Hollywood's eyes went wide as he turned to her. Nobody spoke to Chance that way, nobody treated him like a friend, especially not the waitresses.

“Three fingers?”

“I think I need a double, and more whiskey, less dirt this time,” Verity said leaning her hip against the edge of the bar.

“Your wish, my command, sugar. How do you drink whiskey like water? This stuff even gives me a burn.” He said as he poured her drink.

“It’s nothing once you’ve had Levi’s moonshine. It might be straight kerosene, but it got the job done when you wanted to get shit faced in the barn.”

Hollywood’s head swiveled from Verity to Chance, his mouth open wide.

“Does he need an inhaler?” Verity jabbed her thumb in Hollywood’s direction, and he had to set the bottle down he laughed so hard. Fuck, when was the last time his cheeks hurt from laughing. When was the last time he’d been so happy?

“I’m in fucking bizarro-land. Who are you and what have you done to Chance?” Hollywood asked as he stole Verity’s shot and downed it himself.

Chance poured another and passed it to her as the bartender approached.

“For you.” He passed over the old-fashioned phone receiver.

“Yeah? Shit Mason, tonight?” Chance listened as his contact at the Cyn City Police department broke the bad news. There’d be a raid of Ball & Joint tonight. Fights were off. “Fucking sucks with the Deluge layoffs. Yeah, thanks, man.”

He hung up and set the receiver on the bar, running a hand through his hair.

“Hollywood spread the word, fight’s off tonight. There’s gonna be a raid in about fifteen.”

The boy jumped up and got to work, while Chance fumed for a moment. He needed to get word to Garvan, clean shit up downstairs—although he kept it pretty damn pristine for precisely this reason—and talk to Priya. Time for Ball & Joint to go straight-laced.

When he looked up from his thoughts, Verity still stood there, staring at him with her head cocked and a question on the edge of her lips.